<em>Elisa Moon</em><br/><br/>Elisa traveled the road least traveled, or at least that was how the saying went. What she actually did was keep moving. Staying in a location too long would allow others to get to know her, and she was not comfortable with that. It didn’t help that she essentially had no place of origin and had spent her youth, but not her childhood, traveling with gypsies who were not often well received or even allowed in towns. At the moment, she didn’t have a horse, having only afforded an old animal a few months ago which she promptly lost.  Traveling on foot was preferable, for now. A mount could not be stolen if it was not possessed in the first place. Everything she had or needed was on her person, including her weapons.<br/><br/>She was sitting at the bar when some out of place looking man entered the tavern. He was out of place because he looked like he might have money and actually be going somewhere. This place, according to the rumors, was not on route to anywhere but the end of a the road sort of destination. Elisa gave him a glance, easily overhearing some conversation about going North. North was where the wilds were, although in her experience, the wilds often meant little more or less than a location some lord had not claimed as their right to tax yet, an expanse of land beyond the immediate repercussions of the civilized world. From the way the bar wench was throwing herself at him and talking, this particular destination of his sounded dangerous having claimed lives before.<br/><br/>Out curiosity, and because her drink, just cider really, was almost empty she spoke to him. “Following dead often leads to the same fate, or so the old women would say at night when everyone is trying not to be afraid of the dark.  Don’t drink the ale; I’ve seen them water that down. The mead looks well enough for what it is.”<br/><br/>