Rich, fragrant, perfumed pipe smoke curled through the air and rushed at the dapper gentleman who had just pushed open the door. The tavern room went quiet for a moment until they saw the warm, familiar smile plastered on his lips. A communal sound of greeting rose upon that recognition, and the newly arrived gentleman closed the door behind him, the small bell fixed above it jingling softly against the renewed din of the room. Snatching up his ornamental cane in one hand and removing his brimmed hand with the other, he made his way immediately to the bartender.

"Welcome back, Raiker!" Chyp the Barkeep said cheerfully. "How've you been?"

"I have been splendid, my dear boy!" Raiker Venn answered joyfully as he undid the clasp on his cloak and spun the long vestment off his body, tossing it onto a nearby stool. "And I thank you sincerely for your asking!"

"Would you like your usual, Raiker?" Chyp asked, already reaching for the bottle.

"But, of course, dear lad, of course!" The barkeep began to poor the drink as Raiker surveyed the interior of the Lark's Fable, his favorite tavern. On this plane, at least. It was a good crowd tonight, mostly regulars, with a few scattered, well-dressed strangers mixed in. Raiker Venn softly stroked his short, trimmed goatee as he scanned over them. Most were sneaking occasional looks in his direction, which amused Raiker to no end. Some looked because he was handsome, some because he was clearly wealthy, and others because his dark hair and goatee made him look a bit sinister at times. But Raiker's broad and honest grin seemed to calm those who might have been worried. Most there in the Lark's Fable, however, knew him well enough to merely look on expectantly.

Raiker Venn drained his drink, an expensive, imported liqueur from the distant Desdarth Mountains, lightly spiced by the elfish brewers and sold only to the wealthiest, most discerning connoisseurs on the plane. Raiker had ordered this shipment specifically for the Lark's Fable for the sole purpose of ensuring it would always be here when he was. The liqueur was always good, though this bottle was particularly transcendent. Raiker closed his eyes and allowed himself to become lost in the folds of flavors for nearly a minute before he set his glass down and asked for another shot.

He put the second glass to his lips, but before he could down this glass, a voice sounded from somewhere in the tavern room. "Come on, Raiker, you have to have one!"

Raiker smiled again as he looked for the source of the voice. It had come from Grathnin, a long-time regular of the Lark's Fable. Raiker raised his glass high in the air. "I did have one! This is my second!"

He downed the contents of his glass as the rest of the room erupted in laughter. Raiker suspected they were simply humoring him, but it was all the same to Raiker. A moment later, another voice rang out, this one clearly that of Lunora, a local scholar. "You know what he means, Raiker!"

Raiker Venn slammed the glass down on the bar and nodded sharply. Too many more and they would start to affect his tongue, and Raiker knew it was needed elsewhere. "I do indeed, fair lady, I do indeed." Raiker took a long pause. He loved making them wait. "So, would I be correct in my assumption that you would like to hear my latest poem?"

A loud and long cheer went up from the crowd, and Raiker's smile grew even larger. "Very well, then, my friend! Chyp, my good friend, please turn down the lanterns. I will spin you all a tale from very, very far away."

Chyp nodded and obeyed as the crowd settled in to listen.

Raiker Venn smiled with every eye in the Lark's Fable on him. Just the way he liked it. Raiker cleared his throat and spoke loudly, this voice carrying through the tavern like the smoke from the pipes. "The Jaded Cat," he said, before adding, as always, "By Raiker Venn."

In another tavern, in another country, on another continent, and on a different plane, another cloaked figure moved from the door to the bar. Her cloak was drawn tight about her, the hood obscuring her face completely. Her footfalls were heavy on the old, creaking floorboards, and she winced internally at every sound that came from beneath her. The barkeep was an old man, short and slumped, with a thick gray mustache that carried as many crumbs as the bar top did. The cloaked figure scattered a few coins on that dirty counter and growled, "Food, please."

The old barkeep squinted and tried to peer beyond the shadow of the stranger's hood, but she stepped back and turned to one side, making any discovery impossible. The Barkeep glanced down at the coins and saw they were genuine, and valuable. He scratched his head for a moment, then asked, "Where are you from, stranger?"

The old man shrugged and shook his head. "I never heard of no island called Neira before," he said, before turning around slightly and yelling at an old woman in the corner. "Bruuna, you ever heard of Neira island before?"

"What?" She yelled back, annoyed. "No, why?"

"Oh, never mind!" he answered, turning back to the stranger. "Anyway, tiger folk, you say? Sounds pretty tough to me." He turned around again. "Hey, Bruuna! You ever heard of tigers who walk like men before?"

"What?" She yelled, annoyed. "Krikun, you old fool, them bottles is for sellin', not for drinkin'!"

"But I, ah never mind!" He screamed, turning back to the stranger yet again. "So these tiger folk, pretty tough, huh?"

"White tiger, you say?" Krikun said, growing interested in the stranger's tale. "Never heard of nothing like that. Have you seen her, personally-like?"

"She's talkin' about herself, you daft old fool!" Bruuna yelled, having been listening to the entire story.

The old barkeep shook his head in disbelief, then took a good look at the stranger. He could make out nothing of her face, hidden under the heavy hood of her dark travelling cloak, and only enough of her frame to be sure she was female. Nothing else told him this stranger was one of these mysterious cat-people she was describing, let alone a white one. Krikun tried again to peer into the shadows of her hood, and the stranger again turned away.

"Leave her alone, Krikun!" Bruuna yelled. "If I was a cat in a village of a bunch a' normal folk like us, I wouldn't want us seein' me neither."

"I don't want normal folk seein' you as it is, you old hag!" Krikun yelled back, but there was a smile on his face and in his voice. Turning back to the stranger, he asked, So how 'bout this: how old are you?"

"See, you old toad!" Bruuna said, slapping her aged husband on the shoulder after having come over to join them. "She's had to deal with people like you leerin' at her all her life. Poor child. So stop tryin' to sneak a peek at her face! Here, dear, let me get you some food. Put them coins away."

"Any face would be better to look at than yours, ya withered old bat!" He shot back. "And don't give her food for nothing! She's just makin' it up! Have you ever heard of a 'Year of the Rock' before? Or tiger people? Or Dreamcatchers?"

Bruuna hesitated, but still gave the woman a bowl of broth and some bread and cheese. "Well, no," she admitted, "but even if she's makin' it up, it's a story good enough for our humble meal."

Krikun shook his head. "This is why we never have no coin, ya walkin' rubbish heap!"

"Sush, windbag," Bruuna dismissed. "'Sides, if ya wanna know what a 'Dreamcatcher is, we got one right here!" She turned to the stranger. "So, what's a Dreamcatcher, huh?"

"You can enter folks' dreams?" Krikun asked with an uncertain tone, sharing a concerned look with his wife. "Never heard of that before."

Bruuna was starting to grow concerned, thinking she had perhaps misjudged this mysterious stranger. Still, whatever may come from things, this woman was their guest, and Bruuna, despite the reservations she and her cantankerous husband might have had, was not willing to sacrifice hospitality out of something as silly as fear.

The old woman filled a tankard with some local mead and pushed it over to the stranger, who had paused in her tale to eat the meager meal she had been given. Her hands, or paws, if she were speaking the truth, were covered in heavy gloves that showed nothing below. She was also nimble and careful while she ate, making certain that her hood never slipped back to remove her face from the shadows.

After a considerable pause and a long, uncomfortable silence, Bruuna pressed the stranger for more of her story. "So, what happened? I mean, it sounds to me like you had a great life. So, why leave?"

"You were growing old?" Krikun said, surprised. "You don't look so old to me."

Bruuna hit her husband several times with the small rag she was using to wipe off the bar. "Of course, she don't look old, you simple old lunatic! We can't see her!"

"Well, I know, but..." Krikun stammered, realizing what he had said. "I just mean she don't sound old, ya know!"

"I swear, when I look at you, I don't know how you lived to our age," Bruuna said with a roll of her eyes.

"Yeah, yeah," Krikun said, annoyed. "And when I look at you, I don't know how I lived to our age, either."

Bruuna hit him with the rag again. "Keep it up and you won't make it another year!"

"If the Great Spirits are merciful, you're right!" He hollered back with a laugh.

"Bah!" Bruuna exclaimed, again refocusing on their mysterious guest. "So you was worried you was gettin' old. What'd you do?"

"That ain't the way to be, my dear," Bruuna scolded softly but sympathetically. "Though I think I know how you feel."

Krikun scoffed. "You may be a beast, Bruuna, but you ain't no white tiger! And you haven't walked in my dreams in decades!"

"Of course not," she retorted, "it's bad enough I gotta see you when I'm awake!"

Krikun muttered something, but Bruuna ignored it, knowing he only mumbled because he couldn't think of an adequate comeback. "Anyway, stranger, I know how you felt. When I first started noticin' my age, I was afraid of all sorts of things. How long would I last, what would death be like, would my husband leave me, all those things."

"You should never have worried about that, Bruuna," Krikun said with surprising sympathy.

Bruuna cocked an eyebrow. "No?"

"No," he said back to her. "By the time you noticed it, I had been noticing your age for years, and I was still around!"

Bruuna threw an empty tankard at Krikun, who danced away cackling at his own joke. Bruuna faced the stranger again. "So, what did you do?"

Both Krikun and Bruuna felt a shiver go down their spines as the stranger finished telling them about the mysterious man she had met, and the deal she had made. Even in their isolated part of an isolated world, such deals were rarely made with mortal men. The old couple shared another worried glance, and this time, they had no barbs for one another. Both were becoming exceedingly uncomfortable with the cloaked stranger, and the fact that neither of them had seen her face, while initially an intriguing mystery, was now becoming worrisome.

The stranger, for her part, had finished eating and had completely drained her mead, and was now simply sitting and watching the older couple. The silence in the room was growing uncomfortable. Krikun wanted to make some joke to break the tension, to hurl some insult at his wife, but somehow, he couldn't think of anything to say. Bruuna wanted to say something to the stranger, to offer some sort of comfort for what she had been through or whatever she had done, but there was nothing she could draw from. There was nothing in her experience that could even suggest what she could offer to this stranger in terms of advice. And so, there remained nothing but silence. Finally, without another word, the stranger pushed herself away from the bar and took a step toward the door.

She stopped suddenly, turning her head slightly to the side as she spoke. "Bruuna, Krikun, thank you for your generosity. May you both have pleasant dreams this night."

The old couple looked at one another before Krikun spoke. "You're welcome, uh, um, hey, you never did tell us your name."

The stranger bowed her head and laughed a bit, the first time she had laughed since arriving. "My name is Nephractinoni, but I have yet to meet a human who can pronounce it correctly." As she spoke, she raised her arms and, very slowly, drew back her hood. Bruuna and Krikun gasped audibly at what they saw and reflexively stepped backward. The stranger turned to look at them, her eyes expressive and mournful. The rest of her was nothing more than a green, living rock. "Most of you just call me Jade."

For a few moments, the tavern room was silent. Raiker watched them as his smile slowly began to fade. He was starting to doubt himself, something he rarely did. Did they not enjoy the poem? Impossible, Raiker thought. It was his poem. It was masterful. If they only knew what had gone into that poem, all of the work and all of the research that he had done! Could he have perhaps made a miscalculation? Was the subject not moving enough? Was the outcome not suitably tragic? If there was one thing Raiker Venn hated, it was silence.

Then, almost in answer to his inner fears, the crowd erupted into applause and even cheers. The smile returned to Raiker instantly, reveling in the adulation of the crowd nearly as much as he had in the effects of the Desdarth liqueur. Raiker grinned, and laughed, and eventually grabbed up his ornate cane, leapt up on the bar, and bowed to his adoring audience. Raiker loved a crowd who loved him. Finally, after the applause died down and several patrons congratulated him on his work, Lunora came up to speak with him.

"Raiker, that was magnificent. Thank you so much!"

The planeswalker flashed her his most endearing smile. "No, good lady, it is I who thanks you, for your gracious appreciation."

"You must tell me, where do you get the ideas for these fantastic stories you craft into verse?"

Raiker looked away momentarily, thinking back to a stranger he had once met, a woman whose name he could not pronounce. Then he looked back into the eyes of an adoring fan. "I have a great many muses, my dear, but the most vigilant muse I have ever known is the truth."

"Mr. Venn, you are not suggesting that this story of yours is true, are you?"

Raiker's smile deepened. She would never believe him anyway. "Perhaps, and yet again, perhaps not. But come, join me for a drink of the finest Desdarth. Perhaps you can be my muse tonight."

She blushed intensely, but smiled honestly and moved to join him. Raiker gave Jade one final thought, and then threw his attention entirely at Lunora. He was already writing the first lines of his next poem in his head as the Barkeep poured their drinks.