*Amgine Lanif passes by the ruins of the Leringard Arms, shaking his head as he pauses a moment to regard the charred debris. With a sigh he comments,*
"What a shame... This place was a historic and renowned landmark, and now look at it. Gwen's gonna hate hearin' about this when I write her..."
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Meanwhile...
*A very short figure even for a Halfling, clad in black and dark blues, looks over the smoking ruins from a darkened alley nearby. Occasionally small arcs of electricity spark through his clothing and around his mirrored goggles. This one also shakes his head as he surveys the damage, but doesn't speak a word as he steps out of the alley glancing around with paranoia. Instead, he gently lays an empty card bag down amid one corner of the ashes in the area where the card-parlor once stood. With a final stare down at the bag, releasing a sigh that turns to a frosty puff of exhaled breath, he turns away and slinks back into the shadows and out of sight.*
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A short time later...
*A Halfling dressed in a purple suit and wearing a wide-brimmed purple hat with a large white feather. Slung across his back is a fine violin in a battered and well-traveled looking hard-leather case. His aged face, glowing with compassion and kindness, looks over the scene for a while tinged with sadness as a few tears are shed in rememberance of past visits to the fabled inn and tavern. After regaining his composure, the bard known to many as Lyle Underroot, joins in with the other violinist in lifting spirits of those in the area. The tones of his playing exude with such emotion as to invoke fond memories of the inn in the minds of those who listen long enough. At one point he begins to sing an impromptu song as he plays.*
"We 'ad us some good ol' times in this 'ere place.
An' though it be burned down, we remember each trace,
O' the years gone by in our mem'ries embrace,
O' the fine times, the wine, an' each dear friends face.
So bring me a whiskey, or bring me a gin!
'Cause when the smokes cleared we'll rebuild agi'n,
Bring me a 'ammer, an' fetch me the nails,
An' call all yer friends wit' the loudest o' 'ails.
'Cause we ain' defeat'd so long as we care,
An' we pitch in our 'ands to work our good share.
Ye can't keep the tidin's of love 'ere at bay.
Ya might knock us down, but we'll stand an' we'll say,
"Twas a nice try bugger, but at the end o' the day,
The dance ain't yet o'er so long as the fiddles still play!"
*After the song he returns to playing other uplifting melodies with hopeful spirits.*
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In the early evening hours during sunset....
*An Elven woman wearing stylish attire and bearing a pendant with Ilsare's Heart & Cleft sets up an eisel and canvas. Taking time and care she arranges her paints, daubing some on her pallette and mixing various colors in preparation. As she paints through the sunset hours, the picture on her canvass takes form. In it are seen the smoking remains of the Leringard Arms, bathed in beams of radiant light that seem to pour forth from clouds above like they shine down from the heavens to bless the very grounds and foundations of the ruined inn. Vibrant hues of sunset's reds and oranges are accentuated with artful contrasts and long shadows. Near the lower right corner of the scene the light glimmer's off a lone glass ale-stein, standing on a small portion of charred bar-top that remains standing amid the ruin with a lone bar-stool blackened and crooked, but still erect before it. Three figures in the background bend over, picking through debris to find relics thought lost to the now extinguished blaze. A fourth stands with a triumphant smile, holding aloft what looks to be a cherrished silver music-box that also fairly glows in the golden beams shining down from the sky. Looking exhausted, the red haired painter sets down her brushes and pallette, regarding her work for a time before finishing her clean-up tasks. Valanca then packs away her things and moves the painting to stand against the side of a nearby building, leaving it there before she departs.*
