The building was old and seedy looking, and most  of the people in it were much the same way: the tavern didn't exactly live up to its name of The Golden Eagle, with its rotting exterior and its loud  and nearly inhospitable interior, and the title  'patrons' seemed a bit too elegant for the customers  inside. One of the current inhabitants of the inn seemed to fit that bill as well. As he sat there,  playing a form of solitaire in the dim lantern light, an observant person could feel a sort of  "no-good" aura wafting off of him.
    His deep red hair looked like it had been casually tussled, hiding a set of slightly pointed ears, and giving him an  almost playful look that didn't quite reach his green eyes. Latharen was his name, a token from his father, and the only one that he wanted from his High Elf parent; if he'd only known the truth of the situation, he probably wouldn't still harbor his immature resentment about the fact that his father had never tracked him down after his mother had died. But the fact remained that he didn't and he was still a little bitter for it. However, that hadn't exactly been on his mind much, considering the 'lucrative' endeavors that he'd found himself involved in; he had always been careful, but still couldn't deny the thrill that a little light-fingered fun always gave him.
    She approached the little tavern. The wind had been blowing violently all day, and it made her restless. The little shack where she had lived with her mother for the length of a score had finally fallen apart, shortly after her mother had disappeared. A small drop of rain fell onto her head, causing her to actually wish entering the shabby looking tavern. It was not a proper place for a lady such as herself to go, but since when had she been a proper lady? She pulled the old wooden door shut behind her. It creaked and cracked, as though its tired hinges were about to give out and break. Seeing there was light in the place, she pulled her hood down reveling long golden ringlets of hair.
    She caught something moving out of the corner of her eye. It was a card, one of the things her mother had scolded her about. Cards, the devils tools, as her mother called them. Elisabeth had often gone into the town to bet with the boys. The time, the only time, her mother had caught her at it, she had cut off all of her hair, causing her to look even more so like a male. She had never had features that were as girly as the rest of the girls she knew. About to approach the bar, she changed her mind, and walked over to the person playing cards in the corner. “Mind if I join you?”
    She strummed her fingers lightly on the table. Latharen looked up, slightly stunned that someone was bothering to talk to him.  He hadn't exactly established a reputation for being especially friendly in the 70 or so years that he'd spent on this city's streets.  Part of it was merely his heritage, his mixed blood that made Elves pity him and humans distrust him, but mostly it was just his antisocial nature.  However, perhaps unfortunately, one of the driving forces behind him was his insatiable curiosity that often made him ignore most everything else, even self-preservation and common sense, in pursuit of the reasons behind things.  And, by way of luck or fate, this girl intrigued him. 
    He laid down an ace, collected up the completed suit to lay to the side, and, with his free hand, drew back a chair. "Certainly not, my lady, have a seat." he said, a slight smirk playing about his lips as he wondered what brought such a personage here, much less to his own table. Elisabeth sat down at the old table. She looked at her new acquaintance carefully,  he appeared to be older than she had first thought, or maybe it was the fact that the light from the lantern was now shining in his face. ”I thank you sir.”
    She glanced at the cards, wanting to reach out and touch them with her pale fingers, but stopped herself, it would be rude. Though, rudeness was not usually something she was very worried about. Her eyes still on the cards, she spoke, her voice soft with youth. “So, do you think you could tell me where I am? It would seam I have lost my way.” This of course, was a lie. The location she was at was very clear to her, as she lived not far from it. Rather than say what she was really thinking, she would try to make a conversation before getting the old man to play cards.
    Being very charismatic, it was rare that she didn’t get what she wanted, especially when the cards were laid out for her already, in a manner of general speaking. She reached across the table and touched the edge of a card carefully, not wanting to distract him from her unnecessary question.
“Not a problem, miss."  Just because he wasn't social didn't mean that he didn't know how to be polite.  After staring at her for a moment, he looked back down to his game and answered, "Any one who becomes lost in these parts is either very lost indeed, or foolish for wandering out this far.  Or perhaps both.  Which are you, my lady?" he asked, picking up a Jack of Diamonds and moving it over to lay with its King and Queen.  He had noticed her eyeing his cards, and almost subconsciously moved the lantern from the stack of cards that lay back side up. 
    The design on the cards was something of a trade mark that he, and his sheet of misdeeds, was rather well known for in the criminal scene. Partially due to his elven blood, he had gotten out of more than his fair share of mishaps, could move like a shadow, and disappear almost as well as one and as a result, the stories of him had grown: that he was the son of mischief and fortune, sent to wreck havoc in the names of his parents; that he was Loki himself in the flesh, out for a jaunt among mortals for his own amusement; that his bedfellow was the Lady Luck herself, and that she always made sure to spin the cloth of life in his favor. However, there was one thing that most agreed upon. That nothing, not ethereal parents, nor the blood of the gods, nor a celestial lover, could keep him one step ahead of the reaper forever, that death would claim his own soon enough.
    The girl stared at the cards, they seemed strangely familiar. It sent a shiver down her spine. Elizabeth was usually rather mild mannered and polite, around people she had to be so around. She laughed lightly at the man lightly. “Well, I suppose I would be a bit of both of those. I have never once denied being foolish. Though, some say wisdom comes with years. Of which, I am sure you have more than I. While I await my father to come get me, would you be interested in a game of cards?” she asked, her eyes sparkling with innocence.
    This of course, was a lie. Her father, a blacksmith who had never been a great man to start with, died many years ago. Yet, Elisabeth was very good at speaking with people, especially when there was something she wanted. Some would say she was almost scary at what she did. Outside the window, or rather, gapping hole in the side of the tavern where a window might once have been, she saw a blue jay chirping annoyingly. She glared at it, wondering why anything would be out on a day like this, especially a creature of the wind. Her eyes made their way back to the man. She awaited his response to the question. He didn't answer her question, but seemed to be waiting for one to his own inquiry. "Ah, but if you have, in fact, lost your way, how ever will your father know where to find you?" the half elf asked.  "For all you know, you may have fallen into some rather bad company." 
    As he moved a stack of cards, those being 4, 3, 2 and another ace, over to complete his second suit, he deliberately flipped them over before setting them to the side.  The cards were old and well worn, but the illustration on them was quite good, and surprisingly uniform. It was a figure, a thief perhaps, if you judged by the way they were crouched in the shadow of a building. They had a single finger to their lips, as if imploring the viewer to keep silent, all the while unaware that above him hovered the drawn image of a skeletal, black hooded figure who seemed to be watching on in amusement, and The girl glared at him.
    He had not answered her question, and it caused her to want to show some of that girlish attitude. She refrained, of course, as it would not be a good idea. The pattern on the deck of the cards was becoming more clear in her mind. Danger. Her body told her to run, but in her mind she laughed. She played with fire, what was danger to her? “My father is fine at tracking people. Some might say he is too good. I don‘t care to believe that I have fallen into dangerous company. You might be surprised yourself.” She reached out and flipped a card over, revealing it’s back. She didn’t care about danger anymore. A box of old matches were in the sleeve of her old fashioned dress, If anything happened, she would play with fire, she would make it dance for her, as it often had.
    Her thoughts moved to the day the old mill had burnt down, the way the fire licked her fingers, almost playing with her. It’s not like the miller hadn’t been expecting it. After all, he had been rude to her mother. She snapped her eyes back to the old man. “So, are we going to play, or are you afraid that a girl could beat you at your own deck of cards, no matter the pattern on the back? We could make the wages… interesting…” Latharen raised one eyebrow.  "Ah, I see.  You must feel like you are in capable hands."  he smirked.  "Not dangerous company?  If you say so, my lady, if you say so." 
    He watched her flip the card over.  "Do you often find your way into seedy pubs and talk to men you don't know?  Your father must be in a constant state of fright for you."  He shook his head.  "Well, I suppose I have seen more summers than you have, but please, don't hold that against me." the half elf said, a hint of his youthful vanity coming into play.  He wasn't that far past his prime, thanks to his heritage. He seemed playfully taken aback at her fierceness with him, and scooped up his deck.  "You want a game, eh?"  He chuckled, shuffling the deck.  "It's been so long since I've played against someone else that perhaps you could beat me.  But..."  He paused.  "What kind of interesting are you talking about?"
    Elisabeth eyed the card carefully, she would always win at cards. She had never lost. “Oh, I am sure I could beat you. I am quite good with cards you see.” She glanced out the window once more, the same annoying bird chirping loudly. “I don’t know, how would  you make a game like cards interesting? Have you ever played with fire, dearest sir?” she asked, here eyes gleaming like a freshly forged sword.  She stared down at her fingers, wondering if the scars from her burns on them were as obvious to everyone else as they were to her. When she played with fire, she always got burned. A bit masochistic to a point, she didn’t even mind the way it felt anymore. She liked it, she almost craved it.
    “We could always say the winner gets to keep something, something a person needs, to live, one could say. This is only hypothetically speaking of course.” She looked him in the eyes as though to convey that she was not really being hypothetical. "How very confident you are." he commented, his eyes flickering over to the bird and then back to the girl.  "Hm, played with fire?  When the occasion calls for it I suppose." he admitted.  He followed her gaze down to her hands and noted the burns there, but decided to not mention them.  His own hands were scarred enough, though most likely from a quite different source, considering several of them were cuts. "Something a person needs to live, eh?  And what sort of thing would that be, my lady?"  He mentally chuckled at the idea of her perhaps taking his heart as her prize--he'd certainly be unable to live through that.  But many ladies had already told him that his was either black beyond recognition or was simply missing altogether, so the girl would be cheated there. 
    Elizabeth nodded appreciatively. Many thoughts ran through her head, she was thinking all sorts of things, one of them being how she was going to cheat. Of course she would cheat, when risking ones life at a game of cards, you always have to have a back up plan, and cheating is usually a good one. She had cheated a many a time, never winning a prize quite this great before, though she had acquired quite a large sum of gold, at least for an unmarried maiden. She had life quite good. “Yes, that sounds quite fine to me. What a wonderful prize that would be.” She extended her hand, hoping he would shake it. “Do we have an accord?” She kept her eyes locked in on his, hoping that he would answer as she wished he would. With a yes, of course. “What game are we going to play?” she asked herself mentally as the bird chirped to loudly, as though it knew it was annoying her. "I suppose we do, my lady.  Though you're making me feel a little bad here." he teased her as he accepted her hand a shook it, meeting her gaze evenly. 
    He had already assumed that she was going to try and cheat, not so much as he took her for the type as because he always suspected everyone of dishonesty, mainly because he was the example he went off of to judge the world by.  "Now, do you have a game in mind, or would you like me to chose?" he asked, starting to shuffle the deck with care. Elisabeth displayed a crooked smile. “How about rummy? I suppose you know how to play it. There is always go fish, though, I have no idea what it is or how we play it.” She sighed and reached for the deck of cards, hoping he would allow her to play as it was a crucial part of her cheating plan. “Do you mind if I deal, sir.” She allowed a small bit of venom to leak into her voice at the end of her sentence. She glared out the window at the annoying bird. She was tempted to pull a match out and light it on fire, after all, fire was her forte and the bird was incredibly annoying, even for a bird. He raised one eyebrow again, apparently not having expected rummy to be her game of choice, but nodded.  "That works for me."  He scowled, however, at her presumptuousness, and for the scorn he thought he could hear in her voice. 
    That having hit a nerve, he drew his hand back.  "Actually, I believe I do mind actually.  Hope you don't mind." he said, sounding slightly irritable as he dealt out the cards. She flipped her hair out of her piercing black eyes and glared at him. Her teeth clenched, she spoke, “Not at all dearest sir.” Of course she had a back up plan, or rather two, the first of course would be easiest, the second would require a bit of skill, but she would undoubtedly manage. After all, she was Elisabeth Marks. She pulled a long black match from out of her sleeve under the table, getting ready to set the bird on fire when it chirped, even once more, and she would blow, and the match would find it’s way to the birds tail feathers.
    She watched the cards being dealt carefully and smiled slyly. “Sir, you never said your name.” He noted her anger with some amount of satisfaction.  By this point in his life, a day didn't seem complete until he had made someone mad at him.  "You're right, I never did.  Then again, neither did you, and you are the one who approached me first." He looked up from dealing the last card and grinned.  "But I suppose we shouldn't argue about trivialities, now should we?"  He was about to say something else when a dagger came whizzing through the window, impaled the bird, and landed on the table just short of his hand.  "What the hell...?" he wondered aloud. Elisabeth sighed. “true…” she trailed off, just about the time the bird she wanted to set on fire landed on her table. “Blast it all, I wanted to torture the bird.”
    She looked out the window to see the owner of the mill she had burnt down standing there, looking particularly murderous. She looked at him rather curiously, there was no way he could have known that she was responsible for the fire. Only his dead father knew that. “Anthony, what are you doing here? Go back to your mill, or whatever I left of it, farm boy.” She covered her mouth. “I mean whatever is left of it.” She used her hands to make a shooing motion. “Run along now, go make some bread.” She was running out of insults that made sense, and wished he would hurry along the leaving process, he was almost as annoying as the bird.
    His straw-colored hair in his eyes, and half his teeth missing. Curious as to what or who was causing all of the stir, the half elf leaned forward to also look out the window.  Not recognizing the man, he shrugged and started to return to his seat, until the cry of "And you're in there too?" stopped him short.  "I'm sorry...Do I know you?" Latharen asked, clearly puzzled.  "Well I'd damned well hope you do!" the miller's son fumed.  "Thanks to you two, I got nothin'!"   Still confused, the red head looked over at the girl.  "Do you know him?" Elisabeth nodded, deciding to be honest, as she was going to kill him anyway. “Yes, of course. I burned down his fathers mill, and you know what?” She looked from the boy to the half bred. “I thoroughly enjoyed it. The way he screamed, the way he begged for my mercy. Me, the daughter of a dead blacksmith and a maid, give mercy? I think not. No, no, I would not be merciful. He insulted my mother Anthony. You understand right? Though, it really doesn’t matter.” She looked back to the half bred. “And what did you do to Anthony here? He seams almost as mad at you as he seams mad at me. What could you have done?” She lit the long black match and looked into it’s dancing flame.
Latharen nodded his approval at the girl's actions, but his expression soon turned to one of frustrated puzzlement. "I...Honestly don't remember...I only recall the interesting people I do things to, and I doubt he was one of the interesting ones."  The man turned purple in the face.  "All I had with me the day the mill burned down was a satchel of coins, and you, you thieving son of a dog, had to come in and take it from me!"  At that, realization dawned in Latharen's eyes.  "Ah yes...That drunken idiot in the bar.  Well, just so that you know, I wasn't going to touch you if it hadn't been for that girl you ravaged coming and asking me to relieve you of your burden. Be thankful she only wanted you to go instead of wanting you dead, because I'd have done that without hesitation. “Very smooth.” Elisabeth said under her breath. She looked from Anthony to the half breed. “It seams I always find myself in the most interesting company. But about half the time I am in the dark. And sometimes I am in the dark about being in the dark while I actually am in the dark. Like as in there is no light, and then in the dark as in I don’t know what is going on, like things are being kept from me. Then sometimes, sometimes I feel like I don’t know things are being kept from me so I am in the dark in the dark in the dark while in a literal sense in the dark. Understand?” She looked from one to the other, hoping she had made her point clear enough, as if there was a point to her point. The millers son stared at her, he clasped his knife as he glared. He held it close to her skin, and stabbed her. He turned to the half breed and stabbed him through the window. He turned and left the pub, the two of them dead in their seats.