At one of the tables near the windows, sitting where the light would slant across the wooden surface, a tall, wiry man sat almost bent double, his silvery eyes closely scrutinizing a few snatches of minute print on a scrap of paper. Rubbing briefly along his narrow chin with one long fingered hand, he scooped up the parchment and slipped it into a leather book, joining the dozens of similar pieces of paper already inserted between the pages of his handwritten notes. His gaze then swept over the myriad collection of maps, notes, and series of other books taking up nearly the entirety of the space before him.

He had just reached for another book, his well worn and stained sleeve of his robes threatening to topple over a stack of papers, when movement caught his attention from beyond the window. The wizard paused to take a closer look, finding himself meeting the gaze of what was unmistakably a fae creature with her hands pressed against the glass to look in. Abruptly, he yelped with surprise, knocking over the tome he had been reaching for and sending the paper over the edge with it. As his hand shot out instinctively to try and catch everything before it fell, he inadvertently unbalanced his long staff, the elegantly carved wood hitting the floor with a clatter. He automatically tried to reach for this, resulting in his head hitting into the window with an audible clunk.

Hissing with pain, one of his hands clutching at the spot where his head had collided with the window, the half elf felt his pale cheeks flaming with embarrassment as he carefully bent to scoop up his belongings, trying desperately to avoid meeting any glares or curious glances, unable to help but hear a scattering of laughter around his immediate vicinity.

"Master Virell! Are you all right," a voice gasped, a young woman with her hair done up in a braid hurrying over to help him pick up the scattered pages.

Theron Virell grimaced delicately, going, if possible, an even deeper shade of red. He recognized the woman as Cinta, one of the many maids employed at the Wellspring Tavern. She in particular had taken sympathy with him, taking it upon herself to keep an eye out for him since his arrival a few days earlier. He thought she was simply a genuinely kind person, but he couldn't help but notice the stifled exasperation that he sometimes caught in her expression. He could only hope that she wasn't one for gossip about him when he wasn't there.

"Th-Theron will do Miss Cinta," he began, carefully maneuvering the staff so that it wouldn't hit the tavern made as he picked it up from the ground, but she cut him off with her own words.

"I've already told you. I'll start calling you just Theron if you start calling me just Cinta," she said, handing over what she had gathered with a smile.

Theron wished his face could have a moment to finally cool off. He felt like his skin was going to catch fire.

"Yes Miss Cinta," Theron automatically responded, quelling under the surprisingly stern look he was suddenly getting. He fidgeted with the ink stained sleeves of his robes for a moment as he stammered uncomprehensively before he finally managed to speak again. "Yes... Cinta."

Cinta slipped back into a smile before she gave the nervous wizard a more serious once over.

"[i]Are[/i] you alright?"

A brief wince passed over his expression, but Theron brushed away her concern by running his fingertips briefly across his forehead. It ached, but it wasn't as bad as some of the other injuries he had gotten over his lifetime. "I'll be right as rain in no time, ho-honestly," he said, though the stammer ruined the confident air he had attempted.

"... all right," Cinta replied slowly, clearly unsure about his response. "Well," she continued, brushing absently at her apron with the backs of her hands, "i'll at least go and fetch you some bread. You've been forgetting to eat again."

And with that, Cinta was hurrying away, leaving Theron to gape after her for a moment. Did she think him incapable of taking care of himself? He snorted a little before feeling his stomach suddenly give a prolonged rumble of hunger. And he had to concede that she probably had a point.

With a soft sigh, Theron set to work clearing a space for the inevitable food, organizing his papers and scrolls into a more condensed scattering.

That was when he remembered the fae.

Quickly, his silvery gaze flickered back towards the window, part of him hoping that he had just been imagining her presence, the other half very much itching with curiosity and intrigue and wishing to see her delicate hands still pressed against the glass. He felt a flicker of disappointment when she was no longer there. Sighing to himself, the half elf glanced around surreptitiously, hoping no one was watching him still. He thought he caught a smirk out of the corner of his eye, but it was gone before he could make sure. He did catch sight of a short creature that had recently arrived, something he hadn't been expecting, if what he saw under the cloak told him anything. A goblin. He hesitated a moment before attempting to catch their attention, waving them closer with a quirk of a few fingers.

Unfortunately for him, he saw movement at the bar and a person stand up. His stomach did a sort of flip as he saw it was Arn, someone he had spoken to many years ago. He spoke of yet more death and destruction, something that made his stomach twist for a different reason and his hand instinctively fell on his book of handwritten notes and gripped it tightly, knuckles going white.

[i]'Well, you were looking for an excuse and group to head into the forest. Here's your chance,[/i] he thought to himself as he listened, feeling his heart stutter at the idea of facing danger head on. But there really wasn't a way around this. Not if what he had been discovering was true.

When the speech wound down to a close, he blinked, and then snapped his attention back onto the goblin, hoping that she hadn't moved either.