The conversation continued, and the crowd around the table grew.

Aderynel told Arda that she was glad to have another historian along for the excavation, and expressed her hope that "creatures in the dark will keep their distance." She explained that she had once been associated with the University of Bryncaer, but had trusted the wrong person, and ended up publishing documents that defamed "an innocent, but powerful and angry, man." Aderynel hoped that if she found something in this ruin, "she might be able to find a position at a University in one of the human realms.  Perhaps even Segestica?"

Ardashir nodded slowly; his large green eyes turned thoughtful, and he was silent for a moment, as if gauging how much to say. Then he reached into the crimson sash that wound around his waist, and retrieved a small but heavy signet of worked bronze. Around its rim, the seal bore the words: "UNIVERSITAS SEGESTICAE."

"I am not," Arda said, "with a university - at the moment. I did have the great privilege of studying at Segestica." He paused again, choosing his words carefully. "I learned more there than anywhere else in the world, save the Vale of Lomendil. But I have found that great wisdom is like most other riches: those who keep it are often more inclined to hoard it than to share it." Ardashir put the signet away again. "The masters of Segestica teach only what they wish to reveal, and they do not look with favor on students who pursue truth in whole rather than in part. If your path leads you there, Aderynel, then I suggest you walk as carefully as you do here. Perhaps even more so."

Meanwhile, the beastman - Vasha - and the archer Quintus were questioning the other sylph - the one who had hid behind Ardashir. Who was she, and why had those two men been pursuing her? The girl replied that she had cheated the men at dice, and offered the party her skills: she moved her fingers, and dice danced across the knuckles. "I rather think your skills are of little use outside of a tavern," Quintus scoffed, and glanced at Aderynel. "While she is the one actually making the decision, I don't particularly want to spend this trip constantly checking my purse is still there." 

Ardashir smiled briefly. "I can think of few things more stupid," he remarked, "then being alone in the wilderness with a small group of people, upon whom one depends entirely for one's survival - and then stealing from them." His gaze rested steadily on Gweirca. "And our new friend does not strike me as stupid. Unscrupulous, perhaps; and inclined to think everyone [i]else[/i] a fool - but not stupid herself." Arda glanced over at Aderynel. "Which means she may well prove of some use, in due course."

While Aderynel contemplated her response, Hagen had engaged a young Northerner in conversation. The stranger introduced himself as Markiel - no surname - and said that he was a good fighter with sword and shield, and that he was in search of an adventure. Hagen was skeptical, and so Markiel offered a choice of stories to prove his breadth of experience: "Well, which would you like to hear? An odd venture into The Plains of Morgador or that time I almost had to fight a beastfolk?" Hagen played along: he had heard that there were ruins in the Morgador, ruins of unimaginable scale!

Ardashir smiled, but it did not reach his eyes. "There are," he agreed simply. But though he spoke to Hagen, his gaze did not rest on the knight. Arda was watching another man: a powerful man in plain wool, seated at the bar of the inn. He was scarred of face and limb, and his hand rested on the hilt of a long dagger, and his hard-eyed glare was fixed on Markiel. The man drained his tankard of ale, but that ferocious glare never faltered. 

Ardashir cast a warning glance at Aderynel and turned in his seat, moving his legs out from under the table so that he would be able to rise swiftly if necessary. His wide, open green gaze took the stranger in from head to toe. His left hand rested on the long hilt of the scimitar at his side. Like the stranger, he did not grasp his weapon's hilt; but his thumb stroked the pommel - a lion's head of gold, with sapphire eyes - in exactly the same way the stranger stroked his dagger's bindings. A message: [i]I see you.[/i] 

But with his right hand, Ardashir reached for the bottle of wine he had bought, and poured a fresh cup. This he raised toward the stranger. "If you are going to grace us with your attention, friend," Arda called, "then the least you can do is favor us with your presence as well." The Farseeker raised his dark eyebrows. "Your cup is empty. Will you not drink with us?"

Before the man could answer, a dwarf and yet another Sylph pressed up to the table, between Arda and Aderynel. Literally tugging on Aderynel's sleeve, the dwarf announced that she had overheard the group talking, and the Sylph asked whether anyone had heard of "something said to have been built" up in the Grey Mountains, "long time ago."

"At this rate," Arda remarked drily and to no one in particular, "I'd say that just about all of Ealdormuda seems to have heard of something along those lines." But his gaze did not leave the burly stranger at the bar, and his hands remained where they were: one offering a cup of wine, and the other ready on the hilt of his scimitar.