“You won’t be alone,” Courynn took her hand reassuringly, as Jhered rose and returned to the other star elves with a heavy sigh. He’d committed to helping her return her sister home safely and it didn’t matter who… or what… they had to face, he’d keep his word. Nymara met his steely gaze with a warm, grateful smile. In all her thirteen decades, she’d never known a man like him. From almost the very moment they met he’d sworn to help her, asking nothing in return, and since then she’d seen him come to the aid of people who treated him like a second-class citizen over and over again. Back in Sildeyuir, she’d been taught that humans were nothing but aggressive self-obsessed brutes, little better than orcs. But he was the finest man she’d ever met… possessing an inner light that drove him to serve others needs above his own. Just then, at the front of the tavern, the young minstrel who’d accompanied her the pervious night began to pluck his lute as if tuning it, a less than subtle means to draw her attention which was not lost on the crowd who grew decidedly quieter in anticipation. “Go on,” Courynn encouraged her. “Don’t disappoint your audience… or we might have a riot on our hands.” Smiling coyly at his jest, she took a final long draft of her mead and rose to join the young lutist to a welcoming rumble from the tavern patrons. Though she chose a rather somber ballad of lost love for their first number, and it took a few more for her to regain her usual radiant spirit, the rest of the night went much like the pervious one; her performance being met with rousing applause. Like last night, the crowd began to thin as the night wore on until the barkeeper announced last call at midnight and they sent the patrons off with one final number. As soon as that last song was done, almost as one, the contingent of star elves who’d remained congregated in one corner rose and streamed out… making for a rather conspicuous exit. By the time Nymara waded through the lingering patrons, many of whom praised her performance as she passed, a fresh mead and jar of cream was waiting for again, an obvious sign that the proprietor appreciated her boost to his business. Taking a long drink of the sweet, fermented liquid, which soothed her tired throat, she dropped heavily into her seat and sneered with just a touch of pride; “I hope they’re not too disappointed when I tell them it’s my last performance tomorrow night.” “Dervila confirmed that there is a network of unexplored tunnels under the Sunglade… and she’s very concerned,” Talice reported, pushing past the door to his boarding house room that Courynn had opened just enough to see who’d knocked. When she’d left the couple as they departed the Taproot, she’d rushed to the Master’s Hall to inform the leader of her order what she’d learned; the Ancient was an elven lich and he appeared to be taking his young star elven captive there. But then she seemed to notice that he was wearing only a light pair of breeches and glanced over at Nymara, who wore nothing but translucent chemise, suddenly realizing that she’d barged in on them at an inappropriate moment, just like the previous night, and gushed; “I’m sorry… you’re obviously preparing to retire… and I’ve intruded again.”