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*pulling the hood of his cloak tighter as to further conceal his appearance and tightening his grip on his leather pack, Shasari made his way down the main path, hoping to draw as little attention to himself as possible. His white fur and leonine appearance always seemed to attract attention, too much attention and usually of the wrong kind.

As he made his way toward The Shooting Star, the inn where one friendly sort told him he would find warmth, food and a soft bed, he noticed the looks of passers-by and quickened his step.

Looking up at the wooden signs, he spotted the sign he was looking for and made his way to the door. Once inside, he kept his cloak wrapped about him with the hood still up. Looking around, he saw a table in a far corner, near the hearth, that was empty. Making his way quietly to the table he took a seat with his back to the corner walls, letting the warmth of the hearth ease the chill he felt. Setting his pack down beside him, he untied his cloak and pulled his hood back slightly. Looking around for a server, he hoped to gain their attention and order a hot meal, the first one he would have after a week of hard traveling, so sick of biscuits and nutrition bars as he was...*

With a nod, Novalyyn rose to get back to her duties - which didn't take long to involve more than idle polishing. With a warm smile, the silver-haired, middle-aged elf made her way to a newcomer. She stood with her hands clasped before her and gave a slight bow of her head as she greeted him with, "Welcome to the Shooting Star, good sir. Can I get you anything? We have a fresh roast pig tonight, if you have any interest."

*Shasari watched as the silver haired elf approached and, sitting back, reached up to pull back his hood, the fur ruff bordering the hood coming to rest circling the back of his neck. In a fluid motion he lifted up the long plait of his hair from where it lay under his cloak and rested it over his right shoulder, the golden torc and wrist cuffs he wore gleaming in the subdued light from the fire and candle sconces. Looking up at her he smiled gently at her question*

"Yes, yes that would do quite nicely" *he said, his soft spoken voice both gentle and deeply resonant, the R sounds rumbling softly in his chest as he spoke, annunciating each word carefully* "and some water to drink, if you please." *he asked, inclining his head in a bow, ears flicking* "This is a very nice tavern" *he said* "I don't imagine you see many of my kind wander through. My name is Shasari, and I've been out traveling for some time. I'm glad to have found a place to warm up, and get a meal. Do you by chance have any rooms to rent for a few nights?" *he asked softly*

"Thank you," she said with a grateful nod. "I do my best. We actually get a pleasant variety of peoples here, though I'll admit that most carry less finery. I'm afraid that if you are nobility, you may need to advise me on how you are to be properly treated."

Not a word about him being covered in fur, nor about what appeared to be some degree of albinism. Not even the slightest flinch or any sign that anything was out of the ordinary.

"Anything else before I go fetch your dinner?"

*Shasari briefly touched his torc and his eyes grew distant for a moment* "These were gifts from someone very dear to me. Please" *he asked, golden flecked eyes looked into the elf's eyes* "no matter what you consider my bearing, or upbringing to be, please treat me only as well as any of your patrons" *he said softly* "There is one thing, yes. May I play my flute a while? It helps me to relax, and perhaps the other patrons here might enjoy the music I make" *he said, a soft smile returning*

"My apologies, and of course you may. Music is always welcome."

Novalyyn gave another small bow before turning back for the kitchen.

*Shasari inclined his head returning the bow, and turned to his leather pack, retrieving a velvet pouch from which he pulled out a richly inaid wooden flute. As he polished the wood, a faint amber glow surrounded it and as he drew it to his lips to play, he closed his eyes and wove a melody that was at once warm, calming and plaintive at the same time. Thoughts of home, of his youth and of happiness and warmth suffused him as he wove those feelings into the music, the glow from the flute a bit brighter. He would play until his food arrived, and hoped no one minded the use of a little magic here*

Jerry's jaw dropped at the sight of this lion playing on his flute. The glow, the feel, the passion, it was a magnificent piece played with great skill.

"Wow," he said quietly. He looked down at the flute in his own hands. He couldn't sit back in silence. He wanted to jump from his table, but he dared not interrupt the player's tune. Also, he was a talking lion, and he wasn't sure how likely he would be to remove his larynx for being interrupted.

When Novalyyn returned, it was with a large plate bearing a chunk of roast pork, a seasoned baked potato, and a small pile of steamed vegetables, though she was unsure if the lion would have any interest in them. She balanced the plate in one hand and brought out a cup of water in the other.

Novalyyn tried not to interrupt as she set things down, but since he ceased playing anyway, she said with a polite smile, "You play well." She gestured toward Jerry. "Even our other musician seems to think so."

A coiled, tattered rope was slung over Eli's shoulder as he blundered into the tavern, clearly famished. A sack of plunder from his most recent adventures plopped down by his side, and his vibrant green eyes gleamed with a sparkle of something powerful. His lush black hair was gingerly spiked in the front and lied down on the top and in the back. Tumbler was a famous explorer with a strong, but slender build, and a scar on the right of his chin. A beige tunic with a light-brown vest over the top, beige pants, hard-leather boots, black gloves, and a dusty red scarf he had equipped on himself, all of which, were tremendously dirty. Although his clothing had dust plastered on it, he surprisingly didn't smell revolting. Stumbling over to an open table, he flagged down the hostess to tend to his needs, he was aching for something to eat.n

"Pardon me," the silver-haired elf said to the lion, before hurrying off to tend to the newcomer.

"Welcome to he Shooting Star, sir!" she told the dusty man warmly. "What might I be able to get for you?"