[center][b][u]Belheim, Elrikur; Ranaamar[/u][/b][/center]
[i]Belheim[/i], the City of Time and the Capitol of Elrikur. It is a large city with three rings and nine districts, and at its heart resides the greatest monument to ever grace Ranaamar: the clock tower, [i]Tempus-Fane.[/i] The central district, where [i]Tempus-Fane[/i] resides, is home to many shops and many events, with even a colisseum meant for the annual [i]Carnival of Hope.[/i] A melting pot of cultures, just about every race from all around Ranaamar could be found, as well as a few of the [i]Free[/i] races of the other continents. However, those freed from the tyrannical rule of the Ancient Empires are regarded with suspicion, fearing that they're a part of the many Remnant factions. 

'Tis morning, the citizens of Belheim wandering its cobbled street aimlessly, some working and others shopping. The wind holds a gentle breeze, the scent of musk and floral perfumes filling the streets, and the sun's generous light bathing buildings and citizens.  [i]Saphyr[/i], the blue moon that lights the darkness of night, slowly sets as the sun slowly rises, its azure beams no longer existent. 

Today is the beginning when worlds collide...

[center][b][u]The Blue Moon Tavern[/u][/b][/center]
[i]The Blue Moon Tavern[/i] was alight with candles, the morning sun unable to penetrate the smoky windows.  The many patrons sat about, drinking, talking, and staring at the Missions Board. Tobacco smoke filled the entirety of the tavern, from the base floor to the loft on the second floor. In the far back of the base floor was the bar, its walls filled with a variety of bottles alcohol. The proprietor stood unmoving behind the bar, a tall and well build man wearing simple attire via apron. He had pale skin and shoulder-length hair of wavy silver, with dark stubble on his middle-aged face and dark brows. His eyes were a sharp amber color and glinted in the dim lighting. Heavily muscled, it could be speculated that he was once a soldier. The barkeep was always silent, never moving, never eating, never sleeping... just silent. He had hired Naida as a part-time bartender, and even she had noticed that the man never truly moved or spoke, never eating a meal nor attempting to sleep. He stood there, watching, only moving to provide a meal or a drink to whomever asked. She had come to learn that his name was Bernard, from the small chances of being able to talk to him.

Sitting upon a stool was an ancient wizard, cantankerous and wearing robes covered in multi-colored patches. His conical hat was also heavily patched, its point crooked and lazy. He had fair, wrinkled skin, with a long salt-and-peppered beard, with close cropped hair from what could be seen. His eyes were small and beady, but they were as sharp as they were in his prime. He emitted an air of intelligence and knowledge, and was often called "Rupert, the Grumpy Hermit."

There were many other, many colorful folks in the room, the din of conversation too loud for most anyone to hear themselves; and yet, there was a magic about it. Those who spoke to a particular other were able to hear as though the cacophony was merely a whisper, and thus conversations truly could be heard by those engaging. Off to the left of the bar was a grand fireplace with a red leather chair and a nightstand, possessing an empty glass, a bottle of the most expensive brandy, and a black book. No one knew who sat there, but it was quite obvious that [i]no one[/i] should go near there.

The atmosphere of the tavern was light and joyous, full of adventure, mystery, and perhaps more. Those who lived there and those new who entered would find themselves feeling something different about this day, though they would not know how... it was as though their destinies were intertwining with some unknown event. Were they prepared for whatever the day provided?
[center][b]~~~~~~~~~~~~~~[/b][/center]
[b][Sessamaru][/b]
Sessamaru meditated in an empty space upon the base floor. He levitated from the ground and radiated with an unseen energy, his sword across his lap. He was cross-legged, his hands over one another in a cupping formation,  and a serene expression upon his face. The birds and animals that were brought in as pets (or perhaps some that managed to sneak inside) wandered towards him, the birds perching themselves upon his shoulders, head, knees, legs, and elbows. The mice that managed to leap onto him nestled themselves against his torso, some managing to sneak inside of his changshan. Dogs, cats, wolves, and jungle cats lay themselves around his floating form in a circle, comfortable by the energy his body produced.

This was his morning regiment, a part of his training: meditation. He focused on his own magical energies and reeled them in, concentrating them upon his person and holding the same position and the raw energy he possessed until he was at the pinnacle of inner peace. He calculated battle strategies and scenarios through his mind, to keep himself as sharp as his blade, to never lose his cool when there was a loss and to never fear death. It was the way he was taught at the monastery by his father figure, the Elder Dragon. He took his pain and focused it, as well, learning from it. The isolation he felt was cold, but since arriving onto the mainland of Ranaamar, he found the world in need of his help.

His loneliness had taught him compassion, and Sess had seen it as his greatest strength. Friendships were made and most of his enemies had turned a new leaf. Others sought vengeance and failed as Sess had out-foxed them. His refuge, however, was this tavern. Friends and allies housed him, and he even learned far more in the tavern than from the Sky Islands of Zephyr.

Thus, this was his peace.