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Long had it been since he had been even remotely near to what he considered to be his homeland. Neldorlaur, the village of his birth, was not his destination however. That was still some considerable leagues off and at any rate, his focus was on something else entirely rather than visiting what scant few faces might still have been around that recognised what little remained of the fishermans' son.

The road had been long and had still not ended yet, and his skin felt like it had an extra layer of fine dirt that the stallion's hooves had thrown up in the brisk, mile-eating gait that it had settled into. The animals' white flesh too, was streaked with sweat. While no horseman, he knew full well that a rest was needed for both of them, and a good meal. Thank Mystra, that the road he had been journeying along was not so deserted as he had last remembered. In the near century and two-thirds of a decade at least that had passed since he had last been in the region, several smaller clusterings of houses had sprung up, including a tavern that looked promising.

Walking up to it, he then smoothly dismounted before looking around for the stables; most taverns' had one, due to horses being the next best mode of transport beside one's own two feet. Sure enough, a little way around to the one side, and a stable boy spotted him. Ceasing his action of bathing a roan mare, he came over.
"Silver to wash, gold to stable and get all sorted." Fair enough. Pricier some but certainly cheaper than some of the establishments that he had stopped off at in the larger cities along the way.
"Fine. Keep her well."
Flicking the coin to him and handing over the reins, a glint of amusement appeared in those vivid blue eyes as he caught, just on the fringes of his vision, the lad biting the coin just to make sure that it was genuine. Yes, it was.

Heading indoors, he made his way directly towards the countertop. He was ignored at first, or simply not noticed amidst the rest at the bar. But the portly inn-keeper did finally make his way over, eyeing the brown-haired elf. Brown? Dyed, of course. "How much for a night, a meal and a bath?" His accent was at least neutral enough not to raise any suspicions anyway, but he deliberately accentuated some of what he remembered the dialect of his hometown was like. That was enough to at least get the mans' expression to be less scowling, even if it was hardly what one might call friendly at the best of times.
"Four gold." Sliding it over, there was perhaps a flicker of something at how quickly that amount had been fished out, before he shrugged. "Will you be having a drink?"
"Wine, half a glass. Red if you have it, white if you do not."

Once he had the glass in hand, and a meal on the way, he retreated towards a spot that cornered on the stairs. Wisely, his back was against the wall, and he was more or less in a corner that allowed him to view the majority of the room without significant restriction. Facing the door of course. He felt a slow warmth spread through his body, the slow start of fatigue sinking in. Fighting it off, at least for now.

There were certain things that she tried to avoid like the plague; as much as she loathed being around a group, especially in a tavern, she needed a good night's rest more than anything, and that alone outweighed her displeasure.

Her steed had the opposite opinion, it seemed. Pulling back on the reinsx she scoffed as he snorted and stamped in protest. Always itching to go just a little bit further. Normally, she would have let him go further, but tonight, she was weary of the road.

Guiding the dark stallion towards the stable, she caught a glimpse of white before the stable boy hurried over to her. Being told same as the other, she was quick to drop a coin in his hand before starting for the tavern, pushing back the hood of her cloak that had kept the chill of the day out.

She was immediately uncomfortable upon entering. It was nowhere near as crowded as some, but still too much for her liking. Peeling the cloak off, she draped it over her arm as she approached the counter. Unlike the dark haired elf that had entered minutes before, she seemed well armed, and just plain unusual, even for these parts.

There was always the dilemma of how to best communicate what she wanted, but at the end of the day, it was always easiest in writing. She paused as she reached the counter to dig through her satchel for that heavy book of hers, and after flipping for what seemed like ages, finally set it down, turned so the barman could read her inquiry, in neatly written common. It was a curious thing, until one caught a glimpse of that scar.

She apparently asked the same question, for she received the same answer, producing the required coinage before turning on her heel to scan for a quiet place to sit.
"Will you be wanting a drink?" Turning her head slightly, she gave her head a few gentle shakes, white braid swaying to and fro as she found a decently secluded seat, and started to navigate through the crowd.

In contrast, Zaltican had no issues whatsoever with blending in; something he did naturally, a 'people person' in many respects with a disposition that could easily be subtly manipulated depending on the company of those he was in. From the most arrogant nobleman to the most humble fisherman, he had spoken to all of them with the same degree of ease in his time - possibly even at the same time. Sipping at the drink reservedly despite the fact that a single glass was barely going to get him tipsy, and certainly not drunk, his alert and attentive eyes soon inevitably settled onto Noctis.

"I have not seen one of my ilk...," Meaning, another elf. "...on the road quite so heavily armed as of yet until you came into the door, Lady." Addressing none other than the white-haired elvish woman who had just ordered a drink in a more creative way than most, although it would not be until she came closer, if she did, that he would have noticed the scar. "Is there trouble on the road?" Referring to her state of being quite formidably armed, in comparison to some of those within the tavern that they were now occupying.

Her steps slowed as his words reached her ears, turning her head to give him a glance. As antisocial as she was, she was not rude, and in order to be polite, she did indeed approach. With her book in hand, she slowly sank into the chair opposite him, for the moment, as she pondered how best to answer him.

After digging into her satchel for a few moments, she produced a small bottle of ink, and a simple quill. Writing for only a minute or two, she cautiously turned the book, and slid it across the table for him to read. In an elegant, neat script, in their tongue, her reply was simple.

"There is always trouble on the road as of late, though my path rarely lies along the road."

Zaltican's eyes moved to the book for a moment with a suggestion of interest and a glint of seemingly perpetual inner mirth, before he pushed the chair out slightly with a boot to make her lowering onto it all the smoother. He frowned for a moment when she began writing in the book, but once it was slid over the table, a subtle look of realisation occurred before he looked pointedly towards her throat - noting the scar.

"A Ranger, are you?" Again, his tone was polite and while the question might have been taken by some to be prying, his facial expression and the way of his bearing seemed neutral enough. Perhaps striking up a conversation of sorts was just his way of passing the time until the population of the tavern had thinned enough to consider going to sleep. But for now, people-watching was his pastime. And keeping his eyes open.