It was not a friendly hand or a whispering voice that woke Flip from his nap. It was a raindrop.

First just one. Then two. Then hundreds.

By the time the wizard fully awoke he was drenched in rainwater; as were the few other odds and ends that had been stashed in the cart. Not that they were particularly susceptible to water damage. Canvas sacks, tarpaulin coverings, even Flip’s books were treated to resist water. Only the wizard himself was left to suffer from the wet and cold that now penetrated his skin. Well, Flip and the horse still tied to the railing—though the horse seemed rather content in the cold rain.

Since he was not as agile as he once was, it took a few seconds to actually climb out of the cart and stumble under the cover of the tavern awning. And by that point, there was really no point. He was soaked. And so it was with sopping sloppy footsteps that the wizard re-entered the tavern and made his way over to the humble hearth at the center of it and waited for his clothes to dry out in the presence of the dry heat of the open flames. A few others wandered into the tavern behind Flip, soaked as well, and formed a small circle around the hearth to dry off. Most of the people gathered around the fire were dwarves, most in worn working garb but a few wore basic armor with similar tunics that probably signified a makeshift town watch.

“Make some space... we got a lady in our midst, boys.” One of the armored dwarves announced as he shoved the dwarf to his left. “Morringer ain’t gonna serve us if we leave a lady in the cold.”

There was a general grumble of agreement as the group began to make space for the approaching lady. Flip recognized the hooded figure immediately and made space as well.

“Thank you, boys.” Selian hummed as she pulled her hood down and unfastened her cloak entirely to hang by the hearth.

There was a general, somewhat reluctant, grunt of acknowledgement from the group. Selian seemed oddly upset by the response, but didn’t seem intent to rectify the situation. Ultimately the result of the elf's arrival was that the group around the hearth had gone from a quiet grumble of dwarvish conversation to silence. Only the sound of the crackling fire and conversation from other ends of the tavern filled the air.

Selian was the first to retire from the hearth, having only been slightly dampened beneath her cloak. Flip took note of her clothing which had previously been hidden beneath, which was surprisingly nondescript. She held herself with such grace and elegance that Flip expected some lavish elven formal wear, but as she made her way over to the bar to speak to the dwarf serving drinks she was oddly casual. The barkeep even seemed to have a rapport with with her, as they shared an apparently friendly conversation. Some time amid their talking, they both looked over to the hearth. As Selian's eyes swept over the area, Flip noticed a sighed of frustration when she saw him watching her from across the room.

“Drinks are covered 'til the rain ends!” The bartender called out to the tavern at large after Selian turned back to talk to them. Despite the lengthy beard, the barkeeper's voice was distinctly female.

There was a general exuberant roar from the tavern patrons and many of the men that had gathered around the hearth migrated to the bar. Flip lost track of the elf in the process, which was odd because she stood at least a good two heads taller than most of the other patrons. For a moment, Flip turned to look at the corner of the tavern where he suspected Dovhran to be. The changeling was unconscious with a cup gripped loosely in his hand; or, at least he appeared to be unconscious. It occurred to Flip that he had seen the changeling fight after drinking much stronger spirits and this was probably just a way for him to avoid having to do anything or talk to anyone. That seemed like something that normal people would do to Flip, pretend to be otherwise occupied rather than simply ask for people not to interact with you.

“You can tell he’s not actually sleeping, right?” Selian muttered quietly. She was suddenly directly next to Flip.

The wizard let out a startled eep that was easily drowned out by the renewed revelry of the tavern patrons. The response welcomed in a genuinely entertained and pleased smile from the elf.

“But I suppose you can’t see me when I don’t want you to.” She lifted her cloak from where it had been hanging by the hearth to dry off. “Which is a relief, since you seem to be watching me wherever I go. But a hassle as well, since I actually have to put in the effort to retain any of my privacy.”

“I don’t know you.” Flip glanced down at his feet as he spoke, now very eager not to meet her gaze. “And I’m suddenly going to be traveling with you through dangerous lands.”

“That’s fair. But I don’t know you either.” Selian’s mouth curved down in a subtle frown as she contemplated how to respond to Flip’s assertion. “But I acknowledge that we will have to travel together, and I don’t hold any presuppositions about you.”

“I practice magic, I am peculiar. You are allowed to say I am odd and you don’t trust me.” Flip grinned, still looking down at his feet. “I’ve heard it enough, and my family has often enjoyed the distance from people created by distrust of mages and odd strangers.”

“That’s… very forward of you to say. Most people aren’t so forthcoming; many would consider it improper.”

“And yet you do not seem very bothered by it.” Flip finally looked up to see that Selian had taken a rather relaxed posture as she had begun to refasten her cloak. “Is that because you are resigned to have me in your company?”

“Partly. But also, I understand that feeling of distance from the world. You say your family benefited from being ostracized, but it must be a lonely way to live.”

“I am not a social man, Rain.” Flip made care to use the name she had specified. He was still pondering where he had heard the name Farwysher before. “And I am an acquired taste for the few that I do want to be around. I know these things, and I am no longer bothered by them.”

“You certainly seem well adjusted. And I suppose… I envy that.”

“I’ve heard your name before, though I can’t place it. And while I have no real desire to be reminded why I might know about you or your family, I know that you likely want it to be forgotten. And I presume you envy that I am content to be just as I am, forgotten or not; because your name is known.” Flip hummed out his words in a low tone, giving Selian a much closer once-over than he had before.

The elf was much less comfortable looking now, despite having her cloak affixed around her once again. Her cloak had not fully dried, and she was entering the posture that people took when they were waiting for an opportunity to dismiss themselves when they wanted to be polite. She didn’t look embarrassed or shy as many did when they wished to be dismissed, but rather uncertain and cautious. She was not a fearful woman, or did not reveal as much.

“Your cloak is still damp. Would you like me to dry it?” Flip asked, trying very hard to sound casual.

“With what?”

“Magic.”

Selian blinked in mild confusion at the step she had missed in logic, before letting out a faint “sure.” She held out the draping length of the gray cloak for Flip to get close to without getting much closer to her person.

With a gentle wave and a muttered word, Flip reached out to the cloak and the darkened damp splotches on the fabric of the cloak began to recede and a faint steam rose up from the surface of the fabric.

“Now, why didn’t you do that for your own clothes?” Selian sounded incredulous and thoroughly confused by the actions of the wizard.

“I like the feeling of a fire on a rainy day.” Flip paused. “And I do not think any of the strangers here would appreciate my disrobing to dry off my deeper layers.”

“Ah…”

“You may leave and I will leave you alone.” Flip shrugged. “You’ve no need to be polite to me.”

Selian did not even respond, she merely sighed and walked away from the hearth somewhat relieved. She didn’t leave the tavern, but strode to the opposite side and took a seat at the end of the bar. As Flip’s eyes left Selian, he caught the attention of a dwarf sitting closer up on the bar to him; the dwarf gave him a thumbs up and a mischievous grin. Flip ignored the gesture and turned back to the hearth.

“Are you getting along, then?” Dovhran had quietly moved from his comatose position at the corner of the tavern and over to the hearth himself. Flip had noticed a small amount of the movement, but didn’t bother registering it. The arrival was not as surprising as Selian’s had been.

“No.”

“Of course not.” The mercenary still had a buzz to his voice that indicated he wasn’t entirely sober. “I don’t suppose you’ve been out collecting any useful materials or information for our trip up into the mountains?”

“I took a nap in the cart.”

Dovhran pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, which Flip didn’t quite understand. It wasn’t as though they needed much more than he already had in his hatch, and Dovhran definitely hadn’t requested that he stock up on anything in particular.

“I did hear a rumor about the wastes while I was at the temple though.” Flip muttered nervously. He felt compelled for some reason to not be seen as lazy or incompetent. He was neither, and Dovhran already knew that. But the implication that he could have been stung, and so he recalled the first remotely useful information that came to his mind.

“Oh, really? What sort of rumor?”

“Supposedly, there’s something of a monster that lurks on the fringes of the waste and watches towns below it. And anyone that sleeps in the waste wakes drained of life and near to death as it preys on them.”

“That sounds like a ghost story.” Dovhran sighed. “A poorly told one too.”

“That’s the tale of the pale shade!” A dwarf who had been standing by the fire since Flip had walked in piped up. He had been so still, Flip hadn’t fully registered that he was a person and not a piece of furniture. “They say the pale shade lingers on the cliffs at night to drain the vitality of any young lovers that climb up for privacy.”

“Of course it does. Why wouldn’t it.” Dovhran seemed to be getting genuinely annoyed. “None of you know how to tell a story properly.”

“Well, if you know so much about story telling, tell me a better one tall man!” The dwarf pushed a finger into Dovhran’s chest.

It became horribly apparent to Flip, at that moment, that both of the men standing before him were quite drunk.

“I’d say you’ll regret that request. But you won’t.” Dovhran’s eyes narrowed at the dwarf. And then he began to sing.

The trail,

the trace,

the bloody chase—

the viscera on the road.

The tale,

the trial,

the bloody style—

the future, ill it bodes.

First the massacre of a city in the glen,

where once there were a thousand men

now there is but red soil and ten.

The chosen few to witness horror

left alone—alive beyond their ken—

and lamentation in a bloody hour

ushers on a legacy to begin.

Dovhran had gotten fully enveloped in his performance and several of the tavern patrons were as well. Some even sang in harmony with what Flip presumed was a familiar bardic verse. Before the drunken mercenary could get farther in, an enterprising dwarf with a lute and a more dramatic voice strode over beside Dovhran and stole the lead of the song.

It didn’t take long after that, even while thoroughly drunken, for Dovhran to realize that he’d been beat and upstaged by a professional bard. The dwarf that had challenged him seemed content though and was boisterously singing along with the bard now. For once, Flip was genuinely impressed with Dovhran's ability—at least his ability to be so confident that he would break into song in a tavern full of strangers. Flip had no inclination to ever share songs or poetry with those around him. Even people that he might consider friends. The only lyrical performances he ever gave were the incantations to his spells, and few that heard those lived to reflect on them. Flip thought that was a good measure of confidence, to have a performance be an isolated thing with only those strong enough to kill him first being able to repeat his words.

Though Flip knew it was in poor form, he glanced across the tavern to steal a look at Selian’s reaction to the outburst that still continued. He was surprised to see the elf singing confidently along with the barkeeper at the far end of the tavern where she had taken up residence. It was about then, roughly when the song that Dovhran had started died down and another began, that Flip felt content with his level of dryness and walked across the tavern to the main door—returning to the covered porch of the tavern. There were several old chairs set out, all empty amid the cold downpour. Flip claimed the one closest to the cart and leaned back. He rubbed the weariness from his eyes, not wanting to risk another nap should something less comfortable than rain befall him in his sleep. And it was there, on the tavern porch, alone, that Flip found himself humming Dovhran’s song as he waited for the rain to stop.