<div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/a/ab/Aelen13.jpg)</div><br/><strong>Aelen Quinrona</strong>(https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=267118.msg13176342#msg13176342)<br/><em>Noble High Elf Duelist Fighter 1</em><br/><br/><strong>Location</strong>: Emperor's Flagon<br/><strong>Tagging</strong>: Open<br/><hr/><br/>Aelen was draped across a chair in the corner of the tavern, one of his slender legs hooked over the arm of the rough, wooden seat and the small of his back half nestled against the other arm.  He let his head hang back as he listened to the chatter around him, staring up at the ceiling beam over his head.  His long, silky blond ponytail dangled down and swayed back and forth with a metronomic rhythm as he absently ticked the toe of his pointed, scuffed, black, leather, thigh-high boot.  He wore his well-made, but hard-worn boots over a pair of form-fitting, oft-mended silver-grey breeches that matched the frayed cording woven loosely through the eyelets at the neck of his unbleached linen tunic.  The black band of leather around his neck made his flawless, creamy skin glow attractively in contrast and really set off the faded blue of his somewhat vacant eyes.<br/><br/>He sipped from a flagon of beer, nursing it as if he planned to make the same beer last well into the night, and he likely did.  He'd managed to convince one of the patrons to purchase it for him with judicious use of sad puppy eyes and adorable pouting, and all it had cost him was a little humiliating smack on his pert bottom.  He would rather not deal with that experience again, even if it<em>had</em>been a bit exciting to hear the cheers and catcalls from some of the other patrons as he'd been spanked.  The beer wasn't worth the trouble, and he<em>really</em>didn't want to get a reputation with the locals.<br/><br/>He actually hated the taste of the ale, but the effect on his utterly susceptible system was worth the unpleasant flavor.  He loved the bubbles, and the way that his mind went all fuzzy and swoopy just from a few drinks.  The one flagon would be plenty to keep him feeling relaxed and melty for the rest of the night.  He looked over at the group with Anders, brow furrowing with concern over this vision the man relayed.<em>A dragon?   Like a real, big, fire-breathing, destructive dragon?</em>A little shiver ran through him at the thought and his free hand dropped to the sheath strapped to his delicate hip, fingering the ornately-wrought hand-guard of his heirloom rapier.  Not that it would do him any good, the blade having been snapped clean in half years before.  Still, it gave him a small measure of comfort.<br/><br/>"Do you think he might be telling the truth about the dragon?  Could it come back?"  His lyrical, softly-pitched voice was perfectly designed for whispering in the woods to wayward travelers and luring them down a primrose path.  Now, however, it was flavored with a tinge of fear.