RP:What Dreams May Come

Alvina sighed as the scolding water lit her skin a bright crimson, showing only her shoulders through the small patches of steam that swirled around her. The arrow wound that dotted her chest with a bright pink path of healing skin, and the deeper mark on her right shoulder glowed an angry red. The swelling on her shoulder was just started to ebb, but the puffy inflammation was still noticeable at a close distance. The bard was exhausted; between mixing healing salves and resting her tattered body, it had been a very long week. Her normally lose ribbons of autumn light were twisted into a fuzzy mess of humid curls atop her crown. The bath house was always empty at this house and the bard used this to her full advantage. Nothing started her more than company, especially in such a state of undress. Her normal garments lay a few feet to her left, folded neatly into her dark blue cloak.

Abram had been sitting in the sauna for the last hour. When he got there, there was no one in the baths, and he figured he’d cool down in the pools afterward. Feeling sufficiently steamed, he wrapped the lower half of his body in a towel, and stepped out of the sauna. To his surprise, there was a figure in the billowing clouds of steam that hovered over the baths. Respectfully, he averted his gaze, and made his way slowly around the bath toward the cooler water – as though by moving slower, he wouldn’t disturb the person in the water or be noticed. His own body, with the absence of his standard duster and hat would reveal a somewhat lanky, yet toned body; a man who truly lived off of the land when and depended on leaves and rabbit meat to survive, but was very well conditioned and able-bodied. Also very apparent were an assortment of scars, each bearing their own stories. Some were small and likely from a tumble, but there were other, larger and more imposing ones… perhaps from the perils of combat. His eyes turned to the floor, he navigated through the bathhouse, passing the figure in the water.

Alvina had almost slipped into a comfortable slumber when the soft pad of wet feet against the bath house floors stirred her attention...which also carried on it's heels the lightening fast realizations that she was not alone and she was in no state to be seen nor was she quite sure the state of the other party. Flustered, she thrust herself into the water to her chin and swam around the water in circles attempting to locate the other occupant. Finally, steam settled around a shadowed figure, clearing here and there to allow glimpses of tanned flesh into her vision. Embarrassment and guilt flushed her cheeks and she turned away, speaking finally with her back to the patron in loud, deliberate apology. "I do apologize," she stuttered in an echoing treble, "but I thought I was the only one here. I've glanced in your direction and no harm done, mind you but, I fear that it might be uncomfortable for us to continue to occupy the same space in this informal state." As she spoke, her cheeks flushed brighter, outshining her bath-warmed skin by several shades. "I would be happy to exit and apply for appropriate garments if you would grant me but a moment's privacy."

Abram recognized the voice – for he’d only heard a handful of them since arriving in Hollow. It was the bardic woman with whom he’d defeated the patrol of Drow not a few blocks away. “Miss Alvina?” His tone was one of surprise, and he couldn’t help but turn to face her, he being in his towel, and she… well, as she was. After his perception pierced the veil of steam, he blinked, nodded and looked away once more. “The apology is mine to make. You may remain as you are, and I’ll keep to mine in the cooler water; no harm has been done. No sense in disrupting a perfectly good stay here.” He walked away from her to the cooler part of the pools, and removed his towel just as he submerged himself. The cool water was refreshing upon a body subjected to the sweltering heat of the sauna for so long. He sighed and settled, and spoke to the ceiling, his voice echoed throughout the bath house. “It was upon your recommendation that I came here, were I to speak true, Miss Alvina. I’d gone far too long without any proper cleansing – I feared I might be tossed out of the inn to lay with the dogs in the street.”

Alvina laughed, though she wasn't sure if he was joking or telling an honest truth. Either way it made her smile, breaking the awkward silence that followed their eyes meeting between the parting steam. It was admittedly hard to slip back into comfort as easily as it had been to relax in the bathes without company...but Alvina was glad of all the figures in the mist, it had been Abram. "You almost don't resemble the man who stumbled into Kelay..." Her voice wove across the top of the waters that divided them, pools lengths and otherwise. A chuckle of mild embarrassment followed close behind. "Have you been eating enough at least?" After she spoke, she slapped her palm quietly against her forehead and mouthed the word "idiot" to herself. Small talk was not her brightest category of conversation...but she wanted to talk to him so badly that she asked about his diet. Sighing, she leaned against the warm side of the bath she was in, as if to shield her backside from further accidental sightings.

Abram smiles as he stares up at the ceiling; the bard’s voice was one he’d hoped to hear since the last time he did. Days had passed since the encounter with Drow, and he had so many questions for her… Even his dreams were invaded by the young lady, and somehow they battled Drow together and went on other such adventures… She’d stood alongside him in that little skirmish, and remained friendly toward him after – that was more than enough for him to have loyalty for her. “Aye, though, my belly has had taken some amount of effort to get used to the richness of the food here in Cenril. For a long while, I’d had naught but dried deer meat wrapped in leaves. Nothing much lasted in the desert…” He trailed off as he thought of the hardships he’d faced in the wastelands. “Miss Alvina, I’ve been meaning to find you since we last saw one another on yon streets,” he turned to face her, probably to emphasize the truth and importance of his need for her, “I’ve had some burning questions in my mind for you… about your arm.”

Alvina's body tensed immediately as he mentioned her arm. Did he mean the new arrow wound in her right arm? No, no...he couldn't have known about that...it must have been her metallic prosthetic that wound him in a trivial fashion. Since their last meeting it had undergone some damage and patchy reconstruction at her own hand...which, had been shakey at best. The bard had been hoping to heal herself more thoroughly before attempting to repair the complex mechanism functioning as her previously removed limb. Clearing her throat, she did her best to peer in the direction of his voice to answer. "I will tell you whatever I am able to...Sir Abram." The formality was just her reaction to her tension. It was not that she mistrusted him...it was more that she was apprehensive about noted as a freak or unnatural element of some sort by this stranger who had so strongly captured her attention.

Abram sensed the anxiety in the bard’s tone, and so kept a measured one of his own to help ease her excitement, “While out on the beach, I encountered a creature that bore the appearance of an Angel, though she called herself an ‘Avian.’ Through our conversation, I’d told a tale of my travels in the wastelands, and drawing iron on a desert cat. Though the iron that I drew upon it, was of a making that I’ve not seen in this world… She had mentioned there was a skilled blacksmith who’d crafted an arm of metal for himself. It made me recall our first encounter – do you know this blacksmith? Or is your arm of your own making…? I need only to find someone who is skilled with crafting so that I might draw them the designs for the forge. Any information you have would be greatly appreciated.”

Alvina sighed quietly, her heart racked with undefinable guilt. "The smith who forged my arm was my teacher...Lady Cerinii...but she is no longer of this world..." Her voice carried, almost eerily through the dense heat and distance between them. "I am some what trained in her craft but I am no where near her skill. She was an ancient; well trained, well practiced, well manner and well loved. I doubt any have the skill to match hers without a thousand years beneath their belt..." The tone melted from distant to warm, loving. The woman had loved her as a child does cling to a mother. And years after her death, the bard would only say that her love and fondness grew, while her mild guilt and the bittersweet departure left her somewhat unbalanced when it came to her avian guardian. "I was her apprentice, truly. I may be of some assistance..."

Abram listened raptly to Alvina’s words, nodding along with her tale. “I’m sorry to hear that your teacher has reached the clearing at the end of her path… To have taught such a person of character, she must’ve been of a great making, herself.” He smiled at the bard through the curls of steam that coiled up from the water – mostly from where she was. He raised a hand out of the water, and saw the wrinkles that were carved deeply into his fingertips. “Perhaps you could be, Miss Alvina. Gunsmithing was never a strong suit of mine – it was almost always left to my friend, Jacob. But I could craft the bullets myself. The rest I could draw for whomever could fashion the castings. I know it’d take some work, and I’d of course be willing to pay you for all of your time and effort…” He trailed off; his voice hopeful. Alvina listened, smiling softly at his compliment while curiosity chased her grief back to it's known corner of her heart. "Gun...smithing?" The word was foriegn, it's taste unusual on her lips. "I would be happy to look over your plans and help but...I can't say for certain that I know much about that type of smithing. I'm more in the trade of clockwork and magically embellished artifacts." It was the most modest way she could think to confess that she had no idea what a gun was or how to smith it. "The avian you spoke with, did you get her name or title? Cerinii was of the Avian race. She might have had an older apprentice who would be better suited to the task." Carefully, the bard pulled herself from the steaming water and laced a nearby towel around her pink flesh, laying herself down against the cool floors and breathing while she waited for her heart rate to settle from the heat.

Abram nodded as he rose from the waters himself. He gave his body a wiggle to shake off the excess water like an animal, then gathered the towel he brought and tied it around his waist once more. He joined the bard and sat near her so they could speak more conversationally, without the waters or steam dividing them. “Aye, though with my years, I’ve only remembered the ‘R’ it started with… Oddly enough, another person mistook me for him – apparently, he wears a similar attire as I.” Abram’s eyes took the bard’s form in more clearly, and he was able to make out the marks along her shoulder, “What happened…?” There was deep concern in his voice, and his eyes narrowed with worry. Alvina rolled over to face him, her metallic left limb reaching to cover the wound on her shoulder. "Oh this? My, nothing at all." Her nervous laughter echoed uncomfortably through the otherwise empty bath house. "Just one of those things that happen. You know, creatures attack you and try to eat you...just normal, everyday stuff." Blush painted her cheeks as she tried to change the subject. "I'll do well to keep on the look out for this avian....though I doubt he's as...tan as you are!" She changed her mind about complimenting his rugged but attractive features at the last second. The bard was embarrassed, and nearly naked, and laying against cool stone in a bath house with a man. Gods....

Abram calmed himself, though the concern still remained in his eyes. If she’ll tell him, it’ll be on her own terms… Abram nodded, “The creatures in this world are an unseemly bunch… Do take caution when you’re travelling about, Miss Alvina. There are those in this world who’d be quite saddened to learn of your reaching the clearing with the help of such beasts…” He smiled at her, and her nervous words made him nearly chuckle, but he tried hard to keep it in. “Aye, I fear the sun has taken its toll on this old body… When I was just a boy, my skin was much lighter, and my hair was quite a bit darker, but as I got older and spent more time training with my friends in the guild, I grew considerably darker.” He moved his tanned leg towards Alvina’s as though to emphasize the difference in their skin tones, and his own leg brushed against hers just slightly before he got up off of the floor. “It was a pleasure, Miss Alvina. Don’t let the sun pass too many times before we next see each other. You can always find me here in Cenril, or on the occasional night, I’ll camp in the plains of Milous, but those excursions have been fewer and farther between as of late, with the Elven conflict…”

Alvina looked at the man with quiet respect and admiration. Her heart leapt to her throat as his leg brushed against her. It was true, though, his point of their difference in tones. All of her flesh was a very milky, sun-lessly pale white in comparison. "I just didn't want you to worry too much," She confessed, "I was attacked but it's fairly normal every once in a while. I am not helpless and this will heal. I promise." The bard smiled and did her best to stand when he did, before gathering all her clothes to redress before heading back to Kelay for the evening. Traveling the road between was not dangerous enough to warrent her to stay in town....but maybe... "Actually, would you mind escorting me back to the inn you are occupying? I wouldn't want to travel the road alone tonight." She fibbed, a small fabrication to extend their time together. "I would truthfully be grateful for your company a moment longer, if you can spare the time." Alvina hugged the clothes against her chest, bashful and timid in the moment.

Abram smiled at the bard, not just from kindness, but because something about her just brought the smile to his lips. Maybe how timid she was, or just how breathtakingly beautiful she was… “Of course, Miss Alvina. Let me go and make myself decent, and I’ll be glad to take your arm down yon street.” And so he disappeared, gathering his clothes and retreating to the dressing room, where he dried off, and dressed himself. It wasn’t until halfway through putting on his duster, that he realized he was still smiling. Him. The man who saw the world for all of its despair and all of its unpleasantness… was stuck with a smile on his face. When he was dressed, he walked back out and was ready to take Alvina to the inn. The walk would be a nice one, with the streets mostly abandoned at that hour, and the moon providing ample light to illuminate Beloy street. “I’ve managed to do some cleaning of that room since you last saw it. Not that I’ve had any company that would necessitate such cleaning, but since I’ve been staying for a while, I thought it best to not live like the animals do…”

Alvina beamed, doing her best to mute her excitement until Abram was well out of sight. The bundle of clothes in her arms seemed to explode from her grasp as she rushed to re dress and gather herself in time for his return. Her hair (let alone hair ribbons) would be impossible to tame so she allowed her tresses the freedom of the night air. Alvina paused, realizing she was completely dressed but still frantically trying to still her humming heart. Who was this man, to make her smile and laugh without regard to previous transgressions? Tucking a stray tuff of untamed crimson behind her ear, the bard started towards the exit with a sturdy grin on her lips. The faintest blush would bloom in her cheeks at Abram's re appearance, and she would likely thread her arm around his elbow for the escort. The sights and sounds of the lazy city streets did not exist as they strolled...the moon and the board's glazing optics saw only Abram.

When they got to the inn, Abram greeted the old man at the front desk with a nod which was returned, and then lead Alvina to his room. “And here we are. If you’d care for some coffee, I could make it on the stovetop, or I’ve got whiskey and water; whichever you’d prefer, ma’am.” His politeness seemed to have no end. Abram gently released the bard’s arm, and crossed the room to the small shelf, where he pulled away a waterskin and a bottle of amber liquid, which he then placed on the dining table in the corner. The table had two chairs, and looked rather quaint with the little lit lantern on it. “Will you be requesting a room here for the night as well, Miss Alvina? I’ll be travelling to Kelay myself in the morning; it’d be lovely to have some company for the trip.”

Alvina was tempted to un-thread her arm from his as they entered the Inn, especially under the old man's gaze but she held fast until they had entered his room. The bard didn't look the part of a call girl but that never stopped her from heralding false interpretations of her intentions and feeling guilt over something someone may or may not be thinking. Instead, she turned her focus to her kind escort and drew her smile from his. “Water sounds perfect, especially after a hot bath, m’lord.” The tacked on expression of respect was only half in jest, her earnest smile would do well to dispel any doubt. “I think requesting a room would be just the perfect solution! Once we finish our drinks, I will saunter out and make such a request to the Inn Keeper. May I be so bold as to ask what lies in Kelay? It would be my honor to provide some entertainment on the journey.” Of course, how could she refuse an extended chance for his company? A small part of her relaxed in thinking she might prove herself a woman of worth by not spending the night here with him. It was easy for her to fall immediately into insecurities, especially when she found someone who lit her up from the inside out in the most innocent of aspects. She felt like that small lantern on the table; glowing and brimming with just enough light to find a direction, no longer lost and wandering blindly through the dark. “Your room looks lovely! Are you sure that you weren't expecting company?” She teased, taking a seat and crossing her legs thoughtfully while inspecting the almost spotless quarters.

Abram had paid no attention to the wandering gaze of the old man in the lobby; his romantic naiveté was outdone only by his rugged handsomeness and skill in battle. Whilst in the room, he set out two chalices and poured fresh water from a skin on the shelf. He sat down beside the bard at the table, and took his chalice into his hands. He smiled at her suggestion, and shook his head, “Nay, I’ve yet to make any real friends here… Truly, if I were wanting to enjoy the company of anyone, Miss Alvina, it’d be you.” As if struck by his own unexpected words, he cleared his throat and took a long drink of water, before quickly jumping subjects. “Kelay has become a point of interest for me. I've been quite taken by the forests surrounding it. I realize the Elven conflict is a fire that still burns, but…” He paused, and looked to Alvina – in that moment, it would appear that he was trying to very carefully select his words to navigate a dangerous path. In the end, he elected for truth. “I have become entangled in these affairs. I met an Elf woman while I was camping on the plains to the West of here. We spoke of the conflict, and I told her about the Drow patrolmen that set upon us… She asked if I would help, and after no small amount of persuasion, I agreed.” His eyes dropped to the chalice in his hands, as if he were disappointed in causing the bard some concern.

Alvina knew. Of course, she didn’t know that she knew he was involved with the Elven & Drow conflict until the words came pouring out of his mouth. It turned the moment bitter sweet in her mouth; a soft confession of friendship affection caught in the shadow of possible mortal conflicts. The bard closed her eyes and clenched her fist ever so slightly with his chalice in her grip. Was she forever doomed to fall in love with heroes who are so busy saving the world, they forget about her? Selfish guilt flooded her system; her facial expression melted into one inflicted with a heavy weight. Part of her wanted to scream in childish resistance to his involvement…but in the end, her shoulders would slump back and she would paint a convincing smile on her pale pretty features and speak her mind softly. “Please,” Her eyes meet his, pleading on the edge of tears, “be careful.”

When she didn’t respond immediately, Abram looked back up to see the pain in her expression. He saw her knuckles whiten against the dull metal of the chalice in her hand. The man may not have been well versed in the modern ways of courtship and romance, but he was very keenly observant. “My involvement troubles you…” He paused for a moment as well, to collect his thoughts. Then he reached out and placed his hand upon her own, natural one. His hand is rough; worn with the many days of desert travel and hard labor it took to cross such a wasteland, but his touch was gentle… His thumb brushed softly against the back of her hand to try and calm her, “When I was young, and I was training in the guild with my brethren, my father was away on a quest. He was sent off for months at a time, to speak with faraway communities about this and that. While he was away one time, my mother was met by a man in black. He was a magician, and his words could poison even the purest hearts. And so they did. My mother was enchanted by him, and she was turned against me and my father. As soon as I passed the trials of my guild and was granted my guns, I confronted him in the halls of my own house. My mother set herself between us and he fled. So I, and a small band of travelling companions left after him. We traveled across the wastelands for so long, stopping here and there where we could for shelter and sustenance. But we were not home. During that time, the magician had already begun his plan, which was to poison the people of my town. They were turned against one another. The man in black was just biding his time, waiting to lure out enough of the guild to prevent a defense.” His eyes went to the chalice again. “The town was attacked from within, as well as from the North, and when my father returned, the city had already succumbed to the ravages of war. His final message to me was to tell me how I had abandoned my home and my family in their time of need. When this Elf woman told me of her conflict; that the Drow were coming to assault the Forest of Sage, I was compelled to not stand idly while another community was destroyed by darkness, only for those who had gone to find out afterward that their home had fallen.”

The tension in the bard’s body eased with the touch of his hand. Silently, her hand rolled to interlock their fingers. There were not words for the things that had happened to this man…and as he spoke, she found herself folding to the idea that she would not try to stop him. Silence eventually fell between them and her hand had abandoned the chalice and now both palms rested atop his hand in front of her. “Abram…” she whispered his name like a prayer, “I will not try to dissuade you from your decision…nor can you dissuade me from mine.” Alvina’s crown nodded, as if she had not been completely convinced until she said the words aloud. “I will go with you.” The bard knew is she pressed herself to explain, she would be forced to say things she was not ready to say or truly acknowledge.

Abram was no stranger to strong women. Once their mind was made up, their choices were set in stone. He nodded in response, “I will accept your company, Miss Alvina. I know you speak true when you say I would not be able to dissuade you, so I’ll not try. I’m certain I don’t have to tell you that it will be a dangerous journey.” His tone was neither condescending, nor overly sweet; it held the essence of equality – it showed how Abram viewed the bard. “I suppose now you may have a firmer understanding about the apprehension I hold with magicks…” He smiled at her with just a hint of sadness in his eyes.

Alvina did her best to return his smile; sadness lurked on the boarders of their conversation since his confession… “And I suppose you are going to have a firmer understanding of the good they can do, let alone the loyalty of friends.” With that, she retrieved her hands to cross her arms against her chest. Goosebumps raised along the fleshed length in front of her, likely in response to the cool metal meeting skin. It looked as if the bard was about to retired for the evening…when she shifted forward and embraced Abram rather suddenly. Tears threatened to fall as she shakily advised him, “Do not leave me behind.”

Abram opened his arms and was frozen for just a second, before he allowed himself to embrace the woman in kind. He held her close, and suddenly, years out in the desert meant nothing to him. Suddenly, he was reminded of the warmth of love and the softness of a woman’s embrace. Suddenly, he was happy. And although he held her and his touch never changed, she would not see the smile drain from his face as he was reminded of other things as well… There was a reason that he was alone when he’d found himself magically transported to the tavern in Kelay. There was a reason that his travelling companions did not make that final leg of the trip. Abram clenched his jaw tightly and closed his eyes, and his mind was suddenly littered with images of the trail of bleached bones in the wasteland that he’d left behind…. “No. I’ll do no such thing.”

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Alvina woke the next morning with a relaxed sigh. It wasn’t often that the bard has the luxury of a bed for the night, let alone this beautiful room full of fancy adornments and fragrances. The silhouette of her slender frame could be seen through the foggy window, perched on the edge of the bed in her full length undergarments and slips. Her normal attire hung on the small chair near the table in the room to keep from wrinkling. Dressing took a few moments, but the bard hummed while she did so, without real knowledge of the action. It wasn't until she had straightened from lacing her boots that she noticed the joyful sound and hushed herself lest anyone hear her. A waterfall of soft curls tumbled down her shoulders and back, resting its thriving autumn head in contrast against her blue traveling cloak and hood….and there she stood. Though she was fully prepared to leave on the morrow as they had discussed, Alvina paused a moment to examine her face in a porcelain mirror. Not vainly, but with inquisitive curiosities. There was nothing exceptional about her facial features, save her bright emerald optics, complimented by her radiant red crown of locks. Pouting, she turned her chin this way and that in a perplexed state, oblivious as per her usual demeanor.

Abram had been up nearly the entire night. Sleep often did not come easily to the traveler, and last night, he had reason to keep hold of his mental faculties, because of the woman who’d stirred his mind into action. A myriad of thoughts drifted through his head as the moon made its slow journey across the sky. He stared at it through his own window, but didn't see it; he saw only the bard, with only her head and shoulders peering at him across the heated waters of the bath house. He heard her voice, so melodic and beautiful it pulled at his heartstrings with every syllable. Occasionally, he’d roll over and try to dismiss the thoughts, but they did persist, and by the time he knew it, the birds outside had begun their song, and he found himself staring at a window sill that was illuminated not by the moon, but by the dawn’s light. With a soft groan, he rose to sit on the edge of his bed for a moment, and attempted his best at shaking off the miasma of tiredness that clouded his senses. Eventually, he got up and dressed himself, then made his way to the kitchen, where he asked for coffee with the gravelly voice of the morning. He stared down the hall at the door which lead to the bard’s room, and his thoughts became of her again – was she awake? Should he call upon her? What if she was indecent? He shook his head, and the lady running the kitchen handed him a tin cup filled with pungent-smelling coffee. He waited for her, then, deciding not to be the overeager travelling companion.

Alvina finally frowned at her own reflection. She never looks a day older, or a year old, or a century older than the day before. Most women would call that a blessing, she though, readjusting her cloak around her shoulders and shuffling her sleeping kitten into its inner compartment. The feline did not have a knack for safe or direct travel, let alone the enthusiasm to remain awake the entire trek. Finally the bard opened her door to start the day, catching Abram before her senses saw fit to snag anything else. He held a tin cup in a miasma of sunbeams, a backdrop of solid white before the glow faded away from his center inhabitant, allowing the other people and objects, various sights and sounds, to break against her like a rough wave to the shore. Blinking, she gave her head a small toss and moved his way to greet him. “Good morning,” her voice was silky smooth, no rough gravel or heavy tone. It was likely due to her profession; to always have a finely tuned tone even at this early hour. Alvina’s smile settled carefree on her lips. The woman did not bare the attitude of a woman traveling a dangerous road.

Abram was always considered by his travelling companions to be the one with the most composure – some would even remark that he was humorless, or overly-serious, and could weather the most difficult times with a stony face. When Alvina greeted him, however, he was in mid-sip of his hot beverage, and nearly choked on it as he hastened himself to return the salutation. It took him a second to recover, but he cleared his throat, and offered a “Good morning,” in reply. There were no words to describe the inward lashing he was giving himself for such embarrassment, but he did not show such turmoil in his expression as he quickly finished is coffee, and set the cup down on the countertop. “Have you readied yourself to head out?” His tone was kind, yet stern; the voice of a man who had to rally everyone up from camp to set out for the day’s travels far too often.

Alvina nodded quickly in reply, his slight missed entirely by her otherwise distracted mind. While he silently coughed on his coffee she was studying the lining of his jaw. While he was catching his breath to reply, she was watching the flecks of color circular around his pupils. It was only when the question came that the bard found concentration enough to answer. “Aye!” The heels of her boots clicked against the wooden floor; an audible addition to her confirmation. “Aria and I are yours to command!” She answered as if he was the general of their little army. In truth, he would be the most qualified. Alvina did not have a stomach for violence unless it was absolutely necessary. The thought brought back the drow the pair met on the street and the flash of Abram in the sights of their weaponry. Goosebumps rose along her flesh, and she shivered the thought away to readjust her messenger bag on her shoulder. Her eyes softened with affection and she asked him quietly how he’d slept. “Did you have any dreams that stirred you? I always dream before travel…” she continued, sipping a colorful concoction withdrawn from her own bag. “I try not to take sedatives to make it through the night, but sometimes my heart-ahem, my mind can’t still itself.” The strange slip of her tongue caused a flush of pink to paint her pale cheeks.

Abram was trained in his guild to observe everything, from the subtle shift in leaves in an overhead canopy, to the change in direction of a gentle breeze. People’s behavior was no different. He was keen to pick up on the changes in tone, the shift of eyes, the twitch of fingers… And Alvina’s slip, and the rush of color to her cheeks brought a faint rise to the corner of his lips. “Sleep for me is often without any sort of dreams. Come to think of it, I don’t recall the last time I really did have one…” He pondered for a moment, then nodded his head to the bard – as if to confirm his own statement – and then headed off down the hall, “I’ll grab my pack, and we can start our journey.” And so he did; he walked to his room, and grabbed the daggers that rested beneath his pillow, and slid them into the criss-crossing scabbards behind his back. The pack that held his travelling necessities was slung over his shoulder, and with a quick glance about the room, he left it and locked it. He’d given the innkeeper enough gold to hold the room for him for a few weeks, so he tucked the key into the pocket of his duster, and rejoined with Alvina in the lobby. The morning air was crisp, even with the season dipping into the summertime, and the birds were plentiful in the trees and along the rooftops of Cenril. The day’s activity had begun, and people were walking up and down the street, opening storefronts, setting up booths, and cooking up breakfast. The scent of fresh bacon wafted through the air, and although he hadn't eaten, Abram didn’t appear to be very affected by such a delicious aroma – another side effect of being far too pragmatic on his journeys, perhaps. “The Dark Elves have taken to patrolling the road through Milous… If it turns dangerous, I want you to run ahead; I’ll handle the Elves.” He didn't look at her as he spoke; instead, he nodded to the city guardsman as they passed through the gates, and onto the long road between Cenril and Kelay.

Alvina stood the lobby, shuffling her feet, careful not to stir Aria, even as she shifted positions in her pocket. The bard’s attention was entirely introspective, evaluating her conversation notes when Abram returned. The studious strain to her features slacked at his reappearance and she fell in line behind him to greet the day and Cenril in all its glory. Alvina didn’t often care for breakfast but it was hard for the bard to ignore the delicious wafting scents of bacon and fresh fruits in the markets…Aria, too, squirmed in sleepy demand for a smoked meat breakfast feast when the bard tapped her pocket to settle her. Her steps were light and graceful, weaving with thoughtless ease through the bustling crowded streets. Ears perked, and eyes forward, Alvina stumbled a bit at the suggestion of running forward that he offered. Once they were away from the guard enough to speak privately, she would tug on the shoulder of his attire to grab his attention. “I did not attend to be a traveling companion in the fashion of being protected and guarded. The ideal situation would be one involving us as partners and looking out for one another. I’m not one for the damsel in distress role of running from danger.” She frowned though she wasn’t scolding him. It was immensely important to her that he didn’t consider her baggage or extra inventory to safeguard in the fashion of a hound burying a precious bone. Strings of crimson catch the light breeze of the open road and weave the strands around her face in playful banter; the left side with the right. All the while, her stern gaze sits in the middle, directed at the wanderer.

Abram felt his lips draw into a thin line as he listened to the bard’s words. He knew she was strong-willed, and had her own fire within her – that’s perhaps what attracted him the most to her – but he still had the worry and concern left over from his last band of travelling companions, who were no longer around to offer such protestations. Eventually, knowing that he would not be able to defeat her resolve, Abram nodded, “I’ll not ask you to leave, then; just to not throw yourself into danger on my behalf. I would suffer greatly if such an act would bring harm upon you.” His eyes were fixed on the road as he spoke, although it was clear he was trying to read her in his periphery. The plains of Milous were vast and sprawling, and the two travelers - and the cat – had crossed the incredibly deep gorge, they were surrounded by nothing but open grasslands. The summer had taken its toll already upon the plains, turning the seasonally verdant landscape into one of yellows and grays. Patches of dirt were common, and in them, the travelers would see a number of boot-prints heading off the road – likely the Drow patrols. Needing to get out of his own head for a moment, Abram opted to strike up conversation and break the monotony of insect buzzing, “What is your story, Miss Alvina? Were you born in this land, or did you come here through mystical means as I?”

Alvina bit her lip as he replied, because she knew that no such promise would be made. Her heart was many things; passionate, impulsive, loyal…but it was never afraid. There would be no hesitation of if a moment arose that begged her life in exchange. The bard was not even completely sure death could bind her, with her curse, but she would rush to defend him all the same. No certainty lay behind her skin or in her blood that she would survive, and it was certain that she did not require one. As they traveled, the scenery was both inspiring and mostly ignored by the woman as her boots struck new prints atop those already fallen. Her mind was not on the Drow or Cenril, it was busy with its own workings. Silently switching gears and thoughts faster than she could keep up with. All gears churning around the man who walked ahead of her at a lively pace. When he spoke, it shocked her from the turmoil she mottled through, specks of color on the otherwise blank canvas of her thoughts, and brought her back to their journey. Had she not agreed to stay for a chance at more time beside him? Guilt struck a thunderous chord in her heart and she chipped into the conversation with a lively abundance of enthusiasm. “I’m not from Hollow, per say but travel and no trick of magi’s or time weaving brought me here. This is the world as I've always known it…as far as I know.” It seems overkill to mention her curse or memory lose. Instead, she queried him. “What brought you here? Can you say for sure? May hap you were suppose to be here for something that will come…maybe the war or…” Her pace slowed slightly behind him as she kicked up a small cloud of dust with her now dirty boots.

• still in progress