The White Horse

[Elora]

Ronnan smiled at Avery, as pleased at having his ale unspilt as he was to be welcomed by a fair maid with a ready smile. "Indeed, I do not often come to such lands as these to my sorrow," came his easy reply. He settled back into his previous lounging stance after performing his customary check of his belonginings. All was where it should be and if word got out that the Prince of Thieves had been pilfered from by a patron in an inn in Rohan, he'd have a lot of trouble on his hands.

"Is it often this busy Lady..." he began and then faltered when he realised he had not her name. "Forgive me, my Lady, I have been remiss. Ronnan I am named and I am pleased to share this inn with you on this eve." With that, Ronnan straightened and executed a snappy and courtly bow for Avery, rakish charm in his every move. He returned to his full height with a smile filled with the expectation of her name, hands resting in his belt where his pouches were.

He was distinctly aware that the young lady whose acquaintance he was hopefully about to make had a definate interest in his pouches. It was at times like these that Ronnan was grateful that he had invested in a tailor to provide him with more secure storage options than a pouch dangling temptingly from a belt. He studied the young woman's face as he waited on her name, committing features to memory just in case she knew the same tailor he knew.