At the walls, guardsmen made their rounds and complained idly about the ever constant flow of traffic into and out of Dalos. It was difficult enough to reign in the illegal trades occurring within the city daily, never mind when some fat-cat merchant decided to dabble in something unsavory and expand outward. They would have to give everyone remotely suspicious a once over. In practice, they tended to single out the poor, or at least the poor looking.<br/><br/>Further in the city, amidst the din and clamor of hagglers, the faint notes of a lute could just be made out.  Before long, the music faltered. Staring dejectedly at the now empty central stage in the city's entertainment district, the would-be bard decided it was not so easy to put the woman's story into song.<br/><br/>Nearby, a small crowd gathered near the entrance of a tavern. The finely burnished sign next to the two story building, depicting a lute and harp above the mantel of a fireplace, proclaimed it to be<em>The Fiddler's Den</em>. By all accounts, it was a worthy establishment, even allowing for its occasional barroom clearing brawls. Today's brawl seemed more of the entire building clearing sort, however. A man, nursing a massive bump that turned alarming shades of purple even as one watched, bawled to a group of guardsmen about the bloody berserker in the tavern that had slain three of his companions and, like as not, was now feasting on the still warm remains of the noble proprietor.<br/><br/>"Oh, aye! Aye, I say!" Asserted the man's companion, sporting a broken nose that steadily leaked away, leaving a dark patch on his shirt that made the scene look that much more violent. "We were offering to buy him a drink, you know, bein' all friendly like, ah? Oh aye. AYE! We might 'a said a thing or two about the dwarf's hair, but what's so bad about that? It was friendly, I tell ya, REAL FRIENDLY LIKE. And wouldn't you know it, the little bastard just up and started swinging- uh... swinging..."<br/><br/>"A club." Offered the first man.<br/><br/>"Aye, a big, bloody club! Size of a tree trunk it were, I swear to the Lady-"<br/><br/>Struggling not to roll their eyes, the guardsmen began breaking up the spectators. "All right, move along. I said MOVE ALONG!"<br/><br/>----<br/><br/>Within the tavern, a figure on the upper landing watched from a window. The crowds dispersed as quickly as they had gathered and the incident would be worth no more than a brief mention before nightfall.<br/><br/>As ever, the city was a novelty.<br/><br/>Turning away, he approached the balustrade and peered down at the small group on the ground floor. The little bard had gathered no companions at all, despite her tale. Aside from the barkeep (who was very much alive and uneaten), there was only a helpful traveler with clothes that looked a size too big for him and one surly dwarf keeping her company. The story had been good and told well enough, but in the end, it was only that and no more. It took a certain sort to put everything on the line for a story.<br/><br/>"I will not pretend to know the ways of the dwarven folk, strange and brooding as they are..."<br/><br/>Clad in a dark gray cloak, a hood concealing much of his features, he presented a nondescript figure. A bow and a quiver full of arrows could be seen peeking just above his shoulder. All that stood out in any way was a remarkably clear voice, despite its softness.<br/><br/>"... but if it is death you seek, you may have met her this day."<br/><br/>In no hurry, he made his way downstairs, making no sound in his descent. Though his words had, at first, been meant for the dwarf, his hooded gaze never departed from the flame tressed woman.<br/><br/>"Or have I strayed too far from the mark, Lady?"