The sky was clear when the Orb rose over the western horizon, bringing an early morning heat. By late morning, clouds had rolled in, providing shade over Darune except for the face of the plateau. Rays of light beamed down upon it, gloriously illuminating the dolligarnias.

Lorayla glimpsed the beautiful view from a window in one of the rooms she was cleaning on the tavern’s second floor. She immediately stopped her work and ran down the hallway of vacant rooms until she reached the end where there were two locked doors side by side. Putting a key into the door on the left, she turned it and entered her room. She was greeted by numerous canvas paintings of various sizes. Some were on easels that crowded the door’s entrance, others hung from the walls, and even some hung face-down with cords from the ceiling. All of them were her paintings, of course, many of which reflected the plateau’s face at different times of the day and in different weather. Each one a dream and an emotion caught by a dreamer, she often thought to herself when viewing her paintings.

She stumbled through her easels to her desk, catching a few before they fell over and crashed into others. She gathered her painting supplies and a blank canvas from her desk and carefully stepped back to the door. She lifted an easel from her supply behind the door, closed the door behind her, and quickly prepared to paint near the window at which she often daydreamed. The plateau appears happy today, Lorayla thought, pinching her cheeks into a smile as she pulled her hair back.

The woman readied her paints, picked up one of her brushes, and furiously began to paint, desperate to capture the beauty of the Orb’s rays shining down upon the flower-decorated face of the plateau before the light disappeared. She wiped away beads of sweat as stroke after stroke of her brush brought the empty canvas to life. “Capture the dream, the expression,” she whispered to herself. The world around her faded away, as if she and her paintbrush were one, their sole purpose to capture the fleeting beauty and form of the dazzlingly colorful view.

While Lorayla painted, the ground trembled briefly. It had been some months since the last tremor which had caused some minor damage throughout Darune. This tremor was nowhere near as strong, but it was just enough to cause the woman to paint a blatant mistake. She stepped back from the painting and sighed in frustration. It’s ruined, she thought glumly. After staring at the mistake for a few moments, an idea struck her. She knew how to blend the mishap into the painting.

Lorayla’s heart raced with excitement as she returned to her canvas, touching up the mistake and making it one with the entire work. Seeing the painting was saved, she joyfully put the final touches on it. She stepped back from her artwork, comparing what she had captured to reality.

A hand caressed her shoulder, causing her to raise her hands into the air and nearly jump in fright.

“Ah, so this is where you are.”

Lorayla relaxed and sighed in relief. “Pappi, you shouldn’t do that! I could have ruined my painting or turned and hit you!”

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he replied apologetically. “I was just wondering where you were. You were supposed to have finished tidying up the rooms and begin mopping over an hour ago.”

“Sorry,” Lorayla sighed. “I saw a dream, an expression, upon the face of the plateau that I just couldn’t let get away. That small tremor we had almost made me lose it.”

Athan saw the excitement and determination in Lorayla’s eyes as she spoke, reminding him of the times his wife had that same look before embarking on a hunt or telling tales of one. The man smiled and looked at his daughter’s work, laying his hand once more on her shoulder.

“Hmm,” he said, looking closely at the painting’s details. “This one area here with the dolligarnias…their color looks so pure, almost like you actually captured their pink beauty,” he continued. “But the rest of the flowers don’t quite exactly match it…”

“Oh, that!” she replied in excitement. “That was my mistake caused by the tremor. It took some careful blending to save that part of the painting. Now that I think of it, I guess I should be thankful that the tremor happened.”

“Aye, Dolli. It was a steppingstone, right?” her father encouraged. “By the way, just my opinion, but I think your painting is a masterpiece!”

Lorayla pinched her brow. “You always say that.”

“It’s true, your paintings continue to get better and better,” Athan said with a smile, putting his hands on his hips. “Let’s display it tonight for our guests.”

Lorayla’s stomach filled with butterflies. “Are you sure?” she asked timidly. “I don’t think anyone will really like it…”

“We’re going to display it,” Athan said with a hearty laugh. “Otherwise, how are people going to know the beauty of your talent?”

Lorayla nodded, running her hand through her hair.

“Now,” Athan continued, “hurry and finish what you're doing. We’re going to have to work quickly to prepare for tonight’s customers.”

_____________________________________________________________________

The Charmed Tavern was ready that evening to receive its patrons. Athan proudly posted his daughter’s painting on a small table near the front door. Some passed it by, eager to eat some fish and flots and have a dream. Others gave it a glance as they came in, some even leaving a few koins on the table. There were a few who stopped and studied the painting, critiquing or admiring it.

One such customer was Thoron. He stared at the painting for a long while before sitting down at his private table. When Lorayla came to serve him, he questioned her about the painting.

“That your piece of work over there?” he asked indifferently, nodding toward the front door.

“It is,” she replied nonchalantly. She focused her attention on Thoron’s face to discover any expression that might indicate his opinion of her painting. Paying less attention to the plates she was serving, she clumsily placed a plate of fish and flots on the table. Juices from the plate splashed on her hand and onto the table. “Sorry,” she said, wiping her hand across her apron and swiftly cleaning the table.

“I’m not eating that,” the man said with a bit of agitation. “It makes me nauseous just looking at it.”

Lorayla bit her tongue, trying her best not to smile. “We promised you food if you returned, sir. We keep our word. Besides, you might get hungry enough to try it,” she said, stepping away from the table.

“It’s quite good,” Thoron responded, nearly under his breath, before she got too far away to hear him.

“What is? The food?” Lorayla turned and asked.

“Your…creation. It takes skill and heart to paint a piece like that,” the man said, looking down at the table solemnly. “Something probably most can’t do or understand. It’s…extraordinary. The concentration it took…the focus…”

Lorayla was surprised by the man’s words, though she didn’t show it. She never expected to hear anything close to a compliment come from Thoron. She replied quickly without showing any emotion, attempting to maintain a tough appearance. “Glad you think so, sir. Now then, seeing as your food is your company, I suggest you try some of it while you wait to be put into your dream. Its recipe was crafted with much skill and heart.”

Thoron watched Lorayla turn away and return to the counter. He looked down at his food and sighed as he picked up one of the cooked slices of fish. “Fish…why fish?” he grimaced, dropping it onto the side of the plate. The thought of fish and scales reminded him of an old enemy he’d been trying to forget. He bit down on his lip and reminisced for a few minutes. His eyes eclipsed with a purple glow as he concentrated on his arm. A patch of fine scales appeared on his skin. The scales disappeared as quickly as they’d appeared, as did the glow from his eyes.

The man tightened his hand into a fist, and a fit of rage came over him. He raised his fist and was about to slam the table when a hand grabbed his arm. The hand was soft and dainty but had a fierce grip.

“Nah, ah, ah,” patronized Lorayla, tightening her grip. “Not in my tavern.”

Thoron quickly regained his senses. He was awestruck Lorayla had such a strong grip.

“Now, if you are ready, you can begin your dream,” the woman continued, releasing his arm.

“I…uh…desire to start,” he said. He didn’t normally stumble over his words, but it was the first time a woman had touched him other than his mother, who he could barely remember. Lorayla’s touch stirred an assortment of emotions, some of which Thoron had never felt before.

Lorayla placed Thoron into a dream state and returned to the counter. “Goodness, some people…” she said, snatching up more plates of food.

“No kidding,” chimed Snider as he churned some cups of cider that were on the counter and handed one to his usual fymph patron. He then placed a cup on each of the plates Lorayla was about to serve. After placing the cups, he saw an elf slip through the front door and take the last seat at a crowded back table. It was Zaniel, and the cider-tender knew if he didn’t say something, he could face Lorayla’s wrath.

“Don’t look now, but Mr. Chivalrous just slid in and sat down at one of the back tables,” he said, feeling the desire to punch himself for heralding his competition’s arrival.

“Thanks!” Lorayla happily winked and quickly stepped away with the plates.

Snider bit his tongue, yanked off his glasses, and took a long sip of cider. As the magical effect of the drink came over him, he barely fought off the feeling of passing out, which quickly wore off. “Whatever,” he said under his breath.

“Now who’s drinking too quickly?” goaded the fymph patron who was in his human-height form. “Like I said, slain!”

 Snider wrinkled his lips. He put his glasses back on and stepped closer to the fymph on the other side of the counter. He took a deep breath and raised up his cup of cider. “Ceecil, it looks like we both have something to drink to.”

 “Would seem that way,” replied Ceecil, raising his cup. “To the women who break our hearts…” he toasted. The two sipped their cups.

 “Interesting toast…are you finally telling me what you’ve been depressed about the last couple days?” asked Snider.

Ceecil realized he had accidentally revealed his secret and began to laugh, and Snider chuckled along with him.  

 After serving the plates she’d picked up from the counter, Lorayla crept up behind the elf who Snider had alerted her to. “Welcome, brave hunter,” she said tenderly, laying a hand on the elf’s shoulder. “How may I serve you?”

 The elf jumped at her touch, then quickly relaxed. “There is no greater calling than to serve you, fair maiden,” the elf replied. “If only…if only…” he stammered.

 Lorayla pinched her brow. She was puzzled by Zaniel’s nervousness. He seemed uninterested in playing their usual game of brave hunter and fair maiden. “Zaniel, is everything okay?”

 “I…shouldn’t have come here. But I wanted to see you before—”

 The front door swung open and slammed the wall. A group of five foreboding characters, including elves, humans, and a dwarf, entered the tavern. Each looked somewhat unkempt and had swords sheathed on their belts. The dwarf, however, did not have a sword but instead a shield that came to three points and hung over his shoulder onto his back.