"You may have her all to yourself," the stranger replied lightly. "No desire have I to dance with the black maiden, whatever form she graces."<br/><br/>After the bard had entreated them, the man Fenneil was the first to step forward. The gray cloaked stranger turned to regard this pale traveler in a new light. Unusual, but not entirely unexpected.  The workings of fate, none are allowed to know. Yet, here and there, one may catch a glimpse of what the Three weave ceaselessly. When the dwarf called Belrac had pledged his strength of arms to the bard's cause, the stranger looked back at the red haired storyteller.<br/><br/>"It is no mere coincidence that brings us together," he told her, lifting his head. The hood of his cloak shifted slightly, revealing dark eyes and a glimpse of features both fair and delicate. "My name is Neniel. Long lived am I to the children of men. They call me 'ranger', one who walks the wilds. My bow may prove useful, but greater still is my woodslore."<br/><br/>The elf turned away and looked thoughtfully out a window, the ocher light of the dying sun bathing his form. "Though it may be no match for that fell land..." he said quietly.<br/><br/>"It will grow dark," said Neniel, once again meeting Rain's gaze. He glanced in the barkeep's direction, noting something like sadness in the old man's eyes. "And still darker our talk. Some things should not be discussed in open company. Perhaps it is time we must away."