The darkness swept the city of Taras, and soon people began to crowd the streets. These were all adults, of course, for few children left their home after night. The stars hung low in the sky, the moon in the Blue phase, and streaking against the sky without a single care. Magic was high in this night, power resonating throughout the air in beautiful hues of purple and red to those who could see them. One would think that all who were out on this night were friendly, and chatted with their friends as they moved. Some were drunk, some didn't remember leaving their house, and the other were far more drunk then the rest. A single sober female moved through the crowd, and it seemed as if she was not there.

She moved like the shadows -one time she was here, and then she was there. A cloak covered her pale face, her black hair pulled into two braids hanging in a long fashion down her back. She wore completely black ninja garbs, the cloak covering her body completely, and a beautiful scimitar was belted at her hip. The aura of flames flew around the blade, twisting and turning. She wrapped her pale and bony fingers around the hilt, playing with it slightly, and she could only smile in the shadow of her cloak as she stepped into an inn and tavern.

Magic twisted in the female's hands in smooth and strengthful sweeps. Carefully, the female stepped behind a drunk male, and pulled his coin purse form his belt. She was not a thief, but she was currently saving her money for some new scrolls. Why spend her own money when she could use some drunks, who would only kill himself by drinking too much anyway?

A smirk came upon her pale face, and she moved swiftly, stepping down and sitting in a table in the left most site. The darkness shrouded her, and therefore she removed her cloak hood. Her face was pale, and smooth, her eyes black, and her lips full and pale as her flesh. She signaled for a barkeep, who hurried to her swiftly with a smile -Lánilmathién returned the smile full force. She was not the nicest person in the world, and occassionally, she killed for money, but she did smile when she had the opprotunity -why shouldn't she?

[[im bored, hope u dont mind me Rpin with ya... :)]]

Griffin was watching this women the entire time she had robbed the drunken man. He smorked from under his hood as he sat at the bar and sipped his water. He got to his feet slowly and strode towards her from behind, his head cloaked under his coat. "You gonna return that..." He said in a smooth voice from behind her...

The voice from behind the female was nothing to her. She did not like strangers, nor did she commonly like people. This man, this thing, was nothing to her. She did not smell the blood on his hands, but she knew it was there. His voice told all to a Silver Elf. He was a warrior of some sort –so she assumed- and he seemed to be righteous. Her expression remained cold and still, not adjusting the slightest as she spoke, drinking the warm tea in a clay cup given to her, and dropping three coins into the female Waitress’s hands.

Do you expect to make me? Don’t make me laugh.

She brought the tea to her lips, drinking slowly. She had no intention of returning anything to the man, nor did she intend to be influenced by anything, especially a self-righteous man who assumed he had control over her actions. You can try, if you want, but when you get hurt, don’t blame me for your actions.

Griffin gazed at her as he strode slowly around her. He could sense her elven presence. A silver elf if he wasn't mistaken. He smirked at her from under his hood. She underestimated him, he could feel it. He raised his hand to his head and pushed back the heavy hood. A shadow from the flickering fire was cast upon the pale skin of his face as he settled his cold gaze over her. "Perhapse I would make you. But I wouldn't want to embarass you in front of all these people." He said coldly as he stared at her. A slight smirk falshed across his face for a moment. His words were half true, he didn't want to give up his identity in such a public place. "However, I would prefer a little more respect from a fellow elf." He said plainly as he looked at her.

His words disgusted her, and that was clear on her face as she scowled slightly, and then returned to her normal lifeless expression. I am not a fellow elf. She responded Coldly, I am only Half Elf, and I have very little respect for the rest of the elven population.

Enjoyment danced in her black eyes as she stared at the warm fire. A bard began to play on the stage, the sound of the lute carrying carefully through the place, and several men began to sit and listen. She cared little if they fought her, or somewhere else, but there was little chance this man would make her give away anything that rightfully belonged to her…After she stole it.

Yes, you would be making me the fool…Sure, whatever you say. I care little if we fight here, or anywhere for that matter…either way, I will not give up this gold.

"I was merely casting a bit of humour about the gold. I care not if any of these dirty fools die for that matter." He said plainly to her as he glanced about the bar watching a drunken fellow in all his stupidity. A feeling of digust and distaste came over him before he turned back to the women sitting in front of him. "Perhapse you should pick your fights a little better mylady. I don't intend on violence to end a relaxing night, at least not tonight." He said as he gazed at her.

Dirty fools? Did he realize where they were? Maybe you should know your place, Elf. This is no place for Dirty Fools, this is a prestigious and wonderful tavern where only the most rich and expensive men come. That bard up on stage is one of the best of her time, and from where I am seated, you would be one of the Dirty Fools you speak of.

Her black eyes are cold as she sits still and drinks yet another bit of her warm tea. The fluid rushed down her throat in a smooth and fluent manner, and she set it down on a coaster in front of her. Carefully, she ran her hands over the smooth, glazed clay surface, admiring the jade designs on the cup itself. The beautiful cup had held tea for many, and yet, she felt as if it should have been hers. She would not take it, of course, she would smash it in battle or while traveling. She did not look at the man, but again she spoke.

I pick my battles against those I know I can beat.

"Then perhapse they should act their part..." He said coldly. He gazed at her. This one was extremely arrogant. He thought to himself as he looked her up and down. She knew little to nothing of him, where was she in society to judge him. Besides, he cared not of what others thought of him, anyone could taste the cold silver of his blade if they thought they could get to him. Her next comment suprised him. He looked at her, an eyebrow cocked in surprise. Her arrogance was really beginning to etch his nerves. "His hands clenched the hilts of his blades within his cloak. No He thought to himself. Not here... He gazed at her, his red eyes glaring dangerously at her. "Do not get overconfident, ma'am..." The last words came out bitterly...

She was far from arrogant, and definitely far from overconfident –she enjoyed forcing people into battle, though. She knew he carried blades, he moved slower then any elf would without a blade on their body. It may have seemed like he moved the same, but she had seen the split second delay. She was no fool, and she was not a novice at this.

Why watch my words when I am in the company of one I care little for?

She responded in a cold voice. She did not fidget, though, and both of her hands were clear outside of her cloak. She had a single scimitar, and if o this fool had more then one blade, she knew she could use her scabbard in defense, if only for a short period while she fought him. She was not overconfident, or arrogant, but right. She sipped the warm tea once again, and she calmly glanced over the rim of her glass, looking at the bard as she strummed her lute.

Oh, I’m sorry…Is there anything else I can help you with?

"Look, I didn't come over here looking for a fight. If I wanted to slit someones thoat I wouldn't do it in the middle of a tavern." He said coldly as he looked at her. He pulled his hands from his cloak and away from his blades to resist any temptation, he hadn't fought in a while and his lust for battle and blood was growing. After that massacre he had sworn to himself not to fight unless the need to came to it. He brushed the terrible thought from his mind as he gazed into the fire. "I came here to meet you, perhapse a little company wouldn't have hurt." He said, a grim expression littered his features as he turned his glance back to her. It was true, as much as he had no feelings for those around him, one couldn't go forever with a bit of socialization and he had gone a long while without it.

She didn’t need company, nor did she need friends. Lánilmathién moved swiftly, drawing the blade quickly, and pointing the tip of the scimitar to the man’s back as he turned around. She did not move her gaze from looking forward, and her expression was just as cold. No one looked at them, and Lánilmathién slowly sipped her tea. The point of the scimitar was pressed against his flesh, and she did not move an inch.

I don’t need company, I am perfectly content with being with myself –and being by myself. If you didn’t want a fight, then you should not have come close to me, and you should not have slowed your reaction speed due to the weight of your blades.

She did not move the blade, and she did not move her expression, but once more, she began to drink her tea. The warm fluid was one she liked. The truth was, she was ready to fight here and now, and kill this fool if she had to…She wouldn’t, because she was not one to kill in public, but she would fight him until she thought she was thorough enough on his fragile body. She twisted the scimitar, slightly, and pressed it against his back harder. If they would fight here, the bard would be the only one who noticed –and she knew, from past experience, that the guard would raise the music so the two could finish their fight, and no one would be any the wiser as long as they stayed away from the main crowd, and generally stayed away from the front of the room. Everyone was entranced with the Bard’s music.

Griffin felt her blade on the lower of his back, the tip pressing against his flesh. He felt a drip of blood slowly easy from the small cut. Just above her blade he felt his wings ready themselves. If he wanted her dead he would have done it without any words exchanged. Why was he wasting his time. He thought as he urged his wings down. His hands on the other hand slipped into his coat. "I advise you to remove your blade from my back." He said as he stared straight ahead. His reaction speed was extremely quick even for a Avariel elf. In one swift motion he pulled one of his blades from its sheath at his waste and spun on his heal. He made no move to knock away her blade, however instead he brought his own blade to her throat. He touched the cold of his blade to her neck, hard enough to hurt, soft enough not to draw blood.

Griffin stood still, his blade up to her throat while her own blade pressed against his chest. His galnce icy and his hand stiff as he glared into her eyes. "I said I do not want to fight you. Don't make me." His voice stern and cold echoed between them. He continued to hold his blade up to her throat as he took a step towards her, causing her blade to press into his own chest now, drawing blood. He didn't wince or falter, but merely glared at her. "Don't make me fight..." He said again, now in a whisper.

His move was no surprise, and as the blade was held to her throat, she did not flinch in her expression. Her free hand grasped the cup of tea, and she took yet another sip. She felt no pain against her throat or neck, she had long tolerated pain. She did not move her blade, either, and when the man stepped into it and pleaded with her, she still did not waver in expression.

Swiftly –much faster then any half silver elf normally could move- she pulled her scimitar backwards, and then straight up, throwing his blade from her throat. In the same moment, she brought her blade back to the very apple of his throat. If you would like to not fight, then why wear blades? Perhaps, somewhere in you, an impulse yells out to you. You want to spill blood, but somehow, you are refusing this urge. Pleading only makes you weak, fool, and stepping into my blade did nothing more then make me consider you much more weaker then I assumed you were.

She drew her scimitar away, and in a blur of movements, the blade was in her sheath again, one leg crossed over the other, and the tea pressed to her lips once more. She continued drinking her warm tea, watching the bard carefully, who began to play softer now that the fight was not started.

Griffin would have generally never allowed her to knock away his own blade and get away with his so easily, but he was in no mood to fight. She was showing off her skill in battle and he didn't feel intimidated nor afraid. He had been trained in combat for nearly 200 years now, he had been raised on the blade and hardly been a week without spilling blood. She was in no way an intimadting figure to him, however her skill with a blade was somehow familiar. He needed not show off to her so he merely sheathed his blade into his coat as any individual would, without speed, or technique. "If you think I am pleading with you, I am afraid you are dead wrong. I am merely signifying my decision not to do battle. And perhapse I carry blades for my own protection, and old habits die hard." He replied plainly, not replying to her statement about his need to spill blood on purpose.

At his last comment, Lánilmathién did something she had not did in a very long time –she laughed. Her laugh was harsh and cold, and no one seemed to look to her as she did it either. Every continued to watch the bard. She stopped her excessive laughing, and turned to the man for the first time. Her black eyes were piercing, her expression colder then if one were to look at it from her profile. She was cold, and she was cruel, but the truth hurt.

She stood as she parted her lips to share her cold and cruel words, and she soon found herself inches from the man, her fingers pressed against his chest. With my bare fingers, I could kill you right now…And I find that fun. You seem to carry two blades –not one, which is normally one would require to protect yourself- and claim you do not last against bloodshead, and yet, you just spilled your own blood. Who’s to say my threat was going to be followed through or not? You certainly did not wait, but instead fell on my blade –yes, you seem like you are protecting yourself so well.

Sarcasm was clear in her voice when she stepped past the man and grabbed another warm jade cup of tea from the female waitress passing by. The waitress seemed to argue at first, as if she was going to protest, but noticed who took the drink, and left the matter alone. Lánilmathién returned to her seat quietly, and sipped her tea slowly.

She had not been showing off, but instead showing a dangerous side of her to the man. It had been a threat against his life, something she hoped would provoke him to leave her alone –she was obviously not successful at that attempt to get him to leave, so she would have to try another.

Besides… she said moments after her hesitation, …If I had intended to wound you in any other way, I would not have bothered to press it to your neck, I would have ran it through you.

"And I would have let you..." He replied, a tone of cold sarcasm in his voice as he glared at her. "Do you know who I am?" He paused for a moment and stared at her. He was this close to lossing control and showing her his true power. "No!" His words were loud and stern. He heard them echo throughout the pub as the majority of attention was focused on them. "You have no idea who I am, where I am from, my skill in battle, and most importantly, you don't know my intentions. Next time you want to pick a fight, know your enemy and their intentions, you-" He stopped himself abruptly as he felt his skin grow hot. He wanted to kill her, right there and right now. He wanted to slip his blades from their sheaths and drive them into her flesh. He wanted to feel her blood running down his hands as her life force left her. "NO!" Screamed a voie in his mind and at that moment he knew, he was turning into his father. The one thing on this earth he didn't want to be.

"Sorry for interupting your evening my good citizens. Please, accept my apology for my despicable behaviour tonight. I guess having a social conversation is pretty hard without a fight heating up!" He said aloud to the now silent crowd as a small smirk danced across his features. He paused then stared coldly at the women. His ice like glare stared deep into her soul and her mind alike. "Till next time..." He said and threw her a plain look. With that he slipped his hood back over his head and strode gracefuly and quickly from the tavern.

Her intentions were of her own. She did not need to know his thoughts, his skill in battle, she only needed to know he had weapons, and that was not even important because she had killed in battle once before. She cared little for this man, so she needed not to worry about him. A single look grasped upon her face as he swiftly left, and she carefully sipped the cup of tea as the warm fluid ran through her throat. His apology to the citizens was hardly noticed, for most of them were paying attention to the bard, who winked at Lani and then continued playing her instruments with such poise and grace. She wished to kill the man, of did Lani wish to kill him, but if she did she would be giving in to temptation that was far from her own. Although, she had a very large curel streak. She would enjoy torturing him...

A thin smile graced her pale lips as she pulled the hood of her own cloak of her black locks of the raven's feather and pulled it close to her body, buckling the blade back onto her waistband as she stood and stretched, taking the last bit of her tea and then shifting her way among the crowds of people, leaving in the shadows and darkness, like she had come in.