---

---

"Seeing your smile is more than enough for me, Prelissa."

The first words out of Nathaniel's mouth as he stepped into the Lying Wolverine were a far cry from the ones he had last spoken there. He had been but a boy of nine or ten, lacking in the confidence and eloquence that seemed to ooze off him now that he was a man grown. One might have even been forgiven for not putting two-and-two together, and realizing that the smooth talking bard before them was the Sabitha's boy after so many years, but he made sure to squash any misunderstandings by peeling back the woolen hood over his head, freeing the two perky feline ears that had been the source of so much gossip when he was small. They twitched in their newfound freedom, taking in the sounds of the mostly desolate tavern before pivoting to stand proud atop his head.

"Although, perhaps a table comes as a close second. It has been a very long walk from Sarinan."

---

Niala entered the Lying Wolverine not long after Nathaniel, fully clad in plate mail save a helmet; right, in fact, as he pulled back his hood and revealed his ears, and thereby his identity to all who might recognise them. Certainly, the shopkeeper was an interesting character in herself - Prelissa, if she presumed correctly, the innkeeper's daughter, though from his absence now seemingly just the innkeeper - but the instances where Niala had had time to interact with her were relatively few. Her own father's materials were often traded for here, though she was rarely taken along on such expeditions.

Maybe she would have come more often later in life, if he hadn't been slaughtered.

But there was no mistaking the characteristic cat ears of Nathaniel Brightwood for anything else than his signature. Smiling, she strode up to him with full intent to catch his attention, uttering boldly once she had his ear 'Well, if I weren't already counting my blessings! It has been a while, hasn't it, Nathaniel?'

---

---

"Hm? Oh. Oh. Umm, no, I don't know why it's called that. Haha... Human names for things sure are weird, aren't they?"

The wolverine stared back at her with eyes unblinking and teeth bared, and the young woman got the feeling that her question had probably made it angry. In hindsight, this probably hadn't been the right animal to ask for directions to the local tavern, but unfortunately, she hadn't exactly had the luxury of choice. Few creatures dared to venture this close to human roads, and after spending so many years in the Argent Vale, she'd forgotten the ways and paths that used to be second nature to her.

"Look, um, I'm sorry to bother you -- just don't worry about it. I'm sure I can find my way there myself. Thank you for your time!"

Bowing, she left a small sliver of dried meat to hopefully appease the insulted wolverine, and then made a quick getaway before it decided to take out its anger on her. Just because she could communicate with animals didn't mean that she necessarily got along with them any better than she did with people, after all.

When one thing was lost, another took its place. That had been one of the first lessons her esteemed grandmother had taught her, and in light of that, it wasn't as though Aethra had even wanted to come back here anyway. All that was probably waiting here for her were somber memories and disappointment, and the best possible outcome would be if she was the only one who had remembered her promise in the first place. If everyone else was going about their lives happily, without a care for what had happened when their home and their innocence went up in smoke... Well, it might have seemed callous, or as if she was attempting to chicken out (since that's exactly what she was doing), but she really did think that would have been for the best.

...But, hesitate though she might, sooner or later she found herself peering out from between the trees down at the door of the Lying Wolverine, an inn without a town left to frequent it, watching as a pair of travelers as out of place as she herself stepped through its decrepit door. This was the place... and a promise was a promise. She tugged at the hem of her hood, pulling it a little further down over her face in a futile attempt to reassure herself. The silver hair that spilled out from underneath -- the horns that always used to snag on the branches overhead -- the eyes that burned like twin coals of hellfire. Even if those she had once called her friends saw her, would they recognize her as anything other than a monster? The mere thought of having to face those looks of fear and disgust again made her want to slink back into the forest with her tail between her legs.

...But a promise was a promise, and so she found herself rooted to the spot, unable to bring herself to emerge from her hiding place, but also unable to turn and go and forsake the word she had once given, so long ago...

(Aethra will enter in my next post and otherwise will just be watching everybody's characters as they go in, but if anybody wants to take a shot at spotting her beforehand, I rolled a stealth check and got an 18, with a +2 from DEX making 20.)

Timber reached up against the bark of a towering oak, placing a single claw underneath its edge and prying it off with a simple flick of the wrist. He lifted the bark up to his lips, almost absent-mindedly placing it into his mouth. He chewed into the bark softly, his ears soaking in the sound of the rustling of the trees. Despite being exactly where he belonged, the anxiety that weighed down Timber's chest ate at him. Ten years had come and gone, and he was finally returning back to where everything had changed. And despite many seasons, the forests near where Ardenfield once stood remained as familiar as home could. Especially when Timber's real home was gone, certainly retaken by this very forest. The rhythm of chewing into the bark helped to calm the nerves, sharp teeth pressing past the hard exterior and into the soft wood underneath. The fresh taste of bark was bitter and unappetizing to even a reclusive traveler like Timber, but not every ritual was meant to be soothing. He was taught when he was young that oaks stood for strength and endurance, stalwart icons of nature's ability to persevere. And in this moment, Timber could use that strength.

He took a moment as he caught first sight of the Lying Wolverine to take a knee and organize his pack. He removed the external belt that stored his shortswords and carefully stuffed them into the pack. He placed a covering over the top of his quiver to hide his arrows and tightened the ropes holding his gear together. As he checked his supplies one last time and made sure that everything was padded appropriately to eliminate any rattling, Timber's eyes rested upon his longbow. The only possession he had left of his family, from the old days. He shook his head, lifting up a single claw to the bow's interior upper limb. He etched in one more hash mark to fill out the nine other markings that signified the 10 years since Ardenfield was destroyed. Once satisfied with his marking, Timber readjusted the hunting knife strapped to his leg to make sure it was sturdy before hoisting the pack onto his back once again. He sported a simple green tunic and matching pants littered with patches to cover holes that came from years climbing through forest brush. Draped over his shoulders, though, was a new brown cloak that stood in contrast to Timber's own white fur.

The ranger pushed through the forest's brush and strode up to the front doors of the small tavern, taking one last deep breath. He spat the bark out of his mouth before pulling open the front door and taking a step in. Timber's emerald eyes quickly settled on two individuals: a well-dressed half-tabaxi and a human woman in full armor. It took a moment for the smuggler to recognize his two childhood friends after years apart, but here they were in the flesh. A decade of misery and envy slipped for this moment as Timber quickly stepped towards his old friends with a toothy smile. "You... you both came. I... time seems to have treated you both well."

---

---

It seemed as though Nathaniel had not been the only person to recall the distant, childhood promise which had brought him so far from the capital. No sooner than he had been waved off by the tavern keeper did another woman approach him, albeit one who seemed to remember his snowy white locks much better than the proprietor. It took him a few moments to place her, no doubt because in place of a soot-covered blacksmith's daughter there now stood a holy warrior, clad in steel rings and Tyrran symbology. He turned to better face her, adjusting the lute slung over his shoulder as he did.

"Almost a decade now, yes," he answered, giving her a once over with curious green eyes, "Tyr has certainly been treating you well—I don't remember you being so tall."

Nathaniel had little time to ruminate on Niala's growth spurt, however. Another soul had entered the sparsely populated tavern, and almost immediately approached. It was hard not to place this one—Tabaxi, while a part of Ardenfeld's populace, had always been less numerous than the other races. The bard gave a small flourish of his cloak at the feline's comment, allowing some of his finery show from beneath the heavy dyed wool.

"Well enough, I suppose, though I credit the aristocracy more for my good fortune than I do Labelas," As he looked over Timber, a thought did occur to him, although it wasn't exactly the most polite thing to note. Perhaps it was warranted, however, considering their circumstances.

"Time has perhaps been less kind to the two of you. I didn't think either of you the type to take up arms. Though, I suppose a desire to fight is to be expected among our number, considering our histories with this place."

---

She chuckled as Nathaniel took some time to recognise her, followed by a joke about her height. 'Well, time does leave its mark, after all,' she'd respond, not long before another individual entered... yet again, cat features gave away his identity. Though they were far more stern-jawed than as a younger boy, there was no mistaking Snowing Timber for anyone else in that village, a lovely sight to behold in any respect. And speaking of time, well...

'You can say that again,' she replied, her tone suddenly far less jovial. 'I assure you, I know exactly what I am fighting for; Tyr's blessing standing, I shall see my oaths to Him fulfilled.' She couldn't afford to let those who had wronged Ardenfeld escape without justice brought to them, of course. Though, if either of these men were anything like her, there was a good chance they would be brought down even if she were to pass unkindly into Tyr's arms.

Timber stifled a grimace at Nathaniel's remarks, and turned his gaze towards Niala. It seemed one of their friends had found purpose in the teachings of Tyr. As much as Timber had been jealous to see Niala go so quickly from the orphanage, Niala seemed just as focused as Timber on their singular purpose. It was impossible to know what struggles they faced in the years since they last spoke, but Timber felt comfort in Niala's passions. He wasn't a member of the faithful, nor had much faith in the temples... but he was pleased to know that the god of justice might bless their cause.

However, it took a moment for the meaning behind Nathaniel's words to sink in. The Tabaxi shook his head, slipping his pack and bow off his shoulder to rest them against the wall of the tavern. He spoke his response rather simply, as if stating a well-known fact. "I did not choose to pick up arms first, I chose to survive. What I do now... I suppose that is the meaning of our gathering, no?"

---

The Return, as Danyl had started calling it in his mind as of yesterday, was a bit unsettling if he was being honest. Retreading old roads he hadn't seen in years brought a nauseating feeling of both nostalgia and repulsion. A mixed bag of deja vu that he did not appreciate at all. The forest that the Lying Wolverine was situated in did not alleviate the feeling. In fact he thought he even felt eyes on him.

The hairs on the back of his neck had been raised long before he'd set foot in the forest though. Whilst moving through Sarinan on his way to the tavern, Danyl had entertained the idea of specters from the past pushing at his back. Why else would he feel so uneasy about meeting with a group of friends? Or former-friends. Or whatever.

Danyl sighed and scratched the back of his head. The path to the Lying Wolverine wasn't quite as he remembered, but it was similar enough. Given that nature hadn't grown over the trail, he assumed the establishment was still there, for whatever reason. He couldn't imagine they got much business. Eventually the tavern came into view. It was much more familiar looking than the road or the town behind him. Beyond that was...

His eye moved in the direction of the ruins, unbidden. They were but a green and gray smudge on the distant landscape, but the sight of them brought the taste of ash to Danyl's mouth. He picked up his pace.

"Ale, please," he said as soon as he pushed the tavern's door open, "Black Bottom if you have it, 'else anythin's fine."

Danyl took in the barmaid, finding her face somewhat familiar though her given name completely escaped him. He did recall that the family that ran the place back then was named Tindow. Assuming this was the same Tindow girl, Danyl was sure her name would come to him at some point.

The rogue had no cloak to hang, just the pack strapped across his back and weapons stowed. And the clothes he wore, he supposed he had those too. Common traveling garb, with a sturdy pair of footwear and a simple patch over his left eye. In truth he looked like any other wanderer, especially when compared to the tavern's other patrons. Speaking of which, said patrons were all too easy to recognize - after all, how many Tabaxi and half-Tabaxi would be in this specific place, at this specific time?

He moseyed over the their table, pulling up a chair and dropping himself into the seat. The conversation seemed to be a bit solemn, though perhaps that was to be expected.

"Well, can't say I'm surprised to see you three," he told the group, offering them a smile as he did. Despite the years and the scars, Danyl's smile was still the same slightly lopsided expression as always.

After Niala and Nathaniel were swept up out of the orphanage, he'd always assumed they were alive and well somewhere out there in the world... and apparently with the means to travel too. Danyl cut a quick glance to Timber, the only one of their childhood group of friends that he'd heard from in recent times. That first letter he'd miraculously received from the Tabaxi had shaken his heart something fierce, both by the means in which it came to him and with the knowledge that his friend has survived after going it alone. Though they hadn't truly kept in touch much, needless to say he had expected to find Timber here today. There were still others he wondered about, those like Mary who'd left almost without a trace came to mind. It was still early, so perhaps they would remember that old promise and make an appearance.

"Honestly, I didn't know how it was goin' to feel coming back here," he said. It felt kind of awful, though that went unsaid for now. Gods above he couldn't wait to wash the phantom taste off of his tongue. "If nothin' else I'm glad to see you all."

---

---

Aethra didn't know how long she stood there, stock still, before she found herself moving. She wasn't sure why, but to even her own surprise, her feet carried her closer to old ivy-clad tavern, rather than back into the forest from whence she'd come. It wasn't that she expected to be welcomed here -- of that much, she was sure. But... After seeing that the others had kept their promises, she felt ashamed of herself for considering running away. They had come so far, and... well, even if they hated her for it, a part of her wanted them to know the truth. That she was still alive -- that she still had a reason to live. Those who had once been her friends deserved to know that much, at least -- to have some closure.

It was the hardest thing she'd ever done, but she reached out, and took hold of the door. She steeled herself, took a deep breath, and then gave it a gentle push inward, but even as it moved aside, she once again found herself suddenly rooted to the spot. Try though she might, she couldn't seem to bring herself to take a single step over the threshold. But, as fate would have it, at that moment, a gust of wind blew the door the rest of the way back, revealing the occupants of the tavern to Aethra -- and revealing her to them.

Standing in the doorway, she appeared as a figure all wrapped up in her ragged black cloak and the similarly tattered gray dress she wore beneath it. She leaned upon her thin staff of black wood, atop the head of which was mounted the pommel of a broken sword, hunching over so that the brim of her hood would hide her eyes from view a little longer. Yet, from underneath the mantle, her long, messy silver-grey hair spilled out in streams, and the light spilling out through the doorway cast her bone-white horns into stark relief.

Her ragged appearance and hunched, unnatural posture coupled with her hair to give her the aspect of a withered, ominous crone -- but when she at last spoke, the clear and soft voice that emanated from under her hood could only have belonged to a fair young woman.

"...P-please excuse my intrusion... May I come in?"

---

So Snowing Timber had chosen survival over pacifism. Then it seemed his weapons were not taken by choice, as hers were... as for Danyl? By the weapons in tow and the patch over one socket, it appeared he'd done much the same. Though if she recalled, hadn't he lost vision in that eye gradually anyway even before her departure? It couldn't be a pretty sight even now.

'I dare say, it is a pleasure to reacquaint with all and sundry,' she proclaimed, her earlier dourness lost again in a sea of gregariousness. 'If we've all sought our best selves, then surely it'll continue to be so-'

...hmm? Who...? Who was that? They looked... ill, almost, by the hair and the posture-

The horns spake devil. Her hand jolted reflexively, but stopped short of reaching for her blade as she recalled the nature of the tiefling: helltouched, but not necessarily hellions unto themselves. And her voice, or rather her mannerisms, seemed to indicate an unwillingness to fight. Forcing herself to relax, she stated with a smile 'I see no issue with it, madam. This is a public tavern, after all, it'd be strange if you weren't allowed access!'

Despite a moment of tension, Timber could feel a wave of calm wash over him by the friends that had gathered. When the tavern door swung open and a roughly familiar human, one whom Timber recognized by reputation and a lot of investigation, everyone Timber had expected to arrive were there. Sure, there was one more who had vowed vengeance with them, but Timber had considered them lost or certainly dead at this point. Mary was nothing but a distant memory, gone in some incident at the orphanage. A runaway. Though the woods were wide, a drifter like him would have heard tale at this point or found some sign. The only ones who lived in these woods Timber had already encountered, save for a reclusive witch or nature spirit that most kept their distance from.

When Danyl approached, Timber patted his friend's shoulder in reassurance. The band was back together. He nodded at the rogue's words, recognizing the pain that existed in his words. Not everyone had been out this way since the town burned. Even Timber felt embers of that pain still burning deep down. He couldn't quite imagine how hard this had to be for Danyl or Niala... hells, even Nathaniel.

Of course, Niala tried to raise the mood. The sentiment wasn't lost on Timber, who gave a nod. He eyed the tavern keep for a moment, figuring he ought to buy a drink or two. He hadn't had a drop since Dain had bought him a drink to celebrate 'getting even' on his debt. It would be nice to actually share a drink with friends for once, the only friends he had ever really had. But a chill breeze swept in from the newly opened door, and the fur on Timber's neck began to stand on end as if it were an omen. When Timber's eyes locked on the figure that had entered, his brain immediately pieced together the local legends with the figure standing before them. In Timber's eyes, the local witch stood before them.

Timber's hand reached instinctively under his cloak for the hunting knife strapped to his leg, palm resting on the pommel while fingers curled up towards the hilt. He looked at the witch, noticing the horns and white hair. But as it spoke, Timber's eyes narrowed as he looked between his companions. The voice was softer than he would have expected... younger, even. Tales and stories spoke of how witches would curse those who acted disfavorably towards them, so Timber took a deep breath to steady his nerves. The last thing he wanted to do was cross a witch... but to let it sit and break bread with his friends so soon after they had all found each other once again? Whatever the witch wanted here, it was best to get to the heart of it.

Timber moved forward slightly in the group, speaking in a sweet tone as he interrogated, “I believe this establishment is open to most… but what brings one such as yourself here of all places? Have any of us done harm to your dominion?”