Stirling sat near the fire, wrapped up in his cloak. It was a chilly night tonight, and the tavern was offering him shelter. He tried to mimic the huddling motions of those around him, copying the way they rubbed thier hands together, desperate for warmth.

It was this was that he tried to kid himself. He didn't need the warmth, or even, for that matter, like it. The nature of his race meant he could stand up to it. But the thief didn't like what he was. So he kept trying to kid himself.

Slowly his eyes roved about the room, scanning all the inhabitants. A few people caught his eye, his natural talent for potentional victems seeking them out. He leaned back against the wall. Perhaps later he would rob them. Perhaps...

Lance booted the door open. It stopped with a loud crack. Cold air rushed into the room. Lance walked over to the counter.
"I'll have a pint of water and a pint of ale."
the bartender handed him the drink and Lance paid him. Lance walked over to the fire and sat down. He laughed outloud at all the mortals. Then he threw the water on the fire. It went out with a hiss. Lance just smiled. He began to sip at his ale slowly. One man got up and came at him with a knife. Lance drew his katana and pointed at the fool.
"If you want to die right here, than come at me."
Lance smiled evily at him. The fool sat back down. Lance would rob him later, and maybe kill him for the fun of it.

Stirling watched the new figure cautiously. He looked to be a tough one, and seemed to be different from the others. Something about his smell. The Half-Drow licked his lips, and searched for comfort in the obsidion pommel of his dagger. His eyes didn't stray from the stranger all night.

Slowly, the room emprtied, all the occupants going home or to thier rooms. Only the two of them, plus a sleepy barman, were left in the room. It was now that Stirling plucked up his courage. "So," he began, uttering the words hoarsely, "What brings you here?"

Lance had fallen asleep. He was dreaming of the battle he once fought in. He was awoken by a mans voice. Lance's eyes shot open and he looked at the hooded figure.
I'm here for no reason inparticular. Just to sleep and drink my rotten heart out, and if im in the mood. Take someone's life away from them."
Lance shrugged and remembered he had a pint of ale. Lance took another swig and went back to looking at the ashes in the fire place.

Stirling nodded, listening to the man's little speech. When he had finished, he asked him in a casual voice "Are you depressed? Or just in denile about something?"

The Half-Drow knew he shouldn't have said something like that, but frankly he didn't care. A little actio in his life might get him going, anyway.