<div class="floatleft">(http://i.imgur.com/iKxhvlY.jpg)  </div><strong>Name: </strong>Fife<br/><strong>Location: </strong>Entering town.<br/><strong>Tagging: </strong>Richard<br/><hr/><br/>The music from her lute wafting out into the air between inns, Fife glances up a the approaching stranger.  The neck of her lute angled in her slim fingers, the half-elf girl lifts her face toward his approach, letting the notes flow lightly from gentle plucks at her now-tuned strings.  Half-elves, like her, often traveled.  It was better than staying in once place, where the whispering eyes grew more curious by the day and the rumors fell down like rain.  This man, entering town now had been on the road, like her, and judging from his face-- which could go a awry, but just as likely may not-- he looked to be one who would share news if he had it.<br/><br/>"Traveler," she called to Richard, curious of his name and his bearing, "Well met.  Are you coming here by way of Greenest, perchance?  A lovely village along this road a few days?"  Smiling quaintly, her eyes twinkling as they often do, she invited him to converse as he walked or, perhaps, to stay and speak.  "The taverns are getting full for supper, but it's not local news I'm after.  Any word from the road?"