"Share who, Daughter?" The familiar voice made Reyata jump, she had not heard her father enter the inn, nor had her friends, caught up as they were in the joke they played on the young T'Skrang. Had she only paid attention, the eager whispers from every female in the inn would have announced the arrival of her father just as plainly as if someone had shouted his name from the top of his lungs.<br/>Alcinder's handsome features were the stuff of legends. When younger, all the girls agreed that this is what the heroes of old must have looked like, before the Scourge. Though only a simple blacksmith, Alcinder had an aura of nobility about him, something he had passed on to his daughter. Though not very tall, standing a head shorter than Bishon, he still seemed to tower over the other men of the village. He was blond with thick hair and a thick but wellkept beard, and had a body sculpted into perfection through years of work in his smithy. His deep blue eyes made the village women weak in their knees and his voice was deep and rich. Ari had always thought he'd made an excellent troubador if he hadn't chosen the life as a blacksmith.<br/>He was clearly the oldest Namegiver in the village. Some rumors said he was even born within a kaer, but he still looked young, blessed with elven youth. Had he not been so likable he had most likely gotten more than a few jelous enemies, but as it were he got along with everybody. It helped that he never seemed superior despite his elven heritage. Even those who thought elves to be snooty and arrogant agreed that Alcinder was an exception to the rule.<br/>"What are the five of you talking about?" he asked, noticing the embarassed looks on their faces.