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Meditation is hardly what is going on a few rooms over from Pavel's. Occasionally, some of the Inn's guests have complained of loud noises, the sound of hammer hitting metal, and of raised voices between what sounds like a young girl and... an animal. Fortunately for the originators of such said ruckus, they are hardly just passerby’s. Being somewhat known for playing a role in the slaying of a red dragon tends to sway the favor of the innkeeper in your direction, for it isn't every day that you have heroes staying at your place of business.

Unlike some of the other days, this one has been relatively silent. Either both voices have snuffed each other out or both have moved on to bigger and better places. These two circumstances would have suited the guests just fine, but unfortunately neither are the case.

In fact, today is just a plain, lazy day in room number 12. Inside, the window is slightly ajar, allowing a cool, spring breeze to drift in and play in Elewyn's auburn hair. In the center of the room lay a jumble of gears, bent tubes and other strange devices... quite obviously abandoned due to its rather poor appearance. In a circle around it lay a mismatched set of tools and, strangely enough, a sleeping raccoon. Grasped in his tiny paws is a bottle of partially consumed gin. All in all, he carries the demeanor of a child sleeping alongside his favorite teddy bear… if you would consider a raccoon a child and a bottle of gin a teddy bear.

In the other end of the room, Elewyn lay on her back on a simple bed, her head propped up by a lumpy pillow. Clenched tightly in her hands is the same, large, dusty tome that she was reading at the beginning of her previous adventure. Regardless of the speed at which she read through it, it was as if a new page magically took the place of the one she just flipped by. This didn't surprise Elewyn for magic dominates much of the lives of the people of Faerun and could be found almost anywhere, even in old, dusty books like the one she can't seem to pull her freckled nose out of.

There is a knock on the door… then another. Elewyn narrows her eyes and peers over at the doorknob with an air of snobbish impatience like she is being drawn away from an important dinner party to speak with a servant. Hoping that whoever is knocking may go away, she continues reading, but this tactic doesn’t work as well as she hopes.

“Git da door, Missy!” Rin calls out in a sleepy stupor.

Elewyn sighs and marks her place in the book. Setting it aside, she stands up, buffs any lint off of her checkered shirt and steps over to the door. “Who is it?” she chimes to the person on the other end.

******

“Yes, let us go after her,” Elewyn says once Tyrone tells his tale. “She may need our help, and who would be we to turn our backs?”

“Helpin’ da weird, chick?” Rin pipes in rather rudely as usual. “You mean da one with dem glowy pigstickers and dem ceiling walkin’ habits? Why can’t we be just a-drinkin’ some more gin here in peace, aye? I still gots a near full bottle says I and it needs to be drunk!”

“Just hush Rin and help me clean this mess up!” Elewyn berates her raccoon. Blushing slightly, she turns back to Tyrone, “Could you give us a little while? I can’t leave this mess here for someone to happen across, now can I? See you!”

Elewyn closes the door regardless of Tyrone’s answer and goes about helping her familiar straighten matters out. Fortunately for her, she possesses her magic book ‘purse’ that is able to store the pieces of her failed contraption, which makes clean up rather quick.

In the end, Elle stows Rin’s bottle of gin away, frowns in return of the indignant glare the raccoon gives her, and places both hands akimbo on her waist before looking over the room once more. Another adventure calls and she is certainly going to answer.

Elewyn and Rin make their way outside of the inn, both arguing over some trivial matter that has something to do with gin. Elle obviously makes a good point for the raccoon is stunned for a moment, his furry mouth agape giving him a rather stupid look. Instead of rebutting, however, the ring-tailed familiar squints and points a tiny finger toward a small crowd of people that the two had been obliviously moving toward.

“’ey! Wot’s a-goin’ on der?”

Elewyn turns her freckled face away from the raccoon on her shoulder in the direction of where Rin is pointing. Her eyes widen slightly in surprise but relax when she spots Tyrone among the group. He definitely has a way with words and is handsome enough to draw more attention than most, but this is a little too much for the wizardess. Not liking mysteries that remain unsolved, Elewyn steps over to the crowd and gives each person an appraising look. When her eyes fall upon Tyrone, she merely raises a hand over the hubbub to catch his attention.

“Umm… why are all of these people here, Tyrone? Are we bringing all of Mirabar with us?” Elle chimes over the heads of the group.

“A roight fools errand… and we gots plenty o’ fools!” Rin unceremoniously adds in.

Elewyn silences her familiar with a poisonous glare, but says nothing further.

Built for long nights studying under candlelight, not traveling many leagues without a carriage, Elewyn looks a little the worse for wear upon the group's arrival at Battledale. Rin appears to be no better off, regardless of the fact that he slept the majority of the journey on Elle's shoulder. Although Elle had used her cantrip spells to keep both herself and Rin clean, her legs are sore as well as her temper.

Fortunately, Elle had never been to Battledale before. In her book, anything or anyplace that has yet to be studied by the wizardess is a great plus in her day, and today is no different. If it wasn't for this fact, it would be a small wonder that the Whistling Warriors would still be whistling if Elle had lost her temper alltogether. She plays with this thought for a moment, but knows that there's no seriousness in it.

Elewyn takes her glasses off and cleans them with the sleeve of her blowse. Once she places them back on, she sighs at the bard and merely says: "My opinion on those 'Whistling Warriors' hasn't changed, Tyrone."

More than used to the bard's attention of the self, Elewyn rolls her eyes at his last comment. Rin, on the other hand, takes a more offensive stance, as usual.

"uh, ourselves?" Rin says in a poor attempt to mimic Tyrone's voice, "Der be no need to hide what you be meanin', we all knows it, roight boss? 'Cause dats what it be all 'bout, you... you... and you."