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Rathe heard the man's words wash over him like a slow tide. Each time he spoke a droning came to Rathe's ears for this man had a perchance to beat around the bush and play his mind games. Something that Rathe thoroughly hated, Hell it was part of the reason he hated the courts and despited the royals of all kinds. Be they noble, king, queen, or anything. Their words were never to give you a straight answer and curb any chance of giving a straight truth. It wasn't like battle where you knew who your enemy was, it wasn't like intelligence where you learned what you could to deal with your foe. This was... like he wanted an answer to a question that was never asked.

Glowering down at him with his stern expression he squinted his eyes and bellowed in a low and grave tone of voice. "Wait. Let me get this straight." He began, his tone taking on an almost agitated state, "You came to my fort bearing a message. Refused to give me the message until we were in private. Then when I accommodated you to not only the confines of my fort, but the chance to meet in private to show my hospitality. Only to discover that you do not bear a message but want to know my allegiance on behalf of a party that I do not know, for reasons you refuse to tell me, and for motivations that you are acting not only shady, but conniving for." Ending his tirade with a growl and snarl, showing that he was getting increasingly agitated from Belor's actions and words.

Turning to face him head on and stepping close to tower over the smaller Eryian. His chest heaving with anger and fury. "I showed you hospitality, made accommodations to hear you out, and at the end of all things you spit in my face and show only distrust. All on behalf of somebody who you refuse to name." He snarled out, drawing up his spear and positioning it away from his chest. Less as a walking stick style and more to face his foe head on. "Let me give you teh chance to do your job right. You take my message to 'your widow.' Tell her that I will kill the next messenger she sends and will continue to do so until she shows her face. I have no time for petty games and veiled warnings. I have real problems to worry about without playing your games." He finished, taking a step back to tower over the smaller Eryian less.

Though he wasn't yet done. His grounds had been tread upon, his hospitality spit on, and now his patience tried. Three strikes and punishment must be had. "Before you lies a choice. Either give me a straight answer. Or I clip your wings and send you back home on foot." He snarled out once more, activating the power of his jewel to extend the length of his balde a full four extra feet with ebon-grey energy. "What is Dorothea planning and how does this involve me and my men at Helios?" Letting his question hang in the air and drift through Belor's ears, ensuring that he knew the consequences of lying, beating around the bush, or continuing to play this petty pronoun game. Intelligence needs answers, not riddles and games.

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Artemis had finished healing her friend’s shoulder wound by the time both archers reached her doorstep. She broke off the arrow lodged in Vaclav’s leg and willed her healing salve and a mesh cloth over to them. The salve was infused with calendula and lavender to help with infection and bleeding. Holding down his leg to prevent any sudden movement, Artemis applied the salve liberally to both sides of the wound. When she heard Vaclav hiss in pain, Artemis whispered a small spell to relieve this pain. “Shh, almost done.” After the salve was applied, she wrapped the wound with the cloth. When they were in a better position, Artemis would heal it properly.

Finally, Artemis turned around to face the scene behind her. She had been purposefully avoiding the men behind her to avoid provoking any of their rage further. Usually her clinic was calm and peaceful. Patients would walk in asking for help with a minor wound or sickness; then leave once they were treated. There was never any violence at her doorstep. What turned out to be a typical day has quickly gone downhill. It angered her but terrified her more, especially with Vaclav already wounded. “Explain yourselves. What are you doing showing up to my doorstep armed and shooting the people that are in my clinic?” Artemis hoped she sounded more assertive than she felt. Her eyes took in the countenance of the first boy- Liran. It didn’t seem like he would be standing for much longer but she fought the urge to surge forward to help him until she got some answers.

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@nohbdies Liran swallowed heavily, his bow clattering to the floor along with the arrow he had been prepared to stick into Vaclav and Artemis as he made a beeline for the outside. Managing to get off the stoop before the sounds of retching could be heard. The other lad of roughly the same age and not yet at the majority of the blood's twenty odd years, cast a worried look after his friend. With good reason as well seeing as the young Warlord had left unarmed. Snatching off his cap, the lad wrung it in his hands. "We didn't mean any harm, Miss." The yellow jeweled Warlord protested, before back tracking his words in correction of himself. His eyes turning from the dead Hyallian. "Well, we did mean harm I suppose, but to him! Them bastard from Hyall got Grayhaven up in a ruckus and their just killing anyone whose loyal to the Queen." The capital of Dene Nehele, Grayhaven, was the center of the Territory and home to Queen Karlianne. If there was an attack there it was a sure thing that times were changing and in these dark times it was most likely not for the better.

The sounds of Liran loosing the contents of his stomach outside came to a stop as a soft snuffling noise could be heard, for the lad was weeping. "Even those who aren't joint at the hip with the the First Court." The lad amended his face pale and drained of color as he stumbled back to lean against the wall. "Their just killing anyone who resists them in Grayhaven and the Hyallians are sporting about the country side. Liran and I were out hunting and on our way back when Father warned us." Beneth, for that was the name of the yellow jeweled man, trailed off looking lost as the anger fled his system. Grief and horror at what had been done and seen catching up with him. "There's just blood everywhere." The boy whispered, staring blankly in front of him.

@eclecticwitch Hyall had once been a very giving land, but the land was a reflection of the Queens that ruled it. For centuries the land of Hyall had been put to the yoke of the Queens just as the people were for the pleasure of the Queens that claimed dominion. The toil farmers had to put into the land to receive so little back was something that was unheard of in those territories that still gave. Especially in the Shadow Realm of Kaeleer. It was like an itch that needed scratching to the attentive Queen, and to those who were not? It was nothing more than a mild irritant which they used to barb and prick the Court to their whims. The village of Eldan was a simple place. It's funds coming from the farms and the wool of the fat and lazy sheep that plodded about the steep hills. Those bits of land that had been given over for woodland were thick with nuts, berries, and dyes. The combination of wool and dye giving rise to a well sustained if not prosperous village's Weaver's Guild. Traders would come with supplies the village could not supply themselves and leave heaped with cloth and yarn.

Durik, the Steward for Queen Fatima, was looking over the supposed income they would be squeezing from a dry land. The sheep had a bad year due to flooding and mold in the grain. It wasn't anything they couldn't make up the next year with dropping a few new mine shafts into the nearby hillsides. However, the problem with that was the drop in the water and earth that would endure crops and sheep. Already the weavers had complained long and hard about how goats had inferior wool. Yet what more could the expect when they lost land that the herds of sheep could graze on! Running a hand through his patchy and balding hairline, the Rose jeweled Hyallian Prince groaned aloud.

"We could go and push our luck against on of the neighboring Courts for more land." The new Master of the Guard, Beneth, noted with a slight smirk. As far as anyone knew the lad was far too eager for a fight. Reasonable seeing as he was a Warlord Prince wearing the Opal. A powerful jewel in this region. Yet he had kept it hidden, resorting to his Birthright Jewel when company called. A good measure as well, if one of their number moved on it risked all their skins. The previous Master of the Guard had made that error and had 'went to visit relatives in Pruul'. Arranged per several members of Fatima's First Court. They could not risk word of their powerful Queen slipping out lest it bring the ire of the other Queens upon their heads and the heads of their families.

Hynter was already shaking his head, a mere Warlord of the Summer-sky, but he was a solid man. "And risk the District Queen or the Provincial Queen taking a look at us?" His tone was one of annoyance and contempt for Beneth, the two of them had never gotten on well at the best of time, so Durik hoped it would be headed off early before blood was shed. While he would do it himself, he didn't want to risk his neck when the rest of him was quite literally drowning in paperwork. His seat and part of the large table where a majority of the Court was gathered to argue covered in reports.

It had been nearly a year since her mother had passed and she had come to take control of the woman's Court. She missed the woman, though she had not spent much time with her. Queen Eilyne had been more like a friend than a mother to her. She was a rather crass person, swearing like a soldier and often making sexual remarks. She found it funny growing up. Now she realized it was likely the reason her mother had never advanced in Court. Almost a year. It still didn't seem quite real. It sometimes felt Fatima had merely gone on a trip again and when she returned her mother would pull her into a bear hug.

She brushed the last of the dark, wavy strands of her silky hair up into the intricate bun at the back of her head. The final pin in place, she observed herself in the mirror. The dress she wore had been out of fashion for at least two decades. The vibrant moss green colour had not yet faded thanks to the masterful dye work of her people. The dress fit well and showed her assets spectacularly. What was it her mother used to say? 'Childbearing hips and village feeder tits.' Fatima pressed a hand over her mouth in an attempt to suppress the gale of giggles that threatened to spill out, nearly turning to tears. It would be her first day out of mourning black.

Once calmed, she took a deep breath and touched the dark circles under her eyes. She hoped the Court wouldn't notice. She had stayed up well into the morning hours in order to prepare all of her research for this meeting. There was not much she could do, so Fatima swept from the room and moved down the halls of her warm, lavishly decorated home. She settled into her chair at the table as the Court filled empty seats and discussions about their situation began.

It sounded worse than she had first thought. A frown touched the corners of her lips as she listened to each of her people speak in turn. She then felt the bristliness from Beneth and sighed. She would have to put out this fire. There was always a fire to put out it seemed. The Queen stood from her place and moved around the table until she reached Beneth. The tiny woman slid her hands over his shoulders before placing herself comfortably in his lap. Leaning forward, Fatima touched her forehead to his. "Prince," she purred softly, "All things in due time. For now, let us concentrate on fixing my lands and ensuring that my village thrives. Once we are able to take care of them, then we may consider expanding." She leaned back, an understanding smile lighting up her face.

She turned back toward the Court, not removing herself from her place on her previously snarly Master of the Guard. "I think the new mines may be a good idea, though we might need more hands in order to build and work them. There has not been much of an influx in the population, from my understanding. My greatest concern is that my people should be fed and so too the sheep." Using craft she called in a stack of books she had been looking through to gather insight. "I have found some crops which can help renew overused soils here and... here." She pulled two books from the stack. "There is also some information in these books pertaining to foodstuffs that we can grow for our people and the sheep. For example, beans. Can be dried and stored through the winter and the sheep can eat the roughage. One of the sorts of plants to help our farms flourish again. In this book, I found some information on composting, which will be very helpful." She called in a stack of papers next. "These are notes with more specifics that I gathered from my journals I kept as I travelled. They have insight from people I have encountered."

Next, she called in another stack of books. "These discuss the preserving of more perishable food items so that they may be stored and eaten in the winter months. I am sure many of our very clever ladies know what they are doing, but it would be a nice guide for those needing help to be more precise in their preservation. Also, some information to help increase our honey production. Clover, good for bees and sheep. Also an earth rejuvenator." It was now she removed herself from Berneth and walked around the table toward Durik. As she moved she said, "I am not sure how practical all of this information could be for our needs. But I would dearly love all of your input as to how to implement this. And keep my name out of it, of course." She took an empty spot beside Durik, his mound of papers nearly obscuring her face.

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Artemis glanced at Vaclav when Beneth spoke of the upheaval in Grayhaven. If Hyallians are running amok in Grayhaven killing anyone loyal to Queen Karlianne, then Dorothea was finally making her move in Dene Nehele. She touched her opal jewel hanging off the chain on her chest and muttered a small prayer. There was already so much turmoil in Terreille, Artemis didn’t want to see anymore despite her suspicions that it was going to draw near. “Come inside, dear.” She ushered Liran to one of the chairs in her healing room, motioning for Beneth to sit in the chair across the table from him. Before closing the door shut, she glanced outside to ensure there wasn’t anyone coming. Not that she would let them in; there had been enough visitors for the day.

Not wanting to look at the dead Hyallian anymore, Artemis went into the other room to grab a sheet. Before draping the sheet over the body, she pulled out the arrow sticking out of the dead Warlord’s body and chucked it out the window. With the door closed, shadows crept into the room. Artemis lit a few witchlights to brighten it up. She started boiling water for some tea. “And what of the Queen? Has anyone heard news of her?” If things were amok out here, Artemis couldn’t imagine what was happening in Grayhaven currently. She worried for Karlianne, who had been fighting a losing battle from the start.

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@nohbdies The two lads sat in the chair. Beneth looking like a sack of grain, Larin moving with wooden and choppy motions as Artemis helped him sit down. Pressing the heels of his hands into his red rimmed eyes, the archer gave a small shake of his head. "Don't know." He answered roughly as Artemis peered out her door before shutting it. "Didn't stick about. Don't stick about." The white jeweled Warlord advised the Healer, an unspoken apology in the dark green eyes and too pale face. Both of the young Warlords' hands were shaking as they came down from the adrenaline high. Larin glanced at the covered Hyallian only too look away. A greenish twinge coming over his face.

Beneth nodded weakly. "That one-" His eyes glanced towards the still figure. "He killed our father. Was comin' after us. But we got him decently. Chance the game of cat and mouse." The sentences were jumbled, a roughness to his speech speaking of the terrors the boy had seen, and the shock he was going through. Not to mention grief if their father had really died. Returned to be but a Whisper in the Darkness. Vaclav was not so wounded as to be still unconscious. In fact he was quiet able to hear the word of Larin and his brother. Compared to what had happened here, the tales of what must be happening in Greyhaven were horrendous.

@eclecticwitch The Master of the Guard gave a predatory growl deep in his throat as Fatima ordered him to wait and bide his time. Waiting for their people to be stronger. This made the Court shift anxiously. They were far older than Fatima in general, and they highly doubted there would be any 'thriving' for this village. Durik, for one, was moving into his twilight years. The grey of his black hair showing in threads here and there. The Steward had seen the rise of Dorothea and had not opposed the woman, ensuring his own safety in fact, as well as those of his brother's family. That said brother was buried in some unknown grave, having been a tool in a game between queens. A pawn that had been sacrificed. His nephews had too been pressed into joining the Courts, despite Durik's best efforts. His sister-in-law and her daughter had been plucked away powerful Warlord Princes. The Steward didn't bother to think upon their fate, it was an unwelcome thought and only served to weigh him down with guilt.

Wrapping a strong arm about Fatima's waist, Beneth gave Hynter a sneer. The other Summer-Sky Warlord looking away as to avoid a fight with the Opal Warlord Prince. Heaving a sigh of relief Durik looked over the books Fatima had procured. These were battered copies, but the idea was a decent one. "The problem also lies with the fact the land is dry." It was not Durik who spoke, but his second- and soon to be replacement- Garren. The Preist was a quiet sort, with a long face and longer limbs. Looking enough like a crane that his White jewel was nearly over looked. While he was not a powerhouse, Garren was clever and could keep a book nearly as well as the aged Durik. "Drained." The man stressed, his hands emphasizing his point. "We can plant and grow, and try all we like. Let our land heal, and our neighbors will come in and take it." The soft voice was bitter, with good reason. Garren had suffered under Fatima's mother. Often being sent off to appease the neighbors. Neighbors he now loathed.

Durik nodded in reluctant agreement. "He has a valid point, Lady." The Steward said carefully. "But these beans will help, and the mine can be staffed by those- relocating- from other villages." Beneth was shaking his head, but Durik already had a counter to the worry of a threat slipping in. "Several of our folk have moved away to find only ill. What harm would there be in welcoming them back? Surely it would curry good will?"

It was the second eldest of the group, Jassen, who rubbed a hand through his own slightly grey locks. "If only we could consult the tangled webs." His cheeks were red and blotchy from drink as his words bordered on outright treason as he spoke of how the Black Widows looked into the void of time. Jassen had become a drunk in the past years, attesting a relationship at least on his end.

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He watched in horror as the blade jammed into the Queen's neck even as he was choking the assassin, trying to give him every chance to not do what he had come here to do. And yet, there it was, the killing blow. He watched, his eyes widening and jaw hanging open as he saw the blood pouring down her neck and onto the dress, saw her eyes fill with shock and pain before collapsing onto the floor, chocking and gurgling on her own blood.

Lucivar's entire world began to collapse on itself. He had not at all expected this. An assassination, out of no where. He should have been prepared, should have caught the scent but he was far too busy doing... he didn't even know. Politics and all of its bullshit had blindsided him. And now that the Queen was killed, murdered before his eyes, the citizens in this territory were going to go under the fist of that bitch of a queen he'd been so desperate to keep out.

He suddenly felt a shove from Tristan pushing him back a step and he responded.

His hand lashed out, the craft blooming outwards in a sudden wave in an attempt to engulf the Prince and lift him from the floor, binding his hands to his body. "What have you done," he asked turning to him, his eyes filled with shocked rage, "you damned fool! What have you done?" Without waiting for an answer, he flung the Prince across the room, sending waves upon waves of Craft to pummel and slam to his body, causing the surrounding walls to crack and chip from the onslaught in an attempt to crush the Prince, his waves increasing in ferocity as he drew closer to the Prince until his nose was mere inches from Tristan's.

"Consider this your penance," he said with bared teeth, "for bringing ruin upon the innocents who lived here. They do not deserve what they're about to get, and may their souls tear you to pieces in hell!"

Just as she suspected there might be, the Court had much doubt. She did not blame them. When was the last time any of the lands, including her own, and provided a bountiful harvest? It was extremely frustrating as a Queen to see her people and her lands in such a state. While she loved her mother, she also cursed her irresponsibility. Fatima rubbed a hand over her tired brow. "Of course. All people are welcome here and we shall do our best to protect and nourish them." It was a whispered statement, one that hinted at the knowledge that too many could mean their downfall. But Fatima could not bear to see the look on a battered and starving child's face if there was something she could do to help them.

"I know my lands are not ideal. It will take much work." She laid her hands on her lap and grasped them tightly together. Her knuckles turned white and her nails bit into the backs of her palms. "I will use what money I have and will dress the beggar to work in the fields myself if it means that my people should survive one more day." The tone was bitter and defeated. "It would not be the first time I have bled for the lands or gone hungry." She wondered sometimes if they forgot that she had also been through similar hardships when she had run away for those fifty years. There were whip marks on her own back, and scars on her hands from having never used farm equipment before. She had shared in the tears of both the Blood and the landen. Then, how could they forget? She was sure she had worried them during that time.

She lifted tired eyes in shock when Jassen mentioned the tangled web. Her entire body stiffened and she felt the cool caution that filled the room. Yes. The tangled web. She had heard rumors of witches who could weave and read it. Something so terrifying could be of extreme use to them now. And she had an idea of someone she might speak to in order to get close to such a woman.

Fatima rose from her seat and approached the drunk. A slender hand touched his cheek and lifted his face so she could look into his bloodshot eyes. "Jassen, my darling," she murmured, her face a concerned frown. "I beg that you never speak those words in the open again." She stroked the cheek gently before moving toward her original place at the front of the room.

"I think, perhaps I should travel at least once more." She folded bleeding hands in front of her as she looked upon her court with an expression she hoped was queenly certainty. "Just once more. Durik, you are in charge of choosing two to accompany me on this trip. I hope it should take no more than a couple of weeks. You and Garren will be in charge of implementing some of the things we have discussed. I have complete faith that you will know what information will be useful. You also have my leave to use what is necessary from my coffers to ensure this can be done properly. I leave you all, much more knowledgeable on these things, to continue this discussion. I will make preparations for my journey." She inclined her head slightly and then swept from the room before they could tell her such a trip was ill-advised.

This she knew. But not going on this trip would be worse. As much as Fatima loved to travel, she promised herself it would be the last time she would leave her land until she got it operating in all of the ways she saw fit. It was not as if she would need much for it. Perhaps a handful of coin, her old, tattered clothes, and her tent for sleeping out under the stars. She was practiced in staying under the radar. Fatima would do anything for her people.

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The rain fell in thick curtains of a steady downpour that would last the day as the Black Widow peered out the window that gave a lovely mountain view from a cozy kitchen. The sharp scent of stew that had been set to boil throughout the day was paired with another sweeter scent. Adjusting the witch fire that burned beneath a small pot big enough for a mere cup of liquid, Faeril gave it a small swirl of a silver spoon that had been passed down from her ancestors. Belor sat perched on a chair, and for a decently sized Eyrien warrior, the man appeared more like a drowned, winged rat than anything else. His expression far past thunderous and his thin lips clamped wisely shut. Faeril brooked no argument from males in her home and with good reason. A man that did not heed a Healer got in the way. One who did not listen to the Widow did not wander among the living for long. He had returned two nights past, and with news that was sour to his brothers and their chosen Lady.

Dusting her hands free of several herbal leaves, Faeril gave an amused look out the window at the grey landscape she called home. Were she a Queen herself they would not be going to such lengths, but she was not and oddly enough Faeril was grateful. She did not have the patience for stupidity and the knack of manipulating the Courts. Oh, she could do it well having grown up in one. But she was not a Queen and thus missed that subtle little something else they needed. Wringing moisture from the stem of a wormwood plant Faeril reasoned she would have met an untimely end before she would have matured. The twisted queens would not suffer a rival who could claim Healer and Widow as well as being a Queen. "If you keep sulking, you may go back outside and continue to make firewood for me." The Widow threatened the older Prince. "Really Belor. You pout like a toddler, yet you will not allow me to fix the problem."

As the dark haired Healer shook her head, the Eyrien male gave a deep growl that threatened violence. Though it was not intended to her, Faeril gave the Prince a sharp look gaining nothing but the contempt of a male for another of his sort who threatened what the Warlord Prince considered his. "You are not going near that place. Not after that bastard tossed me out with a blade at my chest!" The wood under the large hands of Belor groaning before he remembered himself. "As if he does not know the rules of survival! You cannot be open-" A sharp click of Faeril's tongue cut the older male off.

"You should have brought him here-" The woman raised a hand, her leathery wings spreading slightly, to cut off Belor. "While he is an Ebon-Grey Warlord Prince, I believe him trustworthy. Believed." Faeril amended, for she too also worried that secrets were not going to be kept secret. That soon no one could be trusted and the Helios war camp was going to fall. It would suit with the weather. Belor merely shook his head stubbornly, casting his own look towards the window and past it. Down into the valley were the village of Aren lay. A small place that supplied the Eyriens about it, namely with a place to pick up a keg of ale. Or sit down to drink the keg and several others then need to be carted home by neighbors. Faeril shook her head with a wry smile and continued working on the little hangover cure she was putting together. Belor for all his sour mood was not sitting about just to sulk, but also to wait to see Denar and Gen have to drink the stuff. It was a bad tasting as it was sweet smelling and if he wasn't over a thousand years old the man would be rubbing his hands together in glee.

@Torack As Lucivar whirled in fury using his Craft to pin and pummel the Master of the Guard to the late Queen Karlianne, Tristan erected a shield to protect himself. The feat was nothing more than a token of resistance before the Ebon-Grey Power pummeled the broken man. There was only one jewel in all the Realms that could put down Lucivar with little trouble and few would drag him into battle without good reason. While there were other jewels that could go toe to toe with the Eyriend Warlord Prince, they were few in the Realm of Terreille. The Queens having worked to great effect in wiping out their best weapon in an attempt to keep the leashes of the Warlord Princes' in their hands, or bound to the Realm of Hell. Blood seeped from Tristan's lips as tears ran down his cheeks. "I do not deny my failing." The Master of the Guard whispered through the pain of his body breaking apart. It seemed he wished to convey more to the enraged Ebon-Grey Warlord Prince, but there was only a gout of blood, as his jewel's power was burned out and his remains went limp. Painting the once dainty walls about him with gore.

From the window Lucivar could see the many citizens of Greyhaven locked away in their homes and businesses for the best it seemed. Though those favorited by Karlianne were being dragged from home and shop, their buildings being ransacked by what appeared to be males from several courts that supported Lady Sonya Thorne. While those loyal to the late Queen were rallying in defense it wasn't going to hold. Hyallians were in the mix and devastating with their numbers and bloodlust. A wonder what pact Lady Sonya made to gain such aid from Dorothea of Hyall. The corridor and rest of the manor was filled with the throes of battle and fighting guardsmen that were slowly being pushed back. Those attempting to protect which now laid dead, her ruby blood spilled about the pale floor.

Fatima smoothed out the simple tunic she wore over tight leggings. Her feet were adorned in old, laced, knee high boots and her hair was released from the intricate bun to a simple braid over her left shoulder. It was a look she had seen herself in hundreds of times but now seemed foreign due to her living with her mother for so long. It was comfortable. She had forgotten how free and light clothing could be. Lifting her pack over her shoulders she exited her rooms to find Beneth and Jassen waiting for her.

She could tell from their stern expressions that they did not think this was a good idea. In fact, she was beginning to wonder if perhaps Jassen regretted bringing up the tangled web. Perhaps she should forget the whole thing and stick it out with her people. No. She would not be stopped. The tiny woman inclined her head to both men. “Shall we be off gentlemen?” Fatima did not wait for a response. Instead, she walked down and out of the house to where the trio could catch the Winds.

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The place she stopped was within Chaillot. A few miles off would be a small town, but Fatima did not stop here for the town. She was looking for the man who stayed beside the road. Sometimes he wandered off, but mostly he liked to just watch the people pass. She walked away from where the town would be, keeping her eyes keen to spot any sign of him.

It did not take long before she came over a small hill to see the scrawny man in tattered clothes leaning against a thick tree. Fatima happily approached him and plopped down next to the decrepit being. He was obviously starved with balding hair and missing teeth. He smiled dreamily at the Queen. “Oh, look who has paid me a visit. My little duckling,” he said in a sing song voice.

Fatima laughed lightly as she removed bread and water from her pack and handed them to the man. “I am so happy to see you are still here, Rhyne.” The man plucked at the bread and put some in his mouth before tossing some into the road. Anyone looking could tell this man had long ago become a part of the twisted kingdom. “I’m afraid I cannot stay long and am not here for fun.” Fatima’s tone relayed her true sadness at this.

“I thought as much. You’re not a little duck anymore, are you? A swan queen.” He raised a filthy hand and patted her cheek.

“Rhyne… do you know where I might find someone who can read the tangled web?” She leaned close and spoke in a whisper. The man chuckled in reply.

“Have you searched Arachna?”

“You know I can’t.”

“Well, well…. How about Askavi?” He tossed more bread at something invisible before sipping at the water.

“Askavi? With the Eyriens?” She was startled. “I don’t know that they’ll talk to me.” She rubbed a hand over a tired brow as she thought on this. Either she would do anything for her people or she would be a disappointment. “Alright. I’ll go.” She kissed the man’s cheek. “I do hope you will come to visit me sometime, Rhyne.”

“I always do,” he replied with a smile that hinted that he was beginning to walk further into the Twisted Kindgom after his brief brush with reality. She wondered if she would ever see him again.

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They landed at the pad and Fatima took a moment to gather herself. Not only was she exhausted but she felt she was intruding. A nervousness rolled in her stomach as cold rain pelted the trio. She wrapped her cloak about herself and lifted the hood to cover her head. It was getting late in the day and as much as she loathed to admit it she needed a rest.

She leaned heavily on Beneth as they made their way to the nearest tavern. The inside was warm and welcoming, and she allowed the warlord prince to find her a seat near the fire. She had no idea what she was doing. It wasn’t as if she could just start asking people about the Black Widow. That was a good way to get dead. She leaned back in her chair as a mug of something cold and frothy as pushed into her hands. She accepted the drink from Jassen and sipped the hoppy beer with delight. It was delicious and warmed her cheeks.

Fatima figured she would likely have to do as she had done in the old times. Listen. Bide her time. And wait for the right information to reach her. She was in Askavi. This was just the beginning of their trail. She hoped the search would not take long. For the first time in her life she was desperately missing her land.

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Artemis frowned at the two boys. They were both clearly too young to have witness the blood that had been shed tonight. Glancing down at the boiling water, Artemis toss a few different herbs in, among them peppermint and lemongrass. She wanted to help the kids calm down. They were coming down from their adrenalin high and she wanted to combat the shock that was inevitability coming before it set in too deep. While the tea was steeping, Artemis murmured a spell to strengthen the tea further. She set two cups in front of the boys. Beneth seemed better off than his brother so she turned to Larin first, blocking his view of the dead Hyallian in the corner.

“Your father died valiantly. Remember that.” She whispered more words of encouragement as she looked Liran over. She started checking his head for injuries before going lower. When Artemis got to his arms, she whisked over the bowl of water and clean towels next to her to clean them off. They were so caked with blood she wasn’t sure whose it was. “Now if you’re going to puke, aim for the bowl,” she said with levity. Often humor helped her patients deal with the emotions churning through them.

Artemis glanced over at Vaclav, having a quick silent conversation with him. She should probably heal his other wound soon. Knowing her friend, he would probably want to leave this house for a bit. Who knew when more Hyallians would come and ransack their place, especially with a dead Hyallian in her clinic. They should probably get rid of that body as soon as they can too. Artemis held in a deep sigh. She didn’t want to think what Dorothea would do to Dena Nehele.

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Lucivar took a step back from the mess on the wall and looked around the room, clenching and unclenching his jaws. There was a battle both inside and outside of the manse, but he needed to focus on one thing at a time and calm himself down. He couldn't let his emotions get the better of him, not at a time like this when chaos could easily overtake everything that he'd helped build; taking in a breath and letting it out slowly, he walked over to the Queen's corpse and knelt down beside it. The poor woman, all she ever wanted was this place to become better than it was, she fought for this despite her age, struggled to do right by her people and her responsibilities and the way her closest allies repaid her would be in treason and chaos.

It angered him. He couldn't let her dream die in flames even when his instincts were telling him to take flight and escape somewhere safer. She took him in, this young Queen, when he had no memories, no idea who he was and gave him a home. He vowed to protect her and now she lay dead before him. He wasn't going to let her lands fall to ruin as well.

Gritting his teeth, he walked out of the Queen's rooms and made his way to his own, distinctly aware that the battle was getting precariously closer to their floor.

"Andressa!" He called out.

Andressa stepped out of a room, looking pristine despite all the chaos, her eyes widening almost instantly with shock. "Y-you're covered blood!"

"It's not mine," he said as he pulled out a handkerchief from his coat and wiped the blood off his hands. "Call the Queen's Court for an emergency meeting. Immediately. I'll clear the manse from whoever these bastards are. And do be careful, Andressa. Tell no one except the Court of this."

"Naturally," she said. "Now off with you, go clear the place so I can do my duty."

Lucivar took off his coat, then ripped off his shirt and threw it to a nearby chair and grabbed his sword hanging from the wall. He then left the rooms, crafting a shield around himself as he twirled the sword, rage and fire in his eyes as the Ebon-Grey jewel inlaid on the golden torc on his upper left arm glowed.

Reaching the stairs, he made his way down, eventually reaching the guards' loosing battle. He then quickly joined in the throng, his weapon swinging almost instinctively, as though his muscles knew exactly what to do, his arm and body going through the motions before he even thought about them. And just like that, he was flowing through bodies, screams were filling the air as those his sword cut through fell and blood sprayed into the air and fanned the walls. Outstretching his arm, he sent a wave of Craft crashing against the invaders in an attempt to fling them back down the stairs, then he crafted a wall to crush them as he rushed past, his wings flaring.

The attacking Court members of Lady Sonya and her allies were flung back as Lucivar entered the battle. There were startled shouts from several Hyallian's who were also in the fight, for they had not been expecting an Eyrien. The warrior race of Terreille. "Darkness take it! When did a Eyrien get here?" "Is he one from that rogue camp?" It was impossible to make out who was speaking in the sea of bodies and press of people. Behind the Ebon-Grey Warlord Prince, the guards of Greyhaven rallied. Their wounded being pulled away, as Kayner stalked towards the Consort. The First Circle member of the late Queen Karlianne's Court looked lost and broken inside. He had cared deeply for their small queen and the sword hand that was stained red despite his Purple-Dusk jewel. A gash on his cheek bleed sluggishly as he blocked a sword that was threatening to come down on Lucivar. "The Queen is dead, is she not?" The words were soft and only they two would hear in in the din of battle and survive. His voice echoed with rough tears. "The Hyallians did not expect you. They shout alarm of the Eyrien rogues and watch the skies."

Even as he said it Lucivar would sense a powerful dark current wash across one of his opponents. The man's eyes white with terror as he gripped his throat. Not from choking, but in a effort to scream at some horror. A powerful latice of spellwork had been wrought over the Hyallian who had come from the kitchen. The bodies of servants who did not raise a weapon behind him. The Eyrien would hear a whispered male voice croon on some fell breeze. "I did warn you about the wanton killing, did I not?" The man's face was turning dark purple as blood seeped from his nose and eyes. "I don't really care for those who press me, and I knew you would one day." Kayne paled as the Hyallian who had been seeping blood exploded in a surge of power. Those fighters about the fallen Hyallian paused in horror at what they had witnessed and more than one person backed away from Lucivar with green or pale faces.

"Unfortunately," he responded, in low tones. "Leave these to me, Keynar. Help Andressa assemble the Court for an emergency meeting. I shall be with you all shortly."

Drawing on the Craft, he conjured a squad consisting of six Eyrians about his size, moderately armoured and hefting tall lances as they swooped down from the upper floors, howling and screeching in rage and blood lust. Taking flight, He swooped down, his sword's edge sharpened by the Craft as he ran through and swung into the masses, taking advantage of their momentary fright from the sudden exploding Hyllian.

The charge of the illusion Eyriens are effect and many of the soldiers of the enemies- and a few allies- hit the deck or move to engage them. Being cut down by their foes for their folly. From outside comes the smell of smoke and whiff of death. A city suffering an uprising in true. Those that do run from the Eyrien warriors find themselves quickly cut down or outside for better or ill. With more room to work with the interior belongs to those loyal to the late Queen though the malcontents outside seem to disagree. Their numbers growing as they strive to break in.

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@eclecticwitch The Winged Pig, a popular spot in the small village, wasn't exactly teeming that rainy night. The grizzled old Eyrien who tended the bar was pleased despite this to see new faces in his establishment. All too often one saw the same faces, a tiresome fact of life in this particular little village. Those that did have new faces were marked as here for two reasons. Either they were sniffing about and unwanted, or they were here for a particular brand of aid. The latter of which was something the barkeep was leaning towards. The woman's psychic scent had the undertone of 'Queen', and being the one to point out the local stop that would be appropriate to the appropriate people he was rather good at his unofficial job. Dropping two large mugs of mountain chilled water before the Saroth brothers, then set three tall honey mead mugs in front of their new guests. A convert sign. But who would do anything else for the Healer and Widow of the town? It was this town's secret and the reason they were as well off as they were. Their Queen was a fair one, their 'guests' eager for aid and willing to spend coin and keep their mouths shut.

The large winged brothers were a both a good head taller than either Beneth or Jassen. Their wings only adding to their mass. Gen ran a large hand over his face as he turned to peer at the woman and her escorts. They seemed harmless enough, week enough that Gen felt as though he could take on both Warlord Princes if it came to it. Buy Denar and Belor some time to get the upperhand against the woman. Break the woman, break the men. On top of it these men and this woman were from Hyall. The dreaded place where half his blood came from. Gen could feel Denar tense next to him. But a warning look reined in the Prince. As much as they hated the Hyallians and murder wasn't against the law, it could draw unwarranted attention and put their mutual friend at risk.

Denar nodded with reluctance but it was the barkeep who spoke, his voice hardly light and friendly but it's usual gruffness was lessened by interest. "So tell me, what are three Hyallians doin' in Aren?" His rag back at work wiping down a table that looked it had been thrown across the room one too many time. The walls that were battered and cracked in some places testifying this to be true. "You lot don't get out of your holes often." Jassen and Beneth stiffened at the implied insult to their village though they kept their tempers leashed. It would not do for them to draw trouble upon themselves. No Queen wanted another slipping through her villages and threatening a take over. Which is what exactly it would look like.

@nohbdies Liran had suffered only superficial wounds, though Beneth seemed to be going into a state of shock. The boy nodding in agreement that the bowl was the best place to aim. His lips trembling as the smell of smoke from the city filtered about the the house on traveling winds. Either the burning was close or there was a lot. Perhaps even both, though Liran closed his eyes and winced at the smell. Beneth was the one who spoke faltering through the syllables. "I= The town's on fire. They were draggin' people out of their homes and puttin' them to the sword. Laughin' while they did it." The bow wielding youth whispered. "Can't be staying here. Not if they want more fun." His hands ran over his face in panic as wide eyes stared at the body of the Hyallian killer. "Killed one. They were putting people to the sword at random, but I killed one."

She sipped the delicious beverage, paying not much mind to the men around her. The fatigue she felt was being warmed by the fire. The establishment was lovely as well. It had a well-loved and rustic charm to it. Nicer than some places she had stayed in on her travels and certainly a much kinder place to be than the rain. Her fingers wiped at the condensation on the outside of her mug as the barman spoke.

Fatima lifted her face to study him for a moment. She wasn't sure what she should say. So, she smiled charmingly at the man and brushed back some stray wet hairs from her face. "I'm collecting stories," she said lightly. She hoped that the code she was about to use would be understood. And if it was, she wasn't about to bring death on their heads. She glanced then to the other two men who were eyeing her warily. She offered them a soft and charming smile as well.

"I love hearing the tales of the lands. There is nothing quite like traditional stories weaving together in a web to create a vision of Terrielle and her people. Do you have any stories for me?" Did that make enough sense? Would it work? She hoped so. Fatima kept the fear that rolled in her stomach from her face as she put her attention on Gen. Her features the perfect picture of a curious and contented young woman. "Your drink is quite lovely, do you make it yourself?"

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Kneeling down, he wiped the blood from his blade on a dead soldier's cloth, then stood and looked around the room. Screams and moans of the dying filled the large chamber, he could see a few bodies squirming, trying to get themselves out of the press of bodies, gasping between wails, their eyes wide and clouded with panic. Blood was everywhere; the walls were spattered with them and the floor was pooling with it. The smell was the worst part, almost choking him where he stood, and yet it was that smell that brought back flashes of his past. Images in his head in quick succession of a burning tower, a clash of winged soldiers warring between pillars of dark smoke; and finally of a woman, dark haired and pale faced in a burning building, her body non-existant below the waist, his hands holding her close.

He realized the smell was the same, but on a grander scale; the smell of blood mixed in with the stench of piss and shit. Clearing his throat, he shook himself out of it. This was no time to be reminiscing about some old life he didn't even remember; he bent down and grabbed a pike and shoved it at a guard. "Give the dying a little mercy, won't you," he said, then turned to another, "you. Gather as many of the guards as you can and bar the doors with the bodies. Stack them high."

The guard had gone pale and Lucivar realized those around were all looking at him now.

"That's a fucking order!" He shouted then watched as the guards on the stairs descended. With a silent curse he started making his to the upper floor, walked into his rooms and put on a simple leather cuirass, tightening the straps as he walked back out, the leather sticking to the blood on his hands.

"The Court is ready for you, Lucivar."

He looked up and saw Andressa standing before him, still looking pristine and untouched, a part of him wishing he could at least wash a little before having to face the court. He gave her a nod and walked past her down the hall towards two wooden doors, guards standing on either side, one of them opening the door as he walked into a vast circular chamber with a long table in the centre.

"Remain seated," he said as he saw they were about to get up, then took the chair at the head of the table. "Well, we're in a tight mess, aren't we just. I want to know, right off the bat, is the city salvageable? And do we have any allies, anywhere in this realm that can aide us?"

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@eclecticwitch "You'd have to ask the barkeep about the ale, I'm afriad." The younger of the brothers started with a gruff voice. Denar raised his brow at Gen as the latter replied. The Warlord Prince hiding a smile in his own tankard. It seemed guests had come for the Lady Ashke. A pet name to those who were in her inner circle. To the rest of the valley she was Healer Faeril. To the rest of Terreille she was Healer Ashkervan. A woman whose feelings were locked behind shields of ice. Giving a slight nod of his head, Denar rustled in wings slightly. Flexing them and letting the two escorts of the Queen see the powerful body beneath. "But I believe out resident Healer might have a few tales to tell. She is a fan of traditional tapestries." It was all true, every word. Faeril even had a collection of tapestries her family had spun across the ages from time to time.

Denar set his mug on the table with a slightly apologetic frown at the woman and her companions. "You'll have to leave your men behind, Lady. We wouldn't want to cause our dear Healer distress with all the work she's been doing." Or cause the men distress at having to deal with Faeril. The witch could be down right testy at times. At best they would go beneath her interest. At worse? She'd have them out back under supervision chopping wood. Darkness only knew how poor Belor was faring with their sharp tongued friend. A week in bed had only honed the edge of her dagger sharp tongue.

Jassen and Beneth both looked outraged at the possibility of Fatima going alone. "Lady, it is too dangerous and I don't trust these Eyriens." The scorn of her Master of the Guard was palatable in his psychic scent. Jassen while less talkitive due to his slightly sweating visage nodded in agreement. While he had been traveling the man had been without drink and it was taking it's toll.

@Torack The remains of Karlianne's Court numbered four others aside from Lucivar. Each looking battle weary and sporting wounds of some such or other. Their eyes were hollow with hopelessness. Kayner was hardly the worse off, but even he was looking with despair at the smoke that was staining the sky over Greyhaven. "Roland and Kelvand both fell at the gates. Taken out by a green Warlord Prince. Hyallian I think." That was Strum, or so he had called himself. Doubtless it was his real name, but the Warlord Prince was most likely protecting family he didn't want known to the rest of them. The man looked dazed as a gash bleed beneath a towel he pressed to his head.

"Davios was holding the gate last I saw." The words were gasped out, as Trystan held his side. Most likely suffering cracked ribs. His jewel looking lifeless on his chest. "Didn't stick around. How did they get to Karlianne? How did they get in Greyhaven?!" the man looked fierce despite his wounds.

It was Kayner who answered with a glum expression. "We were betrayed." He didn't name names, but would that hurt or help matters? Or did any of them about the table care? Their Queen was dead and their lives were at stake as Grayhaven burned. "What of Wylnard?" Wylnard was a Prince who was a tactical genius. It had been he more than anyone else who had kept the Queen's Court with fresh members when a old one was killed. Many times he had been offered the position of Master of the Guard, Steward and First Escort only to refuse each time. Claiming it would paint a target on him.

The fourth and last man, Nigel shook his head. "Arrows got him. He managed to give the guard time to rally. But they had stronger jewels and more of them." The man's head sank into his hands. "Darkness bless that he did not feel Karlianne's death. Wylnard was the best of us."

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At the boy’s words, Vaclav sat up a bit. “Artemis…” He tried getting his friend’s attention. If Beneth’s murmurings were true, they needed to get out of here quickly especially with a dead body in their house. He could smell some of the smoke filtering in too. Hobbling up to a window, Vaclav peered out into the distance. The fires seemed far away for the time being but he knew how quickly those fires can travel especially if they were magicked.

Artemis let out a sigh of relief when she saw that Liran did not have any major wounds. She wiped her hands dry and thrusted the cup of tea into the boy’s hands. “Drink some. You’ll feel better dear.” Artemis glanced at Beneth, worried for his state of mind. She wanted to focus on him to help him come down from his state of shock but knew she had to help Vaclav first. “Get away from that window before you get skewered again,” she told her friend as she walked over to him. Artemis quickly got to work, peeling off the dressings she put on the wound earlier. She knew that she couldn’t heal the wound as thorough as she wanted to for she too could smell the smoke in the air.

“There. That’s all I can do for now.” Artemis met Vaclav eyes. After all their years spent together, the two friends could have a conversation without needing to speak. It saddened Artemis that she was going to have to move again, but, in her heart, she knew that everything had to end eventually. Vaclav squeezed her hand, understanding her thoughts. He didn’t want to leave either when they were starting to get comfortable.

“We’ll make do.” He stood up to go to upstairs and grabbed a few things.

“We always do…” Artemis turned back to the bothers. She slowly came up to Beneth and put a hand on his shoulder, trying to soothe him. “What are your names, dears?”

Either the men had understood her completely and were going to lead her to help. Or she was just going to get told some stories. In the end, she wasn't dead yet. At being told she would have to leave her Court behind, she stiffened and looked down into her mug as a frown tugged at the corners of her lips. That was dangerous. Beneth seemed to agree. She lifted her eyes from her drink to look the Warlord Prince over. A wry smile forming. "It would be more accurate to say you don't trust anyone, I should think." She teased him lightly. It was a good instinct to have in such a cruel world after all.

She took a few more beats to consider the offer. If they had wanted the trio dead it would likely be easier just to do it now. It was not as if leading her away from her people was going to make her any weaker than she was. Then again, there would be less resistance wouldn't there? Fatima sighed and glanced at Jassen. Poor thing. He was trying his hardest, wasn't he? From the folds of her dress, she pulled out a handkerchief and wiped the sweat from his cheek. She kissed him there and pressed it into his hand. She kissed Beneth as well and gave him her coin purse. "I'll be back soon," she murmured to him. "Take care." Of yourselves. Of my people. Of my land.

The young Queen downed what was left of her mug, tapped it onto the table and stood. She accidentally let her facade fall as she clasped her hands in front of her and a regal air came over her form. "Gentlemen," Fatima said with her most gentle tone, "I would be quite pleased to meet your Healer. I shall take you up on your offer. Please lead the way." She tilted her head to the side slightly and a playful look came to her. "Unless, of course, it is much too late in the day. A woman needs her rest after all." She laughed softly.

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@eclecticwitch The eyrie gleamed with a faint light as the storm closed about the mountains, a comforting look to the harsh stone. Both Gen and Denar had flown, the Warlord Prince carrying the Queen. For while their shields parted the rain, they held only misgivings about the Queen from Hyall. Their father had been a right bastard and Hyallian on top of that, so they had reasons. But their judgement was not to get in the way of the task. Let that be the Widow's decision, if need to be they could clean up the two down by the tavern. Landing with ease, Gen opened the door and felt the Red jeweled power encompass the trio.

It was a wave, a statement. 'This is my power. This is what you shall face. Do you dare to continue?' were the words that echoed from the depths of the eyrie. "Down the hall. There will only be one door open." Denar said gruffly, shutting the heavey door behind them while his brother shed his cloak. Neither offering to take Fatima's. Belor was leaning against the wall opposite of his brothers. His eyes narrowed at the Queen, though he made no move towards her.

"She is expected your coming." The final line of defense informed his twin and little brother. With a comment more towards Fatima, Belor gave a smirk of knowing. "There's tea." Two deep chuckles echoed behind the Queen as the brothers three shared looks.

If Fatima followed the directions deeper into the maze of twisting tunnels, the walls smooth and the floor patterned in different rugs from time to time. Each door was solidly shut and the Red jeweled power beckoned her onward towards a faint glow. Within the room was a fire that heated it to a comfortable level, two chairs sat before it facing each other. They were tasteful, though the one not in use looked a tad less than comfortable. Tea was indeed on the small table next to the woman who watched Fatima with icy blue eyes. The eldery woman worn a shawl and her wings were tucked against her back. Her face showed age and her hands were crooked with the passage of time. Lifting a delicate cup to withered lips, Faeril studied the woman. "Sit, Queen from Hyall." The voice was harsh and cold as the rain, but there was no movement of threat from the woman other than the deep red jewel at her throat. Fatima would sense the power was cloaking this room in particularly. Covering it with a blanket that made the details other than the obvious difficult to make out. She would recognize that she had walked into a tangle web and was ensnared by it. "So, why do you seek an old woman? Mind you that you get straight to the point. I've spent enough of my life playing games with Hyallian brats."

@nohbdies "Beneth, lady." The brother informed the Healer, looking shamed faced. "My brother's Liran." Drinking heavily from the cup despite the heat that scorched his throat. It was his brother's mumbled words to unclear for Artemis to make out but not for Beneth. "Benet and Liran Dale." The lad corrected himself, staring into the depths of the tea his thoughts miles away. Though Artemis was correct and the tea was helping a great deal.

"Lady- Healer." The other, Liran, seemed to shake himself to some form of conversation. Though he still looked a tad bit green trying to avoid looking at the body. "You need to get out of here." Unknowingly voicing Vaclav's own thoughts. "You're not Hyallian, and you aint got wings." While he didn't know a lot about polotics, the boy did know that those from Dhemlan were the rumored favorites of Dorothea- the Hyallian Territory Queen- to pick apart. "You got to get out of here, before more of them Hyallian's come or try to frame you." He wouldn't put it past the bastards and the lad recalled a conversation he had 'overheard' between his parents one late night.

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Lucivar leaned forward with a sigh, settling his elbows on the table, his brows furrowed as his mind raced. The circle, most of it at least, was dead. The city was in ruins, and the fact that a force had reached the Queen's manse could only mean other areas of the territory fell; what he wondered at that moment however was how they didn't hear of it before? An armed force coming into their territory should have been seen by those protected the Ways, there should have been contingencies in place for such an event, and even if their own might was strained, the fact that they blundered this much to let an army into their doorsteps was nearly unfathomable.

Unless Kayner's comment held some truth. And even then, it just seemed all too sudden. Whoever orchestrated Dene Nehel's fall was clearly an incredible tactician to have done it in such a manner, to leave them all reeling by the time they found out what was actually going on.

And being put in such a situation left a bad taste in his mouth. He let himself get too complacent; he should have seen the warning signs and heeded them instead of investing himself into the internal politics of the territory. And what had that brought him other than death and ruin. Whatever chance he had at trying to save his new home was lost when he chose to turn a blind eye, but he needed to find a way to rectify it, to give answer to the countless horrors wrought by the invasion.

"Excuse me," he said, then stood and walked out, making his way down the hall towards Andressa standing by the foot of the stairs.

He saw her turn towards him with a confused frown settling on her face. "That was quick," she said.

"Dene Nehel has fallen," he said stopping before her, "the circle is broken, the Queen's dead. And I'm done sitting around and talking."

"Well, there may be something that could peak your interest," she turned and walked towards his solar, Lucivar a step behind her. Inside, she went around his desk and pulled out a file and placed it on the table. "Remember this?"

He picked it up and thumbed through it. "I remember you bringing this to my attention, the bandit activity in the mountains."

"I took the liberty of investigating them a little and although I couldn't find much, there's evidence suggesting they're actually rebels."

Lucivar thumbed through the pages of the file a little while longer before closing it and using the Craft to hide it away in a pocket of space. "Do you know where they are?"

"I couldn't find that out, unfortunately."

Placing a hand on the back of a chair, he looked down in thought, the other hand going into his pocket. After a while he gave a nod. "Give me a moment to get washed up and dressed and I'll meet you outside."

"Do we have time for that?" Andressa asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I'll make it quick," he said then walked out of the solar into his rooms.