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[Itannar]

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The aged warrior sat in the Horn of the Unicorn tavern gazing into the roaring fire of the hearth. Winter was past; warm weather had arrived. Soon there would be no real need for such moments as this, and there had been many.

Itannar Darkanor, the half-elf, who had long ago placed his bow and quiver in a large footlocker, determined to retire and live out his remaining years in solitude, was restless. He longed again for adventure, for something other than the wine, rich food, laughter, and songs of the tavern, which had been his daily fare for years. His mind was still keen; his bow arm still steady; his eyes still sharp.

It was time to move... to act... to enjoy life and the wild outdoors again.

"Get back to living," he mumbled to himself. "You're not dead... not just yet."

He went to polish his armor, and re-string his bow.
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-The bonds of fellowship are forged in the flames of adversity-