[piosenniel]

Pio sat back in her chair, her eyes cast down low, gazing, it appeared, into the depths of her mug. From beneath her long dark lashes, her eyes tracked the movements of the scar-faced man. She had watched him as he reached to touch the scar. His cloak had shifted and the glint of his blade caught the light for a brief moment.

The Elf rubbed the back of her neck, wishing that all bladed trouble would pass the Inn on by. Rising to her feet, she went to the back room, behind the bar, and found a small unopened bottle of choice, red wine from the Southern lands. Wiping the dust from the bottle, she opened it and brought it, two extra glasses, and a plate of sliced fruit to the table where he sat talking with Umbria.

‘I have been remiss in my duties as a good host.’ she said, placing the plate of fruit between the two. A clean glass she placed in front of the Elf. ‘Welcome to our peaceful establishment.’ She smiled at both of them. ‘My name is Piosenniel, innkeeper for the while as you can see.’

She poured a glass of wine for the Elf and another for the man. The last glass was for her and she poured only a small amount of the blood red liquid into it, cutting it with water. It was redolent of grapes and plums,wild berries and the darker tastes of the wooded barrels in which it had been made.

Pio drank to the continued good health of the two before her, and sat her glass carefully on the table. Her right hand reached beneath the sleeve of her tunic, and with a soft snick! the double edged knife slid out from the scabbard on her forearm. Daintily hoisting a slice of Winter’s apple on the blade’s sharp point she offered it to the surprised Elf, who declined it.

‘And you, good sir,’ she said offering the piece to him, ‘do you care to try a tasty treat from off my blade?’