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Stepping into the market square was like stumbling into memory lane for Zevemar. There was the [i]Drowsy Druid[/i], the tavern behind which Zevemar had first thrown up after discovering that while the Half-Orc tolerance for alcohol was better than that of a human's, it was by no means unlimited. And there was the public library, the largest collection of books he'd ever seen until travelling to The Spire and having his horizons expanded exponentially. And the oddities haberdashery and the clothes shops and the fountain and vendors... Despite his assertions to Io that he had no fond memories of this town other than his father and that his childhood had been nothing but a series of unending hardships, Zevemar couldn't deny in his heart of hearts that there had been good moments. The warm glow of nostalgia warming him, [abbr=Perception Roll: 7 - 1 = 6]the young wizard quite forgot what he was in the square for and simply wandered around for a quarter of an hour.[/abbr]

It wasn't until he was admiring the new sign for the Blacksmiths (the previous one had been much shoddier but Zev felt a small tinge of longing for it to still be there, if only to make everything look the same as it once had) and he caught a glimpse of familiar scarlet hair that Zevemar was jolted from his reverie. Io was draped against the door frame, wrapped in a new shawl and appeared to be making eyes at the blacksmith's boy, Belen, who in turn was bashfully shooting her glances in-between working at the anvil. Hurrying up to her, Zev had a slight smile on his lips and a snippy comment just raring to be let loose when he felt... [abbr=Arcana Roll: 19 + 5 = 24]something[/abbr]. It wasn't a threatening something, he didn't think, it was like eating a dish you haven't had in years and finding it to be both new old and old, familiar and strange, at the same time. Most of all though, he felt the titillating tingle of destiny.

And all of it coming from a lanky figure in blue off to the side, currently surrounded by children.

So rather than walk up behind Io to deliver a snarky remark, probably something about how bothering hardworking young men wasn't considered good manners around these parts or possibly 'what would your nobby parents say if you brought him home?', Zevemar tapped her on the shoulder, greeted her with his normal half-apologetic smile and then pointed at the storyteller.

"Who's he?"