<div class="floatleft">(http://i.imgur.com/iKxhvlY.jpg)  </div><strong>Name: </strong>Fife<br/><strong>Location: </strong>Entering town.<br/><strong>Tagging: </strong>Open<br/><hr/>Fife saunters her way into town to assess the damage along the roadside.  She hopes to gather rumors, more information about her home town-- well, as close to 'home' as possible, anyway-- and gives a casual appraisal to this traveler's brief haven.  Her rations run a bit short, she has decided, and the opportunity to fill her wineskins with fresh water is too good to pass up, for who knows when next she'll see so much as a straw mattress or a roof?  A little coin would not hurt either.  Hoping that one of the two innkeepers will make her an offer, she finds a comfortable-enough spot partially between the two inns, and unslings her lute from her traveler's pack.  Propping the pack up for temporary comfort, she begins to play a bit, very softly, tuning the instrument for performance.<br/><br/>Nothing changes, it seems.  She remembers towns like this one, so close to home, and her usual method of racketeering the local inkeeps was underway-- 'get out of here, you're taking my customers!' 'well how about I bring them inside, for just the price of a room and some dinner?' 'well...' 'maybe a night with your son... or your daughter... or hell both while I'm at it!'<i>Well, she could dream, anyway</i><br/><br/>Smirking quietly in her self-admonishing way, Fife began to play softly at the dusk's onset, singing softly a wordless little melody, at first to herself, then to any in the vicinity.<i>You want to win at dice, you have to roll.</i>