[Amanaduial the archer]

A slim figure made her way through the rain, a flickering ball of mage-light hovering above one gloved hand. A pair of black haired wolves flanked her, looking bedraggled, as any creature would after this weather for an indeterminate amount of time, and as fed up as is possible.

Amanaduial's mage-light finally gave up in the storm and she was plunged into darkness. Muttering and cursing under her breath, she groped for the handle of the door that had been here a moment ago, illuminated for a second by a melodramatic flash of lightning. Eventually her hand touched the smooth metal and she turned it, the door blowing open immediately in the strong wind. She blinked in the strong light, illuminated against the door with a wolf on either side. Slowly she lowered her hood, looking around the room. Most of the inhabitants of the homely, warm place seemed absorbed in a tale being told by the huge fireplace and few spared her a glance, but the innkeeper shot her an amused look from a large black desk, his quill paused above a sheet of parchment.
Amanaduial smiled at him, realising what a state she must look, her long hair darkened with rainwater and a pair of wolves that would currently put you in mind of a pair o drowned rats. She nodded to him, touching her forehead lightly.

"Well met, friend. What brings you to the Seventh Star?"

"The Seventh Star?" Aman mused over the mysterious name, turning it over in her mind. "My name is Amanaduial. I come from...elsewhere." She was loathe to reveal too much about herself at the moment. "The weather outside would make a hardened sailor quake; may myself and my friends stay the night?" The two wolves, Obsidian and Jet looked up and tried hard to look respectable, not an easy feat for ones such as themselves.

Rimbaud nodded gracefully, indicating the group around the fire. "Make yourself at home. All I ask of you in return..." the elf looked at him sceptically, holding her breath. "...is a good tale in return. And many indeed are already being told."

Aman let out her breath and smiled at him. "Well, Ive got plenty of those..." She murmered as she walked towards the fire. Sitting cross legged on the rug, her back against the fireplace, the wolves lying at one at her feet, the other at her side, she sighed, satisfied and listened to the tales being woven around her...

[ November 20, 2002: Message edited by: Rimbaud ]