"Iffen all yer offspring be damned to sit on the plates of goblins, it'll serve ye right!" Hollered Sayuri, as her horse galloped off into the distance.
Wiping the snow from her stern, upset visage, she recovered her pack, and the large scythe she nearly managed to impale herself on, and trudged on through the cold, moonlit night, being sure to step firmly on the hissing snowcricket which had so spooked her especially farsighted and dimwitted horse...
It was at times like this she wondered why she ever left the mines. Her dwarven foster parents often warned her that the outside world was not a place to be trusted. Eventually, however, the tunnels would grow a bit too confining for a woman of her rather impressive build stature, so she left anyway, seeking to serve as a mercenary, or bodyguard for anyone who would hire her. Despite it's being a liability when falling off the back of a bucking steed, she was actually quite effective in combat with her strange choice of weaponry, and what of her physique could be seen via her choice of sleeveless tunic, and accentuated with leather armbands was usually more than enough to frighten the average goblin, or ruffian off before it came to blows anyway.
Unfortunately, she wasn't the easiest person to get along with, and often prospective clients would be just as frightened by her gruff attitude as their would-be assailants, and so, work was hard to find. Now, without a horse, or a map for that matter, a place to rest would also be hard to find.  She had gear to set up camp if need be, but sleeping in the forest without a traveling companion wasn't exactly the brightest idea.  Even the strongest warrior is easy prey if they sleep soundly enough, and if Sayuri's own snoring wasn't enough to wake her up, then your average goblin or highwayman would probably stand a fair chance of success. Her one saving grace was that at least she was on the road, those generally leading somewhere civilized, and so, wrapping her wool cloak about her, she decided to trudge on as long as she could before giving in.
Dwarves tend to instill a sense of stubborn perseverance into those that spend enough time in their formative years around them, but thankfully it was only an hour before the savory smell of roast boar, accompanied by the din of music, laughter, and crashing tankards led the warrior woman to what was possibly the largest inn and tavern she had seen in her life.

The pleasant aromas from within overwhelmed her as she swung the door open, a delightful mixture of spices and fragrances.  The gigantic common room was bathed in the light of candles, and several bright hearths, by which a few patrons sat and laughed. The greatest congregation of drunks and merrymakers in the room, however, were those crowded around a large table in the middle of the room.
The din of the commotion there easily overwhelmed anything Sayuri had ever heard, save possibly a cave collapse, the shouting, laughter, and bawdy raucous noise easily drowning out the exotic music some minstrel must have been piping out in the middle of the mob.
This rather conveniently left the bar open for her to order what was surprisingly the best ale she had ever tasted. This came of course with a stern warning from the halfling proprietor that he didn’t want any trouble in his bar, indicating her rather obtrusive weapon. It was a warning that Sayuri often received, and easily shrugged off. She never really went looking for trouble, not in her opinion anyway.  If someone was just asking for it, they’d get it, but otherwise, she was relatively happy to live and let live.
Looking back over to the crowd, she noted that it had not died down one bit, but rather its fervor had increased. From her previous proximity, it had been a tad difficult to see exactly what was going on, but from here, she could easily make out the upper half of a rather exotic looking figure, dancing in a rather exotic looking manner. Her height, build, slanted eyes, and angled features easily marked her as an elf, the first Sayuri had ever seen, likely a high elf, judging from her pale skin and blue hair. She wore an amount of makeup that would have been quite gaudy if not for the fact that most of it was black, or near black, and tattoos covered her chest and shoulders. Her garb was minimal to put it kindly, accompanied by an assortment of jewelry, exposing a lithe and toned body with proportions that likely had many men in the audience drooling, and at least one barmaid markedly ignoring the whole affair. Needless to say, coins flew at her like rain.
She danced in gyrating motions, her taught stomach undulating, her hips swinging in wide circles. As the music progressed so would her style, culminating in a spiraling finish, scarves whipping around her. Sayuri took in the whole scene, and while she wanted to roll her eyes at the men, she couldn’t help but find herself a bit intrigued by the figure herself. She was pleasant to look at if nothing else. At the moment, however, she was a tad more interested in her drink, and so returned to it.

As she did so, an encore was obviously being begged at the table. Delia tossed her aqua hair out of the one eye it covered, for no reason other to entice, as it easily fell back into place. Put her hands on her hips, shrugged, and pointedly looked up at the ceiling in a rather bored, teasing manner. The shouts around her increased, and a torrent of coins continued to fly at her feet. What Sayuri didn’t know was that despite the dancer’s apparent aloofness, she had indeed noticed the female mercenary, and considered her for a good portion of that last dance. While a bit more than she seemed on the exterior, Delia was definitely no warrior, not like Sayuri anyway, and despite her obvious charms had been forced to walk the road alone for quite some years, save Korax, the small banded snake currently wrapped around her arm. Things could get dangerous, and while she could easily defend herself from most drunken men who wanted a bit too much fun, it was best if people didn’t know how. Things were just easier that way, and so with a potential bodyguard sighted, she began her dance with a strange motion of her arms, chanting under her breath.

Finishing her drink, Sayuri felt suddenly strange. She didn’t quite know if it was the ale or something else, but she felt her gaze suddenly compelled to the dance.  Wanting to get a closer look, she shoved her way roughly through the crowd to get to the front of the group. As she arrived, she found herself enraptured. “What a beautiful woman,” she thought to herself, as her thoughts were swept away to strange and exotic places. As her bliss faded to simple enjoyment, however, she couldn’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy towards all of the men leering in like pigs at slop at what she thought must have been such a fine and innocent damsel. She couldn’t help but cringe at the thought of all those dirty hands reaching out at the poor girl, and so her annoyance began to build.

Delia carefully noted all of this, and it pleased her immensely. Not certain how well this was going to work, however, she decided she would need a bit of an insurance policy, and so, against better judgment, she reverted to the first motions and soft chants of her dance, this time directing them towards more than a few of the men in the audience.

Sayuri was appalled. The gall of these swine, reaching out to touch the poor girl’s bared legs, and calling her things better left for more private quarters. A few of them were even beginning to climb onto the table, and the poor girl suddenly seemed terrified! “Who do these men think they are?!” Sayuri thought to herself in disbelief. She couldn’t let this go on a moment longer, and so the scythe came down from her back.

When recalling this night, the owner of Pints and Quarts’ Inn would always do so with a grim face.  The violent and messy brawl that was to follow would leave the inn dazed and confused, short several patrons, and one dancer. To Delia, it would be the beginning of a new life with what would be quite possibly, the gruffest, but also the very best friend she would ever know.

If Sayuri had known that night, what she has come to know since, the true nature of this “poor, innocent girl,” she might not have been so quick to adopt her as a ward, but then again, the possibilities of being burned at a stake and chased out of towns at the ends of torches and pitchforks in defense of a necromancer don’t sound anywhere near as bad once you’ve geen charmed.