Night had nearly fallen over the city of Taras, casting deep shadows over city streets and enshrouding alleyways in shadow. There was a faint glow of reddish orange on the horizon but that was missed by the city occupants. Blocked out by the high walls surrounding the city. There were few within those walls who cared for such beauty anyway. The city occupants were too busy with their own business to stop and look upon one of nature's wonders. They went about their business privately and without care to the others they crossed. There was little conversation among those on the streets in these darker hours. They simply rushed to finish whatever menial asks they had left and then hurried home. Unaware of the presence of someone high above them, watching them. Like a silent sentinel keeping careful watch over those who walked the streets at night. Wind whipped about a figure enshrouded in white who was steadying himself with nothing more than a hand upon the wall of the bell tower. The way the snowy fabric wrapped itself about that statuesque figure was a picture of elegant magnificence. Whatever face the silent sentinel wore was hidden behind shadows cast by the cowl of his hood. Even if the people several stories below happened to look up they could not catch a glimpse of their watcher's face.

What am I doing here, Lokiri asked himself once again for what seemed the hundredth time. It had only been little more than a month since a lightning storm had been the telltale of his arrival on this alien world. The people proved much like those on his own world, but it was the world itself which proved an oddity to him. It seemed to pull at him... To impress on him a certain action or decision as if the Immortal's themselves were attempting to pick his path. It seemed the world of Imythess was trying to adjust to the presence of so alien a figure on it's soil. Would this world continue to pull and influence his actions until he finally found some kind of fitting purpose? How long would he be manipulated like a puppet on a string? What games were the Immortal's attempting to play with him? A gentle sigh escaped smooth lips. It seemed there were never answers for him on this world. Just more questions to follow the ones already thought of or asked. A shake of his head, the first movement from him since arriving at that location over an hour ago, and the Ithilian turned to leave.

It was muffled at first, as if something had obstructed the sound from completely being expelled. It was not something to raise notice at first, for it was impossible to tell what it was. However the second attempt the woman made halted Lokiri in his tracks. A scream ripped through he silence of the night within Taras, one born of terror. It was a call for help, a plea. One that, normally the High Prince would have ignored. There was always crime being committed within a city of this size. Those unfortunate enough to fall into it's clutches were not his business. However, that familiar stirring was there once again. An impulse to go to this woman's aid. Clearly he was supposed to go there, but the question remained: Why? Could this be just another plot of the Immortal's? The muscles beneath that snowy cloak visibly tensed at that thought. A sign of just how frustrated he was if even that small measure of control was leaving him. The scream came again, coupled with a violent curse from another. From his high vantage point it was easy to establish the location of this problem. It was in the darker, less hospitable corner of the city. The local hang out for the more shady types, he was told. How incredibly unsurprising that a woman would find trouble in that particular part of Taras. No matter, though. Perhaps he might find some measure of a challenge in those that assaulted the mystery woman.

Turning he was gone from the bell tower in a flutter of white, emerging through the front entrance of the monolithic cathedral. The wind was non existent here on the ground where buildings stood as barriers from its constant gales. Still the tail of his cloak flicked out behind him as he moved swiftly down the near empty streets and alleys. Within his constantly turning mind he was already planning his first move. There were a number of things this troubled woman might be assailed by but the High Prince of Ithilril and General of the Ithilian armies planned for everything. The woman's cries for help came into hearing once again, and quickly drew nearer as he rushed down dark streets. No one attempted to stop him. Though he was traveling into the more roguish part of the city none attempted to rob him or pick his pocket. That in itself was a miracle but it wasn't something he dwelled upon. Another turning of a corner and he was suddenly looking upon the situation he had been called to.

The woman who had cried for help was being wrestled to the ground by a group of three filthy looking men. Two of them, each as large as the other, were holding her down while the other, a man much smaller and clearly the leader of them, was ripping at the front of her dress. They did not notice the approaching figure. Apparently, the woman managed to bite the smaller one because he leapt back and cursed her while shaking his hand. That very same hand then pulled back to strike her. It was then that Lokiri made his presence known. With a grip like iron he seized the wiry little man's wrist and yanked him upward. Before he could even call out there was a powerful punch landed on his side at the base of his ribcage, expelling any hope for air. There was a loud snapping of bone as a violent kick shatter the man's knee cap. Still there was no air within his lungs and he could not call out in pain. Besides, a quick chop to the throat would have ceased it anyway. As the wiry man crumbled to the ground, the figure in white moved passed him to the two henchmen rising to their feet. They were even bigger than first glance had revealed. Not in a muscular sense, exactly, but more chubby with a wide girth hanging over the waist line of their pants.

"Big mistake, stranger..." One of them said as they stepped over the frightened woman and lunged for him. They might have been twins, the way they attacked in unison, predicting one another's movements flawlessly. Still, such seamless actions were inadequate when confronted by someone with pure skill. Lokiri waded into their thrown punches and kicks with the grace of a dancer. He never stopped moving, with every shift of balance and tightening of muscles he evaded them. A sweeping kick was avoided by the slightest lifting of his foot. A punch was flicked aside by a simple misdirecting block with a forearm. He was like the patient predator, slipping through it's prey's defenses and patiently awaiting the opportune moment to strike. The first of which came when an off balance punch was thrown his way. He caught the massive fist within his palm, using the man's enormous weight against him as he pulled him nearer. Like water flowing around rock he slipped around to the side and with an open handed strike another loud snapping of bone pierced through the night. The Ithilian's strike had been aimed precisely behind the elbow, the easiest point to cause it too break. With a cry of pain he fell back, assisted by a mighty straight kick to the chest. In just a few seconds thee was only the one man left. Most street ruffians were rather cowardly and would bolt once they no longer held an advantage. Surprisingly that was not the case this time. After a brief glance toward his fallen comrades the man leapt at Lokiri once again. This one was finished even more quickly than the others. Slipping in close the High Prince brought his forearms down on each side of the man's collar bone. The steel of hidden bracers that guarded Loki's forearms met solid bone with a resounding crack. The filthy ruffian's knees gave out immediately, the rest of him tipping forward with what was left of the moment he had had moments before. Blackness took him as he fell face first onto the cobble stoned street.

A palpable silence fell over the night once more, enveloping the High Prince as well as the lady he had just rescued from rape. It seemed shock at her own rescue had rendered her immobile for even though she had the chance to flee once her assailants mention had been drawn elsewhere she hadn't moved. She was staring at her savior now in slack jawed wonder, awe sparkling in her amber colored gaze. If that open admiration phased the Ithilian it did not show. He knelt by her side with cat-like grace, every movement fluid and precise. "Are you alright?" he asked, his voice carrying a softness that belied the viscous ease with which he had just dispatched her captors. "They did not harm you too greatly?"

Eyes as cold as glacial ice were studying her with a detached efficiency. Coolly assessing her form and determining if there was anything damaged or even broken. The front of her dress was ripped slightly from the unwanted hands of that slender man, but there was nothing exposed that shouldn't be. He had arrived just in time it seemed, but was it by coincidence or design? Finally the woman seemed to compose herself slightly. Her mouth snapped shut with a lick of teeth and she tried to speak. However it seemed her voice was proving elusive as of yet for she simply shook her head right after. All the answer that was required. In one fluid movement the High Prince rose to his feet, like the uncoiling of a snake in its flawless grace. He offered her a hand, a piece of the bracer that had just shattered collar bone glinted silver in the pale moonlight. She accepted it wordlessly, rising to her feet with no where near the elegance he had just displayed. Whoever lived within the buildings surrounding them they were not stirred by the commotion outside their window. Perhaps they simply had no desire to get involved. Loki knew the feeling.

After asking where she called home he offered to walk her home. She willingly accepted, her voice finally returning to her along with a whole array of compliments and rambling conversation. While they moved she went on and on about how thankful she was for his help. How such things came too rare in these parts of the city, and how she would willingly repay him should he ever find a need for her talents. She was a herb women, she explained, something Lokiri had already guessed by the mixture of plant-like smells that enveloped her. A healer of sorts she used her herbs to brew cures for sickness. More often than not, though, she said she served as a mid-wife for mothers in labor. Her remedies helped to ease the pain and she was knowledgeable in assisting the delivery itself, though she had no children of her own. Lokiri kept his own part of the conversation to minimal comments. Just enough to assure her he was listening even though his attention was turned outward. Though her constant babbling was annoying at best she was simply trying to comfort herself by filling the silence with the sound of her voice. He was not so cruel as to condemn her for such simpleminded pursuits.

The place of her current residence proved a tavern. One that seemed less that honest and obviously served nearly anything but honest folk. Glacial blue eyes seemed to freeze over as Lokiri surveyed the area, noting several drunks passed out against the outside walls of the place. Even catching a thief rifling through one of the drunks pockets for any kind of spare change. The thief was not bothered by their presence and, in fact, seemed not to even notice. He simply moved on to the next incompetent drunk and continued his searches. What trouble would one such as him find in such a place? The snowy white and cleanliness of his figure would stand out like a torch in darkness among these people. He would be the target of every kind of trick and deception because, to their eyes he was a wellspring of wealth. Every fabric of his being would scream money to these people and the fact that he did indeed have several purses of gold concealed within that cloak was even less comforting. Still, intimidation was a strong ally and few could stand up to the icy glare which emanated from the High Prince's expressionless visage. He followed the lady to the door, entering with a flurry of white and committing himself to whatever dangers might lie within...

The sun had faded, along with the colors in the sky, leaving only black. Though Veronna had grown use to being up in the day, nighttime still was when she felt most alive. And this night, she decided to see how the city was doing. She knew that she could never truly get rid of all crime, which was fine by her, because life could not always be perfect. And without crime, there would be no heroes. Before going out she had strapped her scimitars to her hips and her longsword to her back, the two daggers she wore were concealed in her leather boots. She threw a cloak on, to keep away the cool night air, since the days had not yet started to warm. She left the temple of swords, walking out in to the streets of Taras.

The port city was always bustling, people who wanted to leave Imythess would find a ship going to some distant land, while others brought goods from those lands to be sold on the market. Even as it got dark out, people were still on the streets. It could also be because she was in the more respectable part of town, where most nobles lived. She started walking with the crowd, most heading to the Song of Elves for a drink or a bed to stay in. She thought about going there herself, thinking that a drink sounded kind of good at the moment. But she had just gotten out of a building and wanted some fresh air before going back in to a building. So she continued to walk, blending in with the crowd, and not drawing any attention to herself. That could always be because she had her hood up and no one was able to see her face.

She walked by the Song of Elves, noticing how busy it was. Many sailors were in there, most from ships that had just come in that day to unload their goods for tomorrows market, since tomorrow was one of the busiest days in Taras. She walked by, not wanting to get caught up in all the bustle within the tavern. As she continued to walk the streets became less and less crowded, people getting to their homes or taverns for the night, except for the few who were night dwellers, such as herself. She slowly got to the darker part of the city, where most of the not so respectful people lived. And where most of the major crimes happened. As she walked down a street, she got an odd feeling someone was watching her. She paused, resting a hand on one of her scimitars, ready for an attack. She let her senses spread, her eyes scanning the area in front of her. When she realized where she felt someones gaze. She smiled slightly and looked up, and way up on the top of a building, she saw a figure wearing white. She could not see his face, so she did not know who it was. She looked back down, wondering if that man was someone ready to commit a crime, or save someone from being hurt.

It mattered little to her at the moment. Though she was not even sure where she was going. She walked on through streets that were almost completely empty except for the occasional shady person walking by. It did not scare her to be wandering here alone, she felt perfectly safe, knowing she could take on anyone here. She walked passed an alleyway, barely noticing the people there. She stopped and turned around, and peered around the corner, her red eyes immediately noticing the man in white as the man who had been high up on a building. She watched for a few moments, to see whether he was there helping someone or hurting someone. She watched as he started attacking the men who were an the alleyway, his blows harder and faster than the other gruff looking men. She noticed a woman on the ground, and knew that the man in white was there helping the woman. She smiled, glad to know that there were still heroes in the city.

She turned away, and started moving away from the alleyway, knowing that she was not needed there. She paused, thinking where the closest tavern would be. The two main taverns were Song of Elves and Bloodseal. She would be closer to Bloodseal. It took her only a brisk walk to get her to her destination. The tavern before her was surrounded by drunks collapsed outside. She noted a couple figures standing to the side, their hoods up and eyes watching anyone who exited the tavern. She knew they were vampires, their lust for blood quite apparent. But she had no right to slay them. She knew many people hunted Vampires, either for some sort of gain, or because they are evil. She never felt she had the right to end a life just because they had to suck blood to live.

Without hesitation she pushed opened the door, the smell of alcohol and tobacco feeling her nostrils. She looked around, the tavern was smaller than Song of Elves, and had a few more darker looking characters within it. But it did not irritate her at all, and she pulled down her hood without worrying about anyone recognizing her. She saw a free table and made her way passed a couple of other tables, looking at each person individually, identifying each race with ease. She got to the table she had seen open and pulled a seat out and sat down, taking her cloak and longsword off before making herself comfortable. She sat the longsword on the table in front of her, able to see anyone who might try and swipe it. When she took of her cloak, it revealed a body the was in perfect condition, her clothing consisting her leather armor vest which kept her arms bare for better movement while in combat and black pants that fitted her form. She had placed herself at the table to watch who came in, curious about who all came to this tavern. She had never been here, the place completely new to her, but she acted as though she had been here before, not wanted anyone to know she was new to these parts.

She watched several people come in and out, no one catching her interest. Until the man in white walked in. Her eyes focused on him, their red depths looking the man up and down. She had noticed that a woman came in before him, the one from the alleyway. He stuck out like a sore thumb, and she notice many people look his way as he entered. She smiled to herself and stood, her white air falling over her shoulders as she got to her feet. She walked by tables again, and towards the man in white. She got closer, and when she was close enough, she grabbed one of his hands, pulling on it slightly. "Please come sit with me." She said, gesturing the other hand that did not hold his, towards the table she was sitting at. She knew she would probably startle him by coming up to him like she did, but she was not worried about him doing anything to her.

Whispers of treachery, the hint of malice, it all came down upon the patron's of the Bloodseal tavern in a tidal wave of wicked thought and planning. Some called over close friends, ones that could be trusted at least as far as helping to gain some extra cash. Others simply sat in silence in an attempt o hide their vile plots from their potential victim. A meaningless gesture but one Lokiri could admire, he supposed. They at least showed some form of menial cunning, though it be largely inadequate to complete their chosen profession. The longer he remained in this place of cut throats and vagabonds the more he would be exposed to the threat of being mugged or killed. It was strange, but somehow the idea of an an entire tavern full of greedy people out to cut his purse and give him a nasty accident seemed almost welcoming. Perhaps it was a spell of . The Ithilian got it sometimes after being away for a long while. here was no place like home, they said, and he was a firm believer of the idea. This place had the smell of home. That delicate mixture of liquor and tobacco with a subtle undercurrent of sweat and the faint aroma of cooking wafting from the beneath the kitchen door. Then, of course, there was that subtle undercurrent of malice. The rising of tension as al eyes turn ed toward the obvious pay out for a long day. That was how these people were looking at him now, and like what happened so very often back home, many would be following him out tonight. There was a chance they may even try and take him within the tavern, depending on how desperate they were for his money. That would be the unfortunate mistake for them for although they would be properly dissuaded should they follow him outside in just a little while, should they strike in here he would be forced to make an example.

The woman he had followed here whispered something of going back to her rooms for some rest along with a mumbled thanks. It fell on near deaf ears as Lokiri's was listening to the malevolent whispers all around him. Some were already losing their nerve, he deduced from several different conversations. Simply by the way he stood, confident and poised, hey were convinced he was some kind of professional killer. The corners of his mouth quirked in the fainest of smiles for if they only knew the nature of who they were planning to assault they would not even feel comfortable sitting within the same room. Needless to say, with so much to draw his attention and finely tuned senses, it was a shock to suddenly feel a slender hand slip within his own. The Ithilian's natural reaction was to strike and his body tensed to do just that. Muscles knotted into iron like chords, his forearms suddenly rippled with separate sinews all hardening instantly in preparation to strike. The fact that the hand was small, and therefore a woman's did not even register to the warriors mind until those eyes, as cold as the freezing ices of the north, tuned on her. Glacial sapphire met molten ruby in a clash of personality and sudden understanding. The effect on that understand was immediate for Lokiri as he relaxed his muscles and allowed himself a small reprieve from a near paranoid level of alertness. There was no comment offered to hers as she drew him through the crowd to her table near the back. She sat facing the door, he noted without expression. A simple sign of a need for security a bit like his own and, although it made it so he had to sit with his back to the door, he had to allow her some bit of respect. Besides, even with his back to everyone the Ithilian was comfortable. Relying solely on his sense of sight was a habit he had been rid of early in his childhood years.

The longsword resting on the table was clearly hers, though in the Ithilian's opinion it did not suit her. Had he to guess he would have ventured to say her sword fighting style centered more around the dual wielding, somewhat like his own. She carried herself with that leveled balance required for such a style. The smooth grace with which this exotic figure moved was just another beacon pointing toward that answer. It was more than just the light-footed nature of the elves, which she clearly was, but a subtle current of fluid motion that could only be accomplished by training. She was clearly a user of two blades, perhaps even scimitars much like himself. The blade sitting on the table top was dually noted however. It's open presence served as a warning to all those who dared give her trouble and, it seemed, that warning was highly effective. The shady characters of this establishment glanced at her out the corners of their eyes, never looking directly in her gaze. they whispered of her in tight circles with hints of awe, clearly marking her as a figure of importance as well as exotic beauty. This too was accepted within the subtle contours of Loki's working mind without comment. His expression remained masked and detached, completely without reaction to any of the threats around him.

"I trust you have some reason to call me to your table," he said at last after ordering a drink and offering to buy her a glass as well. His voice was strong and his words graceful, much like his movements. Unlike those around him he met her eyes, completely at ease with whoever it was that sat across him. Whatever importance she held within the city it clearly did not impress or perturb him. There was a certain softness in his gaze once again, now that there seemed no threat. Still there remained tiny flecks of icy danger within them, visible to any who looked carefully. "Perhaps I'm wrong but people don't often invite total strangers to sit with them."

The drinks came then, delivered by a comely looking waitress in a greasy dress. Perhaps the dangers of him being in this place had him on edge but Lokiri thought that, looking up into her dark eyes while he handed her a gold coin, he detected a hint of treachery within her as well. No doubt that golden coin would not help to dissuade her or anyone else who happened to catch a glimpse of its metallic surface as it passed by either. hat simply could not be helped, however, for gold was all the Ithilian had. He took a sip of the wine he had ordered, immediately realizing it was a mistake to do so. Grimacing slightly he forced himself to swallow the heavily watered liquid. The natural flavor of what was supposed to be a delicacy had been lost, mottled by the heavy addition of water. The glass he was holding was not worth a copper coin, much less the gold he paid for it. He set it down, his hand resting easily on the table while the other remained in his lap, out of sight.

"Forgive me," he offered after the terrible aftertaste had abated a bit. "but it seems this place has made me forget my manners. My name is Lokiri." he offered her the hand that had been resting on the tabletop. His left, it just so happened, and as the sleeve of his cloak hung down the form of armored bracers could be easily open for her to see. The introduction made, the High Prince finally cast down his hood, revealing a darkly complexion face framed by shoulder length hair the color of midnight. A bang immediately fell loose before his eyes and it was brushed back as quickly as it came. Eve in that simple movement Lokiri held a grace that was not natural to humans, as he appeared to be. That he was something more was a fact that was not all that difficult to deduce if one took the time and made the effort to do so. As always his face bore an expression of calm, his smooth features elegant and without flaw. There was not the faintest hint of a smile gracing those slightly compressed lips, and his eyes might as well have been mirrors for all they revealed of what was going on within his mind. The his posture was relaxed he studied the elven woman across from him with care, taking stock of every subtle trait or action his perceptive senses could deduce. Were she anything like him which, surprising though it was, he thought she just might be, she would be doing much the same with him. The fact remained, however, that strangers were not openly welcomed to a person's table unless they had something they wanted. What then was this woman after?

Veronna had felt all of the man's muscles tighten at once, ready to strike. She did not flinch, as the man finally looked at her, her red eyes meeting his blue ones, and an understanding was met with out words. She continued to hold on to his hand has they walked back to her table, all the eyes in the tavern watching them, or more like him, for this man obviously did not consider to under dress when coming to the tavern. When they reached her table, she let go of his hand as she let her hand fall to her side, touching her scimitar for a brief moment, which was more of a reflex then anything, making sure that the blade was still there.

She sat down again, her eyes never leaving the man in white, trying to read him and understand this man. She smiled when he asked why she brought him to her table. "Would you have rather sat somewhere else? Perhaps closer to the people who want your money?" She asked, gesturing her arms around her, where almost everyone was watching them. As the barmaid came over Veronna asked for a pint of mead, not taking her eyes off of the man sitting before her. "I have my reasons, sometimes they can be a little hard to understand."

She finally let her gaze turn to the barmaid as she delivered their drinks. She offered the woman no money, which seemed wrong, but the gold piece that the man had given was more then enough for both their drinks and more. Veronna watched the man take a drink from his glass, amused by how his reactions to the wine was. She would never order wince from a place like Bloodseal, knowing it would not be a very good quality. She lifted her pint up and took a drink, making sure not to get any foam on her face. It was not the best mead, but it worked, and it was bearable for now.

After the man had got done with his first drink of wine, he finally offered his name, extending a hand to her. She lifted her right hand to him, the slender, callused palm obviously a fighters. "You can call me Veronna" She said. She noted the bracer under Lokiri's sleeve, which seemed to be well made and strong. She wore no armor besides her leather armor vest, which really hardly gave any protection. She watched as he casted down his hood, revealing a dark, and by most standards handsome, face and black hair, which did not want to stay in place as a lock fell in front of his face. She watched his movement of putting the hair back in place. He was graceful indeed, a trait hard for humans to achieve. But perhaps he was not human, it was something she would have to look in to later. He showed hardly any emotion besides calmness, which was a bit different then her. She showed all her emotions out plainly, unafraid of how people read her.

She brought her hand back to her drink, wrapping her fingers around the pint and looking down at it, thinking. He was going to want answers, so she best give them. "I saw you earlier, helping a woman. I must say I am impressed, I do not expect people to be that selfless around here. But you had the upper hand anyways." She smiled again, taking a drink from her pint once more, wiping the bit of foam which had stuck to her lips, away. "Taras is getting worse each day. Though most of those who are in this tavern, stay in one part of the city. While those with money stay in a different part. It saddens me to see the city like this. But people like you are what this city needs. Someone to help those who are in need." She explained, her eyes becoming sad as she looked around the tavern, at the people who were still watching them, and making most of them look away with her gaze. She had expecting hardly anyone to recognize her here, but her name and appearance was known to almost everyone in Taras, she was just glad no one had said anything about her yet.

"I guess all I wanted to do was say thank you. I am not in this part of the city enough to change anything, I'm just glad there are people like you who help out when you can." Her gaze had fallen back on to him, her face showing she was indeed pleased with him.

(Not very long or good...Sorry... :unsure: )

(OOC: nonsense, you're post was wonderful. :OOC)

One drink of the wine had been more than enough to rob him of any kind of thrust so Lokiri pushed it away toward the center of the table. Both hands rested lightly on the table, a silent gesture of peace for anyone wise enough to look. By not keeping one hand from sight he was effectively saying he wanted no trouble. That went fro everyone else in the tavern as well though he doubted they understood. Not that they would care even if they did. Those oceanic blues still lacked the icy fire that had made them shine dangerously minutes before in the alley. They darted about the tavern proper searching the faces of everyone within view. His mind was running a mile a minute, gears turning over the current situation to instantly assess threats and advantages in every conceivable out come this discussion might reach. That did not mean he was not listening to the elven woman before him, however, and when she spoke of having reasons of her own and complicated nature he had to smile.

" I can relate." Someone fell backward in their chair and it struck the floor with a resounding bang. The ithilian's gaze snapped toward it, eyes growing cold for only an instant before he found no threat and brought them back to meet the woman across from him. By the time he did they had already melted into a disguising softness yet again. When she introduced herself, her small, slender hand grasping his own larger one, he simply nodded. In that tiny moment of contact he had strengthened the suspicion that she was a fighter of some sort or another. The name Veronna meant nothing to him and, if it was supposed to, he obviously didn't realize it. Still, it was impossible to miss the people who avoided her gaze and shied away from their table. Whoever she was, Veronna obviously held a high station within the city.

He listened to her confession of seeing his momentary struggle against the thugs without comment, deciding it was better to let her speak what was on her mind instead of interrupting. That said he could not help show a bit of surprise as she referred to him as some kind of hero. Though she did not speak the title he caught it none the less. It was in the way she talked about the cities growing dilemma and his action, the way she described it. There was a time when he would have been flattered to be called a hero, though that time seemed a lifetime ago, but this was not one of those times.

"Don't make me out to be al that grand just yet," he said quietly. Despite his not feeling worthy of her thanks some small part of him was still happy to have received it. Sometimes it was just nice to feel appreciated, he supposed. "I had my own reasons for helping her. " Just then a girl dressed all in black slipped down the stairs and into the spacious common room of the tavern. She was slender and moved carefully and slowly as if trying to avoid notice. Her hair was hidden beneath a slightly drawn hood that covered only her head but not her face. That was hidden behind the thin fabric of a black veil. Try as she might though she could not hide from Lokiri's watchful eye. His posture changed slightly as he applied weight onto his elbows which rested on the table and leaned toward Veronna.

"You see the girl in black? The one with her face hidden? She chattered way to much to be a herbalist who had just fallen under assault." Out the corner of his eye he watched her slip into a seat opposite a darkly clad man who sat with his back to them. "You're elven, so I assume you're hearing is exceptional at least. Can you tell me what they're saying?"

The man before her amused the dark elf, she could see the wheels turning in his head, see him calculate everyone and everything around the entire tavern. Veronna was much more at ease within the tavern. She took to a very casual sitting position in her chair, crossing one leg over the other, resting one arm over the back of the chair, the other in her lap. Though one hand was not visible by all, she looked comfortable enough and did not show many signs of trying anything.

She let a slight smile spread on to her lips when Lokiri told her not to make him out to be a hero, and explained he had his reasons for helping the young woman in need. "I am sure you do, but nonetheless, you helped someone." She said watching Lokiri closely, wondering why he could not just accept mere thanks. She did not say anything else, as she notice Lokiri looking at something, Veronna let her red eyes follow his gaze, and saw a woman in black walking from the stairs. For some reason the woman reminded Veronna of an old friend, someone the goddess had trusted for a time, but found no trust in her when the time came to part ways.

Veronna found herself looking down at her drink before, reflecting on the past. Not much good came from such things, but she had a habit of her mind wandering about previous happenings. Her red eyes flicked up at the movement Lokiri made as he leaned forward towards her. She leaned forward slightly also, to hear what the man had to say. Veronna raised her eyebrows when he told her that was the woman he had helped earlier. Curious. Veronna leaned back in her chair, and without glancing where the woman and man sat, she opened her ears. She had grown accustomed to blocking out a majority of noise from her ears, or a least had gotten use to ignoring most sounds. She heard many voices, including the bard who had started to play and sing on the small stage in the tavern. She than let her eyes glance over to where the woman and man sat, matching their mouths to the voices she was picking up.

"-ey will be arriving within the week." A male's voice said. "Good, we can not wait much longer. We have to strike when least expected." The woman replied, her voice not very friendly sounding, and seemed much more mature than her appearances. "Did you see who's h-" The man was about to say but was cut short by the woman. "Of course I did, you fool. We must be careful about what we speak of."
"Did you have trouble making it here? You seem on edge."
"Why do you think I'm on edge?" She woman asked. She shook her head. "I only had a little. Luckily our man in white was around."
"Who is he exactly?" The man asked, glancing towards the table where both Veronna and Lokiri sat.
"You would not know or understand. It is for me and my superiors to know. You do your job and I will do mine. I must go now, I will be in contact in two days." Her voice growing a little snappish she pardoned herself from the man's presence. Veronna finally looked over to where the man had been sitting. She was puzzled when her eyes found him gone from his sit, with no noise to accompany his departure. Perhaps he was a mage and knew how to teleport.

Veronna looked back to Lokiri, her own mind trying to piece together what the two might have been talking about. "It seems they are plotting something, or expecting their next delivery of something." She frowned, thinking. "The woman seemed to be the one in charge, giving the other orders and such. Do you know them at all?" She asked, wondering if there was any connection at all. She left out the part about them both recognizing her, finding it irrelevant for the moment. There was something that irritated her about the whole thing, something that tugged at the back of her mind, telling her to be weary. "It sounds they are expecting a shipment or maybe even some people. And it sounds like they can not wait much longer." She said, looking over to where the two had been sitting. "Did you by chance see where the man had gone?"

The Ithilian occupied himself as his companion leaned back to listed in on the woman's conversation by falling into a completely fabricated conversation in which his lips moved soundlessly and he gestured as if describing something. By all appearances they would be swapping tales and it was simply his turn to speak while the dark elf woman relaxed in her seat and listened. Perhaps the two on which they were eavesdropping might have thought he was bragging over his back alley victory earlier, though it would be a clear sign as to how little they knew of him were that the case. The High Prince had never been one to boast of his battles and victories, preferring instead to let his actions simply speak for themselves. Never once had he recounted a tale of his feats in combat or his conquests in war. The stories were still told, of course. Just never from his lips. It mattered little either way. The important things was to at least keep up the pretense of a conversation while his companion listened in. His ears, though sharper than a humans, could only pick out tiny snippets of what was said. No where near enough to actually understand what had transpired between the two.

Not once did Lokiri glance over in the direction of the table. Even as the darkly clad woman rose from her seat and headed back upstairs. The words 'man' and 'white' stood out clearly in his mind. Two words used on Aratarndor to describe him. These people were aware of him, it seemed, though how much they knew remained to be seen. He could follow the woman up to her room, could force the information out of her one way or another, but that would mean giving up the advantage he now held. They were not aware that he knew of them, that he was on to them. That would be a helpful tool if used correctly. Whatever these two had planned they thought they had him within their web of schemes and plots as well. They were going to realize their folly soon enough. Just because he was a skilled warrior did not mean he lacked the wit to tangle with the greatest tactitions of this world. This woman was going to find a hard lesson learned at the end of this tale, even if he did end up getting caught up in everything.

"The woman is new to me." he told Veronna with a shake of his head, his eyes distracted as he was clearly puzzling over this new bit of information. A shipment... some kind of plan... what the hell were they doing? His mind turned and formulated possible scenarios and plots that these people might be trying to bring into play, thinking up ways to counter every maneuver as if they were playing a game of chess. That's all battle was, really. One large, complicated game of chess. For a time the High Prince was not even aware that his dark elf companion had even spoken again, but once his mind did finally register her words he glanced up from his brooding.

"The man was never here... It was just a shadow of himself. Something of magical origin, I'm sure. Among the darker circles he is known as Wraith... but I am told he is also a noble of the city. As to which one I obviously haven't any idea..."
****************
A door was opened and the three would be rapists from the alley stumbled inside a simply designed building that fit in with the rest of the city perfectly. There was chaos and confusion as men swore and helped the three struggle to their feet. Anger coursed through everyone one of the street gang member's faces, a desire for vengeance already springing forth within their hearts as they looked upon their battered comrades. Question after question was tossed their way. Who did it? What happened? Where is the man now? All her answered with half mumbles and tired groans. Finally, they reached the inner chamber, the place where Gabriel, their leader, sat upon his own expensively crafted throne. King of bandits and criminals.

"Who did this to you?" he asked immediately, concern and anger flashing across his face as he rose from his seat to go to his fallen men. "Answer, man!"

"M-Man in white.... sir... jumped us.... took us by surprise..."

"He... w-went into the... Blood... Bloodseal... sir.."

Gabriel stood up to his full height, a towering six foot four with terrible black eyes that seemed to pierce straight to the soul. "Gather the men... We'll teach this fool what it means to cross me..."

Veronna shook her head; she was never very good with magic, or able to tell what was magic all the time. It also troubled her that neither Lokiri nor her knew what the man and woman had discussed. Veronna worried for her city, not wanting any harm to come to it. As she sat there thinking, her eyes slightly out of focus, she tried to piece together what little information she had gotten. Usstan xun naut inbal draeval ulu t'zaraw folt trivial mizil'ra. Dorn elgg jal l'zatoasten vel'uss daewl ulu jivviim ussta che'el. She muttered to herself, her voice agitated as the dark elf language rolled off her tongue.

The tavern door opened and her red eyes shot up from where she had been looking, her hands immediately dropping to her hips to rest on her scimitars. All her senses had just gone off as several men came in to the tavern. Some people seemed to know who these men were, and those who did started moving away from the group of six. She watched as they started looking around the tavern. "I believe you have some friends looking for you." She said, nodding her head forward, indicating that they were behind Lokiri. She was able to recognize one of the men as one from the alley, and one of them that had met Lokiri's wrath.

Veronna turned a bit in her chair, allowing her white hair to fall at the side of her face, hiding her features from the men who started walking towards their table. She would hate to scare away anyone before she had a chance to join in a fight. A man, who looked more like a brute then anything, placed a hand on Lokiri's shoulder. Veronna could only imagine what was going to happen to that hand. But Veronna had her own problems, as the men surrounded the entire table. The goddess kept her face hidden, her head slightly down, her hair hiding the smile which spread on her face. A hand grabbed Veronna's forearm and lifted her out of her chair and then flung her out of the way. She landed on her back, on a table, knocking over several drinks, and the men at the table began to swear loudly as they stood up.

She had noticed that more men, belonging to what ever group or guild the six had originally come from, came in, from several different areas, obviously knowing where all the back doors were. She had let herself be thrown so she could watch Lokiri at work. She wished to know what he was capable of. But her view of the man in white was taken up as a man walked over to where Veronna was on the table. She waited until he was close enough, and kicked out, her feet slamming against the man's gut. She lifted herself from the table and placed her feet on the floor. She had barely anytime before another man came at her, this one with a dagger in hand. She let him charge at her, not drawing any weapons. She dodged the dagger easily, and when the man tried stabbing at her, she grabbed his arm and flung him down, a feat that most would not guess the dark elf could do, considering her size.

People around her started fighting, and the whole tavern erupted in a bar fight. A couple people came at her, but as she turned to face them they froze, their weapons, which consisted of a mug and a short sword, quivering slightly in their hands. Veronna held their gaze for a moment, until one of them dropped to her knees as the other slowly backed away, until he figured he was far enough and ran. Veronna walked up to the woman who had knelt in front of her and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Come to my temple when you have the chance." She said, as she walked by.

She looked up to where the man in white would be. She had no idea who these men were, or where they came from, but one thing was obvious, they were after Lokiri.