The Rabid Wombat is a mid-sized public house located in a mid-sized town called Midway. The proprietor is Kvelti, a retired adventurer and mercenary.

Midway is, as its name suggests, halfway between two important places. To the north and west is the metropolis of Riverside. To the south is the seat of the theocracy named the Kingdom of Pearl. Traders and travelers often pause in Midway to catch news, fresh drinks, and a hot meal.

The Rabid Wombat provides all three of those things. It is best known for the wide variety of liquors, wines, ales, and meads kept on hand. Food is simple and hearty, with fresh bread and stew often being the only items on the dinner menu. Kvelti keeps abreast of news as best she can and often tries to hire bards to stay for as much as a week to provide more gossip and entertainment.

The Wombat does not rent rooms out. Kvelti lives in a suite of rooms above the tavern floor and, if the price is very right, she may allow someone to rent them. Other desperate but less well-supplied travelers will be directed to a stable where they can find a relatively dry stall with some hay for bedding. There is a boarding house in Midway, but Kvelti has had arguments with its owner and never recommends it.

The Rabid Wombat is lit at night with lanterns and candles. The furniture is all heavy, dark wood, scarred by countless brawls. Hardly a week goes by without some sort of ruction occurring. Kvelti enjoys them and occasionally joins in. If things get too out of hand, she keeps an iron-shod quarterstaff behind the bar. The general mood is cheerfully low class good times.

Tall for a human female, Kvelti looms at nearly six foot tall. She still has a muscular physique, though she's not quite as limber as she used to be. Her short blonde hair has long since gone grey. The years have not been kind to her. Never a beauty - never even attractive, who's she kidding - hard living has weathered her features into a map of lines and wrinkles.

But she can still bust heads handily. Her main claim to fame is the ability to identify nearly any alcoholic beverage three feet away, by smell.

Posted by the bar, in the painfully careful printing of a child learning his letters for the first time, are The Rules of the Wombat:

1. You draw steel, I put steel in you.
2. You spill any sort of bodily fluid in here, you clean it up.
3. No Credit!
4. I am easily distracted by shining gold coins and will often not see things
5. There are certain things that I will see no matter how many shiny coins there are.
6. You break a mug, chair, or table, you pay for it. Or, I get to break your face.
7. I get to change or add to these Rules when I want. So there.

Kvelti is currently polishing up some of the heavy-duty, dented pewter mugs. Advance men for a caravan came in yesterday, so business today should be great.

A large caravan enters the town. Among the merchants is an elvish girl. She looks like any other elf, except for her hair and eyes; they are both shiny metallic silver. She walks along with her fellow travelers, stopping only to ride with one and talk. She has a backpack of wares to sell, fine weapons. Crafted by the most excellent smiths of her clan. She sees a tavern, and decides to stop in it; she slips in while the other merchants are outside. She walks up to the bar and sits. "Greeting, could I have a glass of wine please?"

Kvelti looks up at her customer. "Would that be red wine, white wine, sparkling wine, elvish wine, winter wine," she pauses for breath, "blueberry, strawberry, blackberry...eh, we got a lot of fruit wines...in other words, could you be more specific? We got lots of wine here."

Gwenh smiles. "Ummm. Strawberry wine sounds good." She looks at the tavern. "This is a nice place. But I have to start selling my ware shortly..." She says the last part of the sentence as if she was talking to herself.

Kvelti consults the wall, searching for the appropriate bottle. Finding it, she reaches for a mug, then looks at her customer...elven. Wine served in a mug wouldn't go over well. Dammit, she'd have to get a real glass out. Hope it doesn't get broke before it gets back behind the bar.

"Glad you like the Wombat. Don't know what you're selling, if the Midway townies would have a use for it or not." She gestures to the room. "This is one of the better places to sell more exotic wares...I get most of the travelers, traders and adventurers in town, at least for a little while. You can have that table over there," she indicates one, "but house gets 10% of your take."

She hands over the wine glass and looks up to see more thirsty caravan guards coming in through the door, clamoring for ale.

Gwenh glances in her pack. "I'm selling fine weapons...dragon make." She pulls out a splendid dagger, 6" long, double-edged, with a perfect razor tip. "Should I sell these in here? I don't want to supply weapons for fights." She holds the dagger by the blade, to show that she means not to use it.

"Gaaah..." Kvelti snatches up a rag from behind the bar and wraps it around the blade. "Dragon made, I'm sure it's excellent, but for the sake of the Nether Powers don't touch the blade! You'll rust it and that would be such a pity..."

She studies the blade a bit more closely. "This is excellent...how much?"

"You seem to know much of weapons, perhaps you could tell me how much you would think I would charge for this?" She smiles. "It was forged by the silver dragon Clan Silvanus, out of dragon metals. Their most valued smiths crafted these blades, all of them..." She sighs.

In behind the caravan guards, a burly man in a cloak and cured leather armor, and carrying a short walking stick, enters, obviously disgruntled. He approaches the bar, mumbling to himself. "Darn caravan...(mumble)... so much dust... (mumble)... held up at the gates...." He waits for the guards to procure their mugs, then slaps a silver piece on the counter. "Ale, thanks. Whatever's cheapest. Gotta get this darn dust out'a my throat." As he waits for his ale, he looks through his purse, counting the dwindling number of coins. Looking back up at the bartender, he asks, "Anyplace cheap to spend the night around here?"

Kvelti never misses a beat; she's in her element. She holds up a finger at Gwenh, indicating she'll be right back. She finishes serving the guards, picks up the silver, bites it. Grabs a mug, fills it, slaps down a small handful of copper pieces in change, then hands off the mug.

Her hands come up to take the next coin, and comes out of the rhythmic trance when there is none to be had. "Busy day, ain't it? Cheap sleep, eh? For your change there an' another silver, I got a stall out back. Put fresh straw down this mornin'."

Cael shakes his head ruefully as he takes his ale. ~A stall,~ he thinks, ~oh, how the mighty have fallen.~ Still, he digs out another silver and adds it to the small pile of copper on the bar. "A stall, huh. Strangely, the best offer I've heard all day." His eyes light up for a moment as he sees the elf at the bar, then he gets a sad expression and quickly turns away. "Stupid," he mutters to himself, perhaps a little too loudly, "remember what happened last time."

Gwenh sees the man muttering to himself and turns towards him. "What happened last time? Or was I not supposed to hear that?" She bit her lip. "Sorry, I think I may have just spoken out of line."

Cael looks up, startled. "I'm sorry m'lady, I did not know I was musing out loud." He smiles, sadly. "I'll keep my sadness to myself. It's unlucky to depress beautiful women, even if they are elven." He turns back to his drink, unaware of his faux pas.

"I am sorry if being elven is a bad thing..." She sighs and looks at the bar. "I hope others don't say such things here..." She thinks that maybe it was a mistake to be elven here, perhaps she should of picked a human guise...but she knew that a young elven woman with metallic hair and eyes would be easier to believe then a young human woman. She looks at the dagger and tries to remember how much it was supposed to be sold for.

Kvelti looks back at the elf. "Oh, others say all sorts of things in here. That's how the best bar fights get started. Long as he doesn't start recruiting, I'm not going to give him any hassles."

She examines the dagger. "Hon, I've got to say, you're a trip. You've got here a really fine weapon, which you'd like me to believe is dragon-made, and which, looking at it, I can almost believe. Which would mean you got it from a dragon, and that's pretty impressive."

"But here's some free advice: unless you're absolutely sure the customer is a rube, don't ask her to set the price! If I were a real idiot, I'd name some really high price, since this looks like a very valuable dagger. And then you'd be happy. But I'm not a moron, so maybe I'd pretend to find some faults with it and name a ridiculously low price. Then either, you take it and I think you're the rube, or you don't and I think you're trying to con me."

"But I'm getting too old for those games, so here you go: if you can finish your wine and get that glass back to be unbroken, I'll give you a fair estimate. These are worth quite a bit, and I'd be happy to take a 10% cut of your take."

"Long as you sell them with scabbards so folks can wear them like decent people, you can sell them in here. I've never tried to even peace-bind weapons in here. The adventuring types never like it, get in a huff and leave. That's why there's Rule 1 over there." She indicates the Rules of the Wombat.

Gwenh shakes her head. "I believe I am the rube, it's been quite some time since I left the Silva...forges these where made in. I can not remember the prices I was told to get for them. This is my first time traveling, and I'm having to learn about other races and the world as a whole on my own. But I'll take the table, though I doubt I'll get much profit." She drinks her wine and hands the glass back. "Unbroken. Oh and I can use a mug just as good as a glass."

Cael blushes and finally finds some words. "Forgive me ladies, 'twas a slip of the tongue. In the lands I have come from, elves are not much liked, and it is a hard habit to shake easily. I am trying though. I have been informed on hig.. good authority that the teachings may be wrong about the less..er, ahem... other races." He blushes some more. "Please allow me to offer reparations. Perhaps another glass of that wine for you, m'lady elf. And for you m'lady.. uh, barkeep, I would also like to procure one of your tables, for selling out my healing services." He pats the satchel that hangs at his side.

"Perhaps if I offered more than 10%?" He smiles a little. "If we are to be in close proximity to each other for awhile, it would be easier if we knew each others names. I am Brother... no, it's just Cael, now. I forget sometimes." He looks sad once again.

Kvelti shrugs. "Sounds good to me. Pick a table, set yourself up. But I'm not a lady, never have been, and if you call me that again, I'll break your arm to prove it." Her tone in amiable despite her words.

Gwenh looks at Cael. "I would watch who you called lesser. I am not a lesser race. But I forgive your teachings and your tongue slip. I am Gwenhywfar Silvanus, but you can call me Gwenh." Gwenh bit her bottom lip hoping no one would make the connection between her last name and the forges the blades were made in. She smiles. "A glass of wine would be nice, but I plan on selling now, and I don't want more to drink right now."

Kvelti asks Cael, "How much more than 10% were you thinking of?"

"Perhaps as much as...hm.. 20%? The way you talk, there are enough fights in this tavern to make my services useful here, not to mention adventurers in need of aid. And if you told me your name, I would stop calling you 'lady' or barkeep."

A tall dark stranger enters and takes a seat at the bar. He is tall about 7 feet tall and his entire body is shadowed by a massive black cape. The hilt of a giant broadsword can be seen strapped to his back. Sitting patiently at the bar, he waits for the barkeep to come over.

"Didn't I...nope, didn't. Ought to put my name up under those Rules I posted." She smiles cheerfully. "'Specially now that I can. I've picked up some new skills in retirement. I'm Kvelti, Cael, and 20% sounds just fine. Help yourself to a table. If you'll excuse me, I see I have another customer..."

She walks down the bar to the tall stranger. "Welcome to the Wombat. What can I get you? If it's a drink, please - " she thinks back to her exchange with the elf - Gwenh - "be specific."

"Ale," the stranger replies. "Does anyone no where the centaurs reside?" he asked, pulling several gold coins from his purse.

The old barkeep sweeps the gold off of the counter and turns to fill up a stein.

She comes back with the mug. "I can tell you as much or more about the centaurs as anyone in town. A few years back, a few of 'em came into town. Checking us out, I think. Townies gawked and stared and made rude noises, but no one drew any weapons. So I think we decided we were mutually non-hostile."

She smiles fondly. "I used to adventure m'self, and I'd met a centaur once. One of the few creatures I've met that could drink me under the table. So, in honor of my friendship with her, I threw the Wombat open to the centaurs for the evening. Damn near bankrupted me." She chuckles.

"I got directions of the most general kind...a wave of the hand and how many days to travel. But before I'll be telling you that, I want to know why you're looking for the centaurs."

Cael tries to listen in on the conversation. ~Centaurs?~ he thinks. ~But they're mythical creatures! They don't exist... do they? Oh, Eho, what else have the elders lied to us about?~

Gwenh listens to the conversation about the centaurs, she tries to act as though she wasn't listening, but she smiled at the thought of other mythical races still living.

"Well," he replied. "I guess this sounds rather silly, but I had a dream that told me to seek out the centaurs. They needed my help." Looking around he added, "This is a nice place you got here. Do you have rooms? Or maybe a stable? I do not need much in the way of comfort." Downing his ale and removing some more coins he said, "Thanks for the help. May I have another drink, ma'am?"

Kvelti refills the mug and returns it to the stranger.

"Stable we got...fresh straw put down this morning. Two silvers. Now, a dream, you say..." She looks the man over. He doesn't look like a rampaging lunatic, but few lunatics do. But by the Nine Hells, a four-year-old could come up with a more plausible lie...so perhaps he was telling the truth.

She hunches down, placing her elbows on the bar and leaning forward. Shielding her right hand with her left arm, she points in a northeasterly direction and whispers, "I was told that four days of travel that way would take you to centaur lands."

"I thank you for your kindly information, ma'am. Oh and as for the four year old thing, I am simply big for my age," the man replies. Seeing the look of surprise on her face he laughed and said, "Didn't you know? All raving lunatics can read minds. I am Gremlock, and you are?"

When Gwenh heard the read minds comment she snapped up and took her thoughts off of her Clan home and her family, she tried not to think about her fellow silver dragons at all, she was young, and knew that she couldn't adequately shield her mind. She rummaged through the pack and let her hand rest on a special object; she looked at it and tried not to think about them anymore.

Kvelti gives Gremlock a gimlet stare before moving off to Gwenh's table, where she picks up her empty wine glass.

"Not even chipped! Good girl." She leans over. "Those are easily worth ten gold coins each. Ask for fifteen, maybe twenty, and let them talk you down." She points to a dagger with clean, simple lines. "Save me that one -- I'll give you twelve for it." Then she walks back to the bar and looks at Gremlock, then picks up a rag and starts wiping down the bar.

"You're a strange one...able to read people's minds then warn them that you're doing it? Not sure what to think about that. Most trespassers don't want to get caught." Her mind flickers back over the various beings who had trespassed against her in different ways in the past, and the various messy ways they had died...ah, the good old days. Is he still reading her mind, she wonders?

"And you can read what I'm thinking, but not my name. Well, it's Kvelti, and I might as well put it up on that blasted sign for all the people that keep asking me for it."

She pauses in her work to level a stern finger at him. "Warriors in here keep their swords in their sheath. Mages keep their spells in their mouths. And all the boys keep it in their pants. You keep your head outta other people's heads, and we'll all get along just fine."

Setting up his table, Cael stops and listens to Kvelti lecture this stranger, Gremlock. Something about her seems familiar, but he just can't put his finger on it. Shrugging, he returns to pulling his small supply of herbs and healing unguents out of his healing satchel. Hopefully he'll be able to make enough money from selling some of this, or from healings after a brawl, that he'll be able to travel on soon.

~Of course!~ he suddenly thinks. ~That's who she reminds me of...Abunta, Mistress of the Apprentices.~ He chuckles quietly to himself. ~Heh, she would be good at keeping those little fiends in line.~ Cael smiles, and begins to prepare some inexpensive healing draughts to sell.

Gwenh smiles at her words and hums an ancient song to herself as she lays out the daggers, she has twenty-five in all, except for the dagger she set aside for Kvelti and her own blade. She takes out a rag and wipes them down, continuing to hum the dragon lullaby of her father's clan, though she doesn't know that, all she knows is that she's always known this melody. She hums a little louder, and as if just remembering, spreads out a silk cloth of silver to lay the weapons on, she arranges them by size and shape, then sits back and waits for the customers to come.

Gremlock walks over to her table to examine her wares, and neither notices the hush that falls over the room as the naked dryad enters it.

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