[b]"Llyw, let us finish our conversation later, shall we?"[/b]

The apprentice nodded with vague assent toward his acquaintance. It would be good that someone look in on the barmaid, and all the better that the someone in question was not him. He did not even really know her, after all, but the spearman did. As Adrian turned and followed after Rosalinda, Llywelyn drifted toward the bar and procured a cup of wine before retreating toward a corner table.

Once securely seated, the apprentice produced a book from his satchel and laid it on the table. In the common tongue the cover read 'Vandar Brightmantle, his life and works, as recorded by his student Auredhel Hardfoot.' Flipping the book open, Llyw wished he had brought something a little more engaging to read. He was fond of his master, but the old elf had a tendency to drone on while speaking, and that tendency was if anything exacerbated in writing. The tome detailed, as one might imagine, the life of the human wizard Vandar, under whom Auredhel himself had once studied. Reading the book was important, the master said, not because he had written it, but because it shed light on the noble arcane traditions which they were being initiated into.

Even so, it was dreadfully dull. After a few moments of bumbling over the same paragraph, he turned his attention to the barroom around him. He sipped from his cup and watching the goings-on with keen interest. Truly, the Hallows Inn was a madhouse. All kinds of strange men and women, of races both familiar and fantastic, milled about in groups. Newcomers, such as himself, were not difficult to spot. They looked dirty, weary, or hungry. Most looked to be all three at once. He spied the blind maiden from before, chatting with a human near in age to Llyw himself. Not far away, a strange dog-headed man was shouting at a warrior, who appeared to be closing a wound with a firepoker.

[i]How dreadful...[/i] he thought, staring a bit, [i]He will have to have that looked at by a proper healer soon, or else it will surely become infected...[/i]

As Adrian returned, Llyw rose to his feet. Taking his cup and his staff in his hands and his book under his arm, he strode over toward him. He was the only person he had really spoken to, thus far, and that beside he was rather curious about the stranger. He said he was an adviser to a King- so where was the King? Not here, surely.

“Ah, my good man,” he began with a smirk, taking a seat across the table and setting his book beside the spear. “I was very much hoping that you would return. I feared that the lovely Rosalinda might have run you off...”

He trailed off, afraid that he might have been edging along a rather personal, emotional subject.

“But, ah- oh! You asked me how I came to be here, but I never had the chance to ask the same of you. How exactly does a king's advisor find himself at an inn in the Drakenwald, miles and miles from either King or Kingdom? Do tell, or [i]I[/i] shall be forever curious.”