The moment Ashera walked into The Lucky Horseshoe, she knew that something was going to happen. She wore a cloak as to shield herself from the eyes of men, but still, some came forward to ask if she wanted a drink. She had shed her weapons, her bow and arrows and 7-foot staff that aided her in her sorcery in the room that she was staying in, in the boarding house for travelers next to the pub. However, she had kept a sharp dagger in it's sheath about her leg, which was covered by the cloak. Held there by an Elven-type material, the thong holding the sheath would not fray or break. It was on the part of her bare leg that did not bother her when Ashera sat down, not even when she sat on the uncomfortable stools of the bar. "What'll it be, miss?" grunted the bartender, a tall and lanky man who looked well beyond his years. "Just a pint," Ashera said in a low voice, and he looked at her strangely. "I'll treat for the lady," said another man suddenly, who happened to be sitting on Ashera's right, and the bartender gave him the same look that she had received. Ashera glanced at him, too, and saw that he was a tall, but stout man, and the years of warfare showed plain on his face. He wore a cloak much like Ashera's, only his hood was much smaller, and the hem at the bottom went to his ankles, instead of trailing to the floor like hers. "I'd appreciate the gesture, sir, but I can pay for my own drink," she said quietly, and the man laughed. "Nonsense!" he cried. "I can tell it's your first drink here, in Lumbard, so why not have it on me?" "Yes, it is my first time, but--" spluttered Ashera, and the man shook his head. "Say no more!" he cried. "A young girl such as yourself should accept a treat such as this in a new town. Now settle back, and enjoy yourself!" "What is your name, my good sir?" Ashera asked, and the man smiled. Before he could answer, the bartender came over, and said, "Your drink, miss." "Thanks," she said distractedly, but paid no mind to it; as if it weren't there. The bartender pushed the drink closer to her, and she looked at him, then picked up the tankard and drained it in one gulp. She pushed it back, then opened the bag about her waist and set some silver coins on the table, and turned back to the man at her right. He had a calculating look on his face, as if he didn't quite know what to make of a female who could drink a pint of beer as quickly as a man could. Which he probably didn't. But let him wonder. Ashera repeated the question, and he smiled again, only this was a bit more skeptical. "Throw back your hood, and I will give you my name," he said, and Ashera hesitated. "I would, sir, but I'd prefer not to do so in such a public place," she said quietly, and the man laughed. Ashera didn't know why, but the man's presence was annoying her. "Come now, girl. You could not be so scarred to be afraid to show your face!" he cried, and reached up to push it back. Ashera pulled away, and said coldly, "Don't you dare move to touch me again." A drunk who was watching laughed when she said that. "You'd best heed her words, Stenworth," he said, addressing the man, his words only slightly slurred by the amount of drink he had consumed. "I've heard of women such as her. Fair, they are, but dangerous as a viper," he said, and Stenworth only laughed. "Those are fireside tales, you fool," he said. With that, he reached up in one quick movement and pushed her hood back. Ashera tried to get it back up before anyone saw, but it was too late. Stenworth, along with every other man there was staring at her in a dazed manner, oblivious to anyone and anything--except her. Suddenly, a cloaked man strode over to them, and brandished a knife, which he put at Stenworth's throat. "Apologize to the girl!" he snarled, and Stenworth whimpered. "I didn't know--I didn't mean--" he babbled, and the man grabbed Stenworth's hair and yanked his head back, making his throat all the more vulnerable for the dagger. "Apologize, or the tavern floor will be covered in your blood," he threatened. Stenworth babbled his apology, his face as pale as ash. "Lady, please put your hood back up," the cloaked man said gently, and she started--she wasn't used to getting orders, but she was glad to obey his. The man shoved Stenworth away, who fell to the ground, and made no move to get up. "Please come with me," he continued in a quiet voice, and Ashera obeyed--she didn't want to be in there anymore, where such callous men gaped at her so openly. But she deserved it, she supposed--she should have known better than to go into such a pub, and she did. But she just did what she wanted, instead. However, when they stared at her, it wasn't that she was ugly--no, Ashera was a very beautiful woman. At 19, she was admired by all the people in her land, and was to become the next queen of Mirathen, or the land of the Elves. Ashera--s mother was Taborith, a beautiful and powerful queen who was also a witch--the most powerful ever known, and her father was an angel named Lozen. Ashera was born with many gifts, such as knowing all tongues and being able to handle any weapon. Ashera herself was tall, with long, raven-black hair, and eyes that were identical to a cats'. Her complexion was fair and clear, and her entire face shined when she smiled. However, now that she was out of Mirathen, she rarely ever smiled. Once the man and Ashera were safely outside, Ashera knew that they wouldn't be alone very long, so she led him to her room. "Lady, a fair maiden like yourself shouldn't go about like you did," he said once they were alone, and Ashera shrugged. He lowered his hood, and Ashera did likewise. There stood a handsome, rugged man, and his eyes were full of concern. "And what would your name be, my noble sir?" she asked. "My name isn't that important...But you...What's important is why someone as fair as yourself would go so far from your homeland," he said, eyeing her pointed ears, and studying her eyes--it wasn't that hard to figure out that she was Elvish. Ashera cried out with frustration at his comment, saying, "I don't care about how fair I am, I just want answers!" He laughed, and said, "You don't strike me as a fragile princess." Ashera hesitated, then said instead of what she was thinking, "Sir, I require your name." "So you do," the man smiled. "My name is Ithmel. And your name would be..." "Ashera," she filled in, and he smiled again, slowly this time. "I'm pleased to meet you, Ashera," he said softly, taking her hand and kissing it right above the knuckle. "So why are you here?" he asked after a minute, to cover up the akward silence, and Ashera shrugged again. "I'm a traveler," she said, and he nodded. "What about you?" she asked, and he started to reply, but broke off upon hearing the distinct sound of horse hooves upon the cobblestone, coming closer at a steady rate. Ashera grabbed her bow, and slung her quiver over her back, nocking an arrow and crouching down. Ithmel went and latched the door, then drew his sword and blew out the candle, going to stand by Ashera. "There aren't supposed to be horses here, in this part of Lumbard," he muttered, and Ashera nodded. "Even nobility or heroes of war don't ride their horses in this part. I wonder what happened to the gate guards." "I suspected something of that sort. I own no horse of my own, but as I was walking through, I saw a man stopped by the guards; he was on horseback, too," she murmured. Suddenly there were screams, screams of pain and fear, and Ashera looked at Ithmel. He was looking her way, although he could barely see her in the dark. Ashera, however, could see in the dark, so she took careful note of his distance and the tense way he held his sword. The hoof beats became louder and more pronounced, and some horsemen stopped right outside the pub. Others continued on, some knocking down the doors of the inn, others setting fire to homes with the torches they carried. Suddenly, the door to Ashera's room was knocked down, and a man with a torch in one hand and a drawn sword in the other stood in the doorway.
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