<div class="floatleft">(http://i425.photobucket.com/albums/pp340/daggeroflath/Tad_zps22b3703c.jpg)</div><strong>Name</strong>: Tad<br/><strong>Location</strong>: Starting Point, Common Room<br/><hr/><hr/><br/>Tad was having a wonderful Winterfest. The massive crowds moving throughout the streets of the city were a pickpocket's dream. He had expended the last of his coins reaching Avalon and New Evergreen, but it had been a worthwhile expense. He doubted any of those pursuing him would be willing to travel across the seas to another continent. Now, within a single day he had regained those coins spent on his travel and more.<br/><br/>He was taking a break from lightening the loads of the festival-goers, relaxing within the Starting Point spending some of his stolen coin on getting a meal and a mug of their warm cider. He sat at the side of the bar closest to the old man and his eager flock of children, enjoying listening in to the tale of dragons and frost-birds. He had first been drawn over when his keen ears had picked the word 'wizard' from the old man's story. It had turned out to be simply a fantastical tale suitable for children, but it was still an amusing diversion while he ate from his bowl of stew. The sips he took from the cider were careful and measured. It was his aim this evening to take advantage of drunken fools, not to become one and he had never had much tolerance for alcohol.<br/><br/>When the strange merchant had crashed through the doorway and collapsed onto a table, Tad had barely noticed. He was aware that it was happening, but didn't see how it had any relevance to him so he had avoided getting involved. The last thing he wanted was attention from the guards if they arrived to investigate the man's fate. The merchant's conundrum though drew more of his focus when the elf began to drag him towards the bar, near where he relaxed. They had brought the unconscious man over to some form of priestess. He did not recognize the specific order, but it seemed that the supplicants were asking for her to intercede with her god or goddess for a miracle.<br/><br/>He watched with keen interest, wondering if he was about to see magic performed. She spoke a brief prayer to the goddess Diana and the man seemed to instantly recover, staggering immediately over to the bar for more drink. The timing seemed like quite an amazing coincidence if it were not a magical healing, and yet, nothing about it had seemed uncanny.<br/><br/>As he finished the last of his stew and washed it down with the last trickle of cider, he approached the gathering group of charitable individuals who had been helping the stricken merchant.<br/>"Your goddess works quickly my lady," he said, uncertain of the proper form of address for a priestess of Diana, "what do you think was the matter with that fellow?"<br/><br/>He was not truly too concerned over the fate of the merchant, but a strangeness had seemed to surround his arrival, collapse and recovery. Where there was this much strange activity, he thought magic of some sort could not be far behind.<br/><br/>He was dressed in the local manner of a reasonably prosperous man of middle-class, perhaps an independent merchant or wealthy tradesman. Although the clothes were not originally his, they fit well enough on his wiry frame and did not draw too much attention when he mingled with just about any crowd. His hair though and accent stood out marking him as being from the far north, but traders from those lands were not unknown in these parts and he hoped he himself would not seem too strange.