Gren had business that had taken him to the Dragon's Gate District of RhyDin City, and he walked quickly down the street, heading for home after a long day's work. He passed by a slightly familiar place, The Great Helm Tavern. He had not been inside it for years, and had heard little about it since. Nostalgia made him look through the glass windows, peering within to see if it had fell into disrepair over the years, when he stopped, his mouth slightly agape. Pressing against the glass and looking in, he could see a female bar mistress, and a steaming buffet in the corner, just like it was when he had passed by five years ago. He pressed closer to the window to get a better look.

She'd taken the time to lay out the night's menu on a long table. Starting with the appetizers, followed by the entrees and then desserts. Plates and silverware sat on either side of the food, to allow for one to start at either end. Izira made a finishing touch before straightening up and taking in the details with her amber-brown eyes. Satisfied, she tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear and moved back behind the bar. She wore a light blue wrap top that exposed the flesh of her collarbone and shoulders over a soft grey skirt and open-toed black heels.

Gren stood staring through the pane of glass for a long minute, unable to believe what he was seeing at first. Realizing he must look ridiculous with his mouth open, gawking through the glass, he stepped back, adjusted his cloak, and marched over to the door. Pulling it open, and pushing his grey hood back, he was barely able to contain his astonishment. The place was amazingly well kept, and he stared at the food laid out on the table, before looking to the woman with confusion in his ice blue eyes. He cautiously lifted a finger and pointed at her. "I know you."

"Do you?" She sounded amused, but only slightly. One occupied with other things. "It's not me you have to remember but rather my rule about not bringing trouble inside." A glance behind Gren, shifting to take in that no one is with him. She turned to reach for a tankard. "Ale?"

He continues to look bewildered at her, not quite comprehending what she has said to him, he makes a slow, awkward, 360 degree spin in the place he is standing, still pointing his finger, before looking back at her and the tankard she was reaching for. His mouth moves furiously as he attempts to form words. "I . . ."

Paused in her reaching, as he has yet to confirm the order. Now those amber-browns seek him out again, from beneath the line of a frown. "To drink?"

He looks at her frowning at him, and gulps, before making his way to the bar cautiously, still eyeing her as if she is a ghost. "Make it a Light Ale. I try not to drink too much." He sits on a stool with a perplexed expression, his head darts around as if to reaffirm what he is seeing really exists.

"Does that help keep you out of trouble?" Looking back to the tankard as she pulled it down. "Or do you take the heavier stuff only after meetings with hooded strangers?" A pointed look. She hadn't forgotten the events of only a few days prior. Her heels carried her to the tap, where she filled the tankard with a light ale.

"I . . . uh . . ." Tactful as always, he watched her in wonderment for a few moments as she went and filled the tankard. "I do try to stay out of trouble. I am not a violent man." he says, managing a weak smile. "Hooded stranger . . . hooded stranger . . . . ", he grabs his beard and strokes it as if he's trying to remember.

Setting the tankard before him. "I'd suggest maybe you switch to water, but that would be bad for business. Three silver. Six more if you want to take of the buffet." With her eyes she indicated the table of food, but for whatever reason kept her eye on the man.

Gren looks up at her, snapping out of his deep thought, glances over at the buffet. "The buffet. I remember *that*." Then he looks back at her. "And I remember your face." He shuts his eyes and snaps his fingers repeatedly. "Ivana. No. Isabella. Nononono." He squints his eyes tightly. "IsaDORA. No, that isn't right either." He then looks at her, as if prompting her for a little help.

"Is this a joke?" If it was, she obviously isn't finding it even in the realm of amusing. "You were in here close to a week ago."

Gren gave her another wide eyed stare. The tendress, the buffet, the cleanliness of the place. Close to a week ago. His face falls slightly, as he looks down at the floor and back at her. "I . . . apologize." He questions whether he should say anything to her, then finds his courage and does so. "Ma'am, this place has been closed for almost four years. I haven't set foot in this place in over five years. And you . . . . " Here he stops, giving her a long, paranoid look.

She picked up his tankard and took it away. "I think you've had enough." Turning with it in hand and setting it on the back counter of the bar. "I have been here. Working."

"Izira." He says it in a quiet whisper. "You disappeared. Nobody . . . " He pauses again, seeing the upset look on her face. "I'm sorry, I'm not trying to upset you. I'm not making this up. I . . . " Gren stops, rubs his hand across his face, as if trying to find some way to communicate to her what is going on. "I must be dreaming this."

"I'm not upset." She smiles and it doesn't reach her eyes. There's a thought and she returned the tankard to the bar before him. "However confused you might be, this isn't a dream." A well cared for nail taps the tankard's edge. "Three silver."

Removing his hand from his face, seeing her nail tapping insistently, he then frantically reaches into his cloak and pulls out the required three silver nobles. "Sorry." He says in an abashed whisper, laying the coins on the bar. "But I'm telling you, when I was standing out on that street, it was five years from now. I don't know what is happening." He looks back at her face. "But I do remember you, for some reason."

"Because you were in here a week ago. Not upsetting me." It seemed the cloaked man didn't need a friend to try and cause trouble. She picked up the coins one by one. "You were in here." Pointing over to where Gren and Xanth had their little discussion. "With a man covered up in a hood and gloves." Moving with the coins to the till. "I told you both to keep your violence outside."

"Hood and gloves." He mutters to himself, then glances over to the table where Izira points, and thinks for a moment. "Xanth Van Bokkelen. Good lord, I forgot about that. I caught him practicing necromancy. Tried to stop him, but he's a wily one. He's the ArchMage now. Of Twilight Isle." He turns back and looks at Izira, his smile becoming more relaxed and genuine as he takes his tankard of ale, he looks at it briefly and laughs a bit.

"I do not follow the duels. Topaz would know more about that than me." She eased back, taking up her place on the tender's stool. A cup of tea picked up and sipped, but she continued to watch Gren and he seemed to have given her cause to watch him. "Something amuses you?"

His smile became broader, spreading across his face, he lowers his head a bit sheepishly, before looking back at her. "I have a confession to make. I'm not a big ale drinker. I . . . ", he laughs a bit more, " . . . usually stick to Root Beer. But when I came in here, I wanted to help business . . . " He trails off, then pointedly looks back at her. ". . . I would have a headache all night from drinking that ale. But I did it anyway. And it wasn't just to help business . . . I didn't want you to think less of me."

"Getting into fights and telling me I haven't been working when I have is more likely to sway my thoughts than what you or any one drinks." Setting the tea aside, she is standing again. "I'm not going to refund you the cost of the ale." Taking the tankard back once again, she set it on the back counter for a second time. "Rootbeer, then?"

"Root Beer." He nods, but the smile doesn't leave his face as he watches her. "You'll have to forgive me for that. As I recall, we were just supposed to have a conversation. But Xanth is an angry one. I didn't expect him to do that. It was not my intention to cause any violence. That's why I thought a place like this would be a nice, neutral spot to have our discussion. I apologize for the trouble. Honestly", he finishes, giving her a warm smile and look.

"No harm came." Because she stopped it. That's what that look said. "As I said last week, take your meetings elsewhere and bring your non-violent friends here." Moving as she spoke, she took a rootbeer from a cooler. A plain old rootbeer, that she opened for him and set down on the bar. "You are short on non-violent friends, I take it?"

"Which Inn was that? Maybe I've been there." He uses the twirling spoon technique to get a ball of noodles on his fork, which he hungrily devours.

It seemed each answer came at the end of a long silent consideration. "You haven't." A look down at her tea and she stood to freshen it. "I worked at and owned the Forgotten Layers Inn."

"Forgotten Layers Inn." He repeats the words as if it will somehow jogs his memory, but it does not. "You said you "owned" it. So you don't own it any more?"

"I make no claim to it." Facing away as she filled her tea cup.

He watches her fill up her cup as he finishes off the last of the pasta. He pushes the plate with the Raspberry Cheesecake on it in front of him, and goes back to observing her. "Why did you give it up? The job and the Inn, I mean."

"That's a personal question." Said before she turned to look at the one asking it. "If you're going to ask those you might as well stick to my sleeping habits."

His eyes get wide, and his mouth opens in an "O" shape, before he flattens it into a grimace and looks heavenward. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you. I was just . . . curious and making conversation." Gren tries not to turn a shade of red.

"You didn't offend me. That doesn't mean I'm inclined to answer." The heels took her back to the stool where she sat, crossing her legs.

Glancing back as she seems to not be mad at him, he takes his first bite of cheesecake. "Alright. Well, do you have any hobbies? I mean, do you like dancing? Riding Horses? Music?"

"I can play the piano." Word nor tone gave away if she liked it or not, just that she is capable of playing.

"Play the piano!" Now we're getting somewhere, he thinks. "That sounds lovely. Do you play just for yourself, or do you play for the public? Like a concert, I mean."

He can hardly think he's getting somewhere when each answer is held back for a moment. Then again, she is, eventually, answering. "For myself."

"What's your favorite piece of music to play?" Again with the questions, he is halfway through his cheesecake.

"It doesn't have a name."

"The Unknown Symphony. It's a favorite of mine, as well. Maybe you can play it for me sometime." He gives her a joking grin as he finishes off his dessert.

The line of her brows crease at his joke before relaxing away. "I don't see that happening, there isn't a piano here."

"No, there isn't." His grin fades as he puts his fork down on the plate. "I'll probably never hear you play piano." Gren smiles gently and looks at his empty plate.

"Many haven't, Many won't." Abandons her tea to stand. Legs uncrossing with care and ease. She stood, collecting the plates from Gren's dinner.

"Thank you." Absently, he watches her take the plates away. He tries to think in his mind of the timeline of events, what happened in the next few days. He remembers her disappearance again, and curiosity gets the better of him. "Have you . . . been feeling alright?" he says, giving her an odd look.

"You are welcome, sir." Dipping a nod to him. Starting her way to the kitchen, "I haven't been feeling anything." The soft smile, wider. It still didn't reach her eyes. Seen a moment before she turned her head to the kitchen door and moved inside.

Gren thoughtfully scratches his beard as he studies her face, opens his mouth to ask another question but she's disappeared before he can. He stares at the doorway and tries to collect his thoughts for a moment, before looking behind him at the windows of the Tavern. Nothing seems amiss, just another ordinary day. He then looks back at the bartop, rubbing his forehead with his right hand.

She didn't stay long in the kitchen. Time enough later to clean the few dishes the ranger made. The door swings outward as she returned. Moving for her seat.

He watches her sit down and stares for a long moment. "Did I ever tell you what my name was?"

"You did not." Tea cup acquired again as she took a drink.

He smiles softly. "Gren. Gren Blockman. It's been a pleasure to meet you."

"A pleasure." Tea resting in her lap, "Did you want me to reintroduce myself you to?"

"That would be nice", he replied, his soft smile unchanging.

"Izira Nyte."

"Nyte.", he says, snaps his fingers again, as if remembering. "Izira Nyte." He glances at her fingers for a wedding ring. "Is that your maiden name?"

No rings adorned her fingers, long and slender. "It is my mother's maiden name."

"Ah." Gren nods sagely. "Well, it's good to know these things." He tries a bit of a smile, but clears his throat and rises from his stool, not noticing that his silver noble pouch had slipped out and onto the floor in his several attempts at digging coins out to pay for his meal and drink. "I should be going now, Miss Izira. It was nice to see you again."

"And after such a short time too." Standing soon after he starts to rise, her intent to collect the root beer as he left.

Slowly he makes his way to the door, taking in the place again with a mixture of bewilderment and humor, he looks back at her when she speaks. "I have some business to take care of." He pauses, looks at the door, then back at her. "You take care of yourself, Miss Izira." There is a seriousness in his face, as he remembers her disappearance from five years previous.

"No one else ever has." An odd statement to be paired with that smile that never reaches her eyes. She picked up his empty drink and nodded to him. "Thank you for the business."

He nods once, his smile does reach his eyes, he tries to remember her face, the way she sits on her seat, the cup of tea she holds, as if he'll never see her again, then he turns and opens the door, walking back out onto the street. He walks about a half a block down the street before he notices his cloak pocket is lighter than it should be, he desperately pats at his chest, then sticks his fingers inside, and realizes that he dropped his coin pouch somewhere. A little grunt of frustration, as he twirls around, then makes his way back up the street, and to the Tavern. He grabs the doorknob and opens it, quickly pushing his way in, and then stops there in shock. Glancing around, he sees that Izira is gone, and so is the buffet. It is no longer clean and well kept, but a thick coat of dust covers everything. The chairs are stacked on top of the tables as if they haven't been used in a long time. He hurriedly makes his way to the bar, then moves into the back through the kitchen door. ?Izira!? He calls out, although he feels embarrassed for doing so. It is obvious that she is long gone. He absently walks back through the kitchen door into the main bar and just stands there for a few long moments, looking around at the dusty furniture, before dropping his head and walking back through the door, his hand pulling the grey hood of his cloak back over his head, as he makes his way back up the street. Thoughts raced around his mind as he did so, but there was nothing to be done about it now. He continued about his business and disappeared into the crowd of people.

((Adapted from Live Role Play))
((The date the events within the Tavern happened is June 26, 2008.))