Dareen said nothing. A tailor? Keeping a shop? My, Dareen thought, that would have been a travesty worse than all those murders she committed. In the business of blood, however, gold was plentiful and there was respect to be found. Faeril might have well said "Why didn't you just try not being poor?". Still, there was some truth in the Black Widow's words. She probably could have figured something out. Fumbled her way into a craftwoman's trade. That pride was still there, Dareen thought. It wasn't enough to just eek out an existence. She had to be more. And despite all her killing, all her mistakes, that drive was still there. It would never go away.

Faeril made her proprosition. It seems, for now, she would live. Darn, she thought. I guess I can't get rid of myself that easily.

Standing from the chair, she draped her hood back around the side of her head. "Alright. Thanks." Awkwardly she walked out of the room. Passing by Xandar, she thought about palming his nose into his brain. Sure, she would be driven to madness, but that also might be kinda worth it to shut up his snoring. Nah, that would just disappoint everyone. Moving on.

Dareen gave a passing glance to Mikhail and found a relatively isolated wall to lean up against. Rubbing the bridge of her nose with her thumb and index finger, she thought about that spilt alcohol back in that tavern.

"I could really use a drink," she grumbled to herself, thinking of that Pruulish wine Naseer used to scrounge up. That kind that made Geoffrey sick. Nothing could beat that. Her and that band of killers. All of this shit wouldn't be happening if she had just learned to bottle up her feelings like everyone else and get back to work. Oh, well.

She saw Gen and Denvar escaping the tension by disappearing into their own little room. She gave a little wave and sighed, diverting her gaze and looking around at the blank walls of the house she found herself in. Very...tasteful.

Faeril's words to Dareen were harsh, but she spoke the truth. He didn't know exactly what Dareen's situation was when she started working for said mercenary company, but surely she had other choices, maybe she just didn't realize she had or simply ignored them. Mikhail wasn't an hypocryte to start saying anything about her hands being dirty with blood, about justice and life. After all, he stopped counting the amount of lives he took a good while ago...

Despite all that, no matter how many mistakes Dareen made, she was too... naïve and awfully honest to be guilty of what Gennar and Denvar were accusing her of. Mikhail was curious about her though. Given her reactions, how easily she showed her emotions & etc. he couldn't easily see her being a mercenary. Not only that, but there was no apparent reason for Faeril to keep her alive, yet, she did. Surely there was something behind her being so... lenient with someone who killed her Black Widow sisters.

After Gennar and Denvar got out of the room, Mikhail gave a few steps towards Dareen, sitting in a chair a few meters away from her, not that far to make a conversation difficult, but not as close as to make it uncomfortable neither for him nor for Dareen.

"Faeril kept you alive, despite having no reason to. Don't worry, you will live as long as you play your cards correctly." Mikhail said.

"Oh, a friendly advice..." Mikhail said, remembering that Dareen had muttered something about needing a drink.

"I strongly advise you against drinking the coffee Gennar made..." he said in what was half a warning and half a joke with a discreet smirk.

Fatima quickly threw a sight shield over herself, careful to move slowly enough that she could concentrate on keeping the shield up. She had to be careful not to run into anyone as well keep her footsteps quiet. As she made her way up the stairs she seemed to do okay, noticing first a young boy duck under cover and then hearing a door shut. She approached the door and listened to the quiet murmurs on the other side, in case it was the young woman she was intending to rescue.

Jandar led the witch down the stairs by the hand, without a care for how hard she was gripping his palm, her shock obvious. “I know,” he soothed in a low, rumbling tone, speaking as if to calm a small, crying child. “Listen, lass, you can blame me. If someone finds out. Even if no-one does. You can think of me as the murderer,” he whispered directly into her ear, his words quiet enough than no-one else was likely to intercept them. And he knew there was at least one other person around, as he caught the sounds of someone’s quick steps. If whoever it was heard the witch talking about killing someone… This is bad. He pursued his lips, knowing he couldn’t follow that figure right now, absentmindedly stroking a thumb down the backside of the Opal witch’s palm as she took stumbling steps towards the servant’s quarters.

They soon entered a cramped room, wherein the witch still stood in a daze, looking at a wall, murmuring to herself. Jandar tugged at her hand slightly, maneuvering her to sit on the bed, while he took the single stool. “Now focus, please,” Jandar stressed, his voice still a tad deeper than it would be naturally, while the stress he was under caused for his fake-accent speech patterns slip just a bit. The Warlord inhaled deeply, reminding himself that even if the Opal witch was out of it, he had to stay on his toes. Be cautious, all the time, regardless of circumstances. Jandar cleared his throat, both to get the witch’s attention and to keep himself together. “’Aven’t ‘eard your name yet, wi'chling. Tell me ‘at firs', then I’ll say my piece.” That said, he glanced at the door, and was just preparing to draw on his Blood Opal jewel once again to both lock it and put an aural shield around it.

The witch looks confused for a second before whispering. "Saera. Don't have a family name, most don't here." Jean would know her words for truth mostly. Save for the fact she did have a family name, one she was not ill intent on sharing. Fatima wouldn't be able to make this out, thought the witch gave a small sob that would be within earshot. "Mother Night. This is a nightmare."

She heard the sob. She heard the word nightmare and her blood began to boil. Men could be such loutful pigs. Despite her anger, Fatima was beginning to realize she had planned this out very poorly. She had but a simple dagger on her person which she knew very little of how to use properly. She prayed to the darkness that it would be enough to just brandish it.

Taking a deep breath, she gripped the dagger tightly and threw the door open just enough to not let it bang against the wall. She dropped her sight shield and held the dagger out as she entered the room. Fatima was careful, her balance measured to defend against a larger foe. There were the weepy witch and the young man who sat on a stool before her. She was clothed. The man was clothed. Something was not right here, and Fatima began to feel it was she who was currently in the wrong.

Wavering she lowered the knife, cocking her head to the side. The man and she locked eyes and something deep within her felt that pull of possession. This man was hers. For a moment she was shocked, and terror spread through her veins. She just couldn’t form a court. Not now. No no no. Now was not the time. Fatima moved, quickly closed the door as she fought down her fear.

Jandar heard the commotion milliseconds before the intruder entered. He was tense, just standing up from his stool, when his eyes locked with her. It was the Queen from before, the one he’d noticed entering the inn with a drunkard and chatting with the Innkeep. But far more than that, far more importantly than even the dagger she was pointing at them was the pull. He could feel it clearly, now that his attention was focused on her and hers on him. The Warlord was able to discern the feeling of belonging clearly, and it sent his heart racing, half in fear, half in excitement. He momentarily didn’t know whether to thank Mother Night he was still under contractual obligation to Queen Morqen or bemoan that fact. He shook his head to clear it – that had been only the pull speaking. Jandar knew he could not trust a Queen from Terreile unquestioningly the same way he might be able to trust a Queen from Kaeleer. No, he had to give this some thought, perhaps prod the unknown Queen as to her reasons for hiding and galivanting across the land besides the drunkard…This line of thought of his was entirely interrupted by his Queen darting back outside as if a horde of demon dead were hot on her heels.

Jandar hissed reflexively at the offense, honestly both enraged and (though he’d never admit it) hurt at the woman’s act. How can she- She just refused me without even- His thoughts were a jumbled mess, the Warlord torn between letting this opportunity go, let it be, live the rest of his life with the knowledge he’d met the one he was supposed to serve without knowing who exactly it was, beyond that it was ‘a Queen from Terreile’, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t, even if it were far better to do so for the sake of his own sanity. But he couldn’t let his Queen go, even if he weren’t officially hers, he couldn’t let her leave in fear – for he was certain he saw the terror he felt mimicked in her gaze, the widening of her gaze and the paling of her face a dead giveaway – he couldn’t let her leave if there was a chance she was in some sort of danger.

Jandar moved with purpose, appearing composed despite how very much this revelation had left his emotions and thoughts in a tumultuous mess. He said nothing to Saera, for though he vaguely registered he should, the Warlord wasn’t of a mind to actually do so. Besides, he intended to return soon. His Queen couldn’t have gone far yet, and he simply had to…Well, he wasn’t sure what he had to do yet, beyond follow her. As he opened the door leading to and out of Saera’s room, he saw immediately that the Queen had gone nowhere, apparently standing outside the room he’d left in a daze. Jandar joined her in the hall, closing the door softly, and standing in front of it, so that if Saera wanted to leave, she’d run into them both.

“Please wait,” Jandar called out to the Queen desperately. With practiced paranoia, he surveyed the hall, checking for unwanted eavesdroppers. Then he turned an imploring gaze to the Queen. “Listen, I-” he cleared his throat to calm his nerves, and lowered his voice as a precaution. “I’m under contract to serve another, but after…I would like to…” he swallowed a stubbornly persisting lump in his throat. “I don’t know your reasons for leaving and- r-refusing,” he whispered, the intense fear giving an overall halting tone to his speech, the slight stutter leaving him with an intense feeling of shame. He rolled both of his shoulder back in a futile attempt to get rid of the tension, combing his hair back with his right palm in frustration. “From what little I have seen, you don’t seem to hold any of the depravity the rest of this Realm does,” the world Realm was spat out as if it were the worst of the curses, and Jandar was obviously referring to Terreille, though it was unclear if this last sentence was something he’d uttered intentionally – something he’d meant for the Queen to hear – or just him thinking out loud.

Properly embittered by how he’d lost his usual cool, Jandar locked gazes with the Queen again, the ire, vexation, and anguish rather clear in the lines of his frown that he let her see for just that one single moment before smoothing it over with diplomatic blankness. “Please, just let me know your name or how and where to seek you out when I- when we are both ready,” he didn’t clarify what they would need to be ready for, since it was quite self-evident Jandar was referring to him officially entering her service as a Queen. The last sentence he uttered as he appealed the Queen was utterly weary, and though he now projected calm, it was the calm of wanting to get this all over with.

The witch nods absently to Jean. Looking stunned and pale as Fatima came bursting into the room. From the door Jean would hear slight, soft footsteps of someone hovering about the door.

She heard the door open and close behind her and so she spun at him, dagger in hand again. Her eyes were wide with her fear and caution, and she looked around the hall to ensure that there were no others about that might cause trouble. She wished Jassen was there. Fatima looked at the stranger again and began to calm as he spoke. Lowering the knife she watched him. She felt the pull again, no way to mistake it, and wanted in some way to offer comfort or assurances, but she knew not how. Her heart was breaking with his words and she knew not what to say. For perhaps the first time in her life Fatima was stunned to silence.

Flipping the dagger back into its sheath at her waist, she pulled her arms around herself. What should she say to him? Would it really hurt to have just one of her own in the Court she currently held, the Court which had been her mother’s? She reached up, brushing wild curls back from her face and began, “I… You aren’t trying to hurt that girl, are you? Break her?” She asked the question though doubted that if that were his intention, he would tell her honestly. But if he were truly one of hers, he couldn’t be the sort of man who did such things. She couldn’t feel a call to another person with evil in their hearts… right?

She chewed her lower lip, considering the man before her. “That girl is in trouble, isn’t she?” Fatima was not giving him a direct answer yet. She couldn’t. The connection was something that had been ingrained upon her that she should be terrified of. She had no time to properly swallow the truth. Let it be for now. Let it be. She looked up and down the hallway once more before taking his much larger hand in her small ones. “I am Fatima and I am going to help you and her.” Her whispered voice was earnest, and her brows furrowed with a serious the young woman rarely showed. “We can sort out those other things later.”

Jandar watched Fatima in a similar manner to how she observed him, though he never drew his own knife or gave any indication that he’d defend himself against her. He blinked at her question, startled. “No, of course not. I found someone else trying to break her and intervened. Then…Well, it’s best we go in there before discussing the rest,” he indicated Saera’s room with his head. He nodded at Fatima’s assumption that the servant was in trouble, and let her take his hand as he curiously watched on. Jandar smiled slightly as she introduced herself, glad that she seemed like the right sort – if a bit reckless to be so ready to help a stranger in unknown matters.

“Jandar, but call me Jean for now,” he whispered back an introduction. Now that Fatima had confirmed she was willing to take him into service after his duty to Queen Morqen was done, he was genuinely tranquil, and his mind turned to sorting out the most immediate issue – Saera, Gendry’s corpse, and Erkyn’s pouch. Not to mention whoever those other footsteps belonged to and what they might have heard. The Warlord opened the door to the Opal witch’s room, raising a judging brow at Saera, who was blatantly eavesdropping. “You’re not actually a spy, are you?” he muttered doubtfully to the serving girl, holding the door open for Fatima to precede him. He entered behind her, closed and locked the door, then drew on the power of his Blood opal and cast the aural shield around the room as he’d intended before Fatima interrupted. The trio was now alone and more-or-less secure, so Jandar turned to address Saera.

“How much have you heard?” he questioned, giving her the opportunity to answer before continuing. “Let me both tell you a story,” he began, not bothering to put on an act for Saera’s sake anymore – she had more than enough dirt on him already, so to speak, and he was considering whether it would be less trouble to…simply take the girl with him when he left – instead letting his natural smooth, rich, and crisp cadence take over as he spoke. “I came into this bar, seeking to find the best trading opportunities in this Hell-forsaken land,” that last part was a lie, but Jandar wasn’t prepared to reveal everything to Saera. As for Fatima…as she’d said, there would be time later.

“I happened to see someone suspicious going into the stables while I was eating, then followed them, only to find a young thief with this exact pouch,” he said, all of it true this time. He Summoned the leather satchel, holding it up for both to see. “I admit, I was curious to examine the documents inside before returning it to the owner, but haven’t had the opportunity to do so. While I was heading to my room, I saw Saera there getting accosted by a Lord Erkyn, the owner of the pouch. I realized it was a more important item than I’d initially thought, and, well,” he shrugged unrepentantly. “I thought I might as well try and see what’s inside for myself as well as get good money after pretending to search for it. Of course, since one of Erkyn’s men went with us,” he nodded at Saera, “The matter wasn’t exactly simple. In the end, poor Gendry ended up dead, and his corpse is still cooling in the attic. Before taking care of that or returning the pouch, however, I do suggest we see what might be so precious that is worth threatening the whole inn over,” he concluded, shaking the pouch-full of documents enticingly. Truthfully, he had done that whole dramatic retelling bit entirely for Saera, while emphasizing the document’s importance was more-so Fatima might be more likely to approve reading them.

Saera looked about nervously after Jean's reveal. Her hands twisting on her skirts. "I will not tell anyone, but might I leave? I have family over in Pruul, they can see I get far away from here fast and disappear."

Jandar glanced lazily at Saera. "I suppose that might be best. I could cast a temporary sight shield on you to ensure you don't get discovered," he offered. He was slightly concerned the witch might get the urge to pass on what she already knew, but her leaving at this point was still safer than leaving after she'd learn what was in the pouch.

He seemed a good sort of person which calmed her nerves. Holding the door open for her and everything! She stepped into the room and stood to the side so as to take up as little room as possible, not that she would take up much.

Fatima listened to his story with bright wonder. Murder. Scandal. She would very much like to learn what was hidden in that letter that would be so important. She had to keep herself calm and interested in what he was saying though, rather than like a mischievous child ready to raid the candy dish.

She looked between Saera and Jandar, wondering if it was a good idea to let her just leave in the middle of everything. Where did her allegiances lay? Just because she had been about to be broken did not make her a good person. Fatima would have wanted to save her from such a fate regardless, but she had some doubts that were mostly over shadowed by the desire to look into other people’s things. “Should she perhaps be escorted?” she mused aloud.

"Perhaps, however, whichever of us does it, we'll have to be careful. Specifically, none of Lord Erkyn's men should see me...or her. They might ask after the pouch if they do," Jandar explained.

"I thank you kindly, Lady. Lord. Though I can quickly slip out of here without Erkyn being the wiser. This is not the first time he has stopped by the inn." Her face was troubled slightly as she admitted. In truth Erkyn stopped by the inn at least once every other year, and the man hated it. Saera revealed this though she had admitted to not knowing why.

"Very well," Jandar acquiesced, the only sign of reluctance his glance at Fatima to see whether she'd agree as well or not.

“If you feel you will be safe,” Fatima chimed in agreement. She would not force an escort on the girl but she was a small bit nervous that she might relay to the wrong ears about how she met a Queen at the inn. If all went well she would not be back here for a very long time anyway so perhaps it did not matter so much. Her attention was back on the bag of correspondence.

“I very well can’t let you look at those,” she said with a small frown which then turned to a playful smile as she added, “On your own.” When Jandar and Fatima were by themselves, locked into privacy, and under an aural shield, Jandar opened the pouch, revealing the documents by spreading them over the nearby table. He scanned them, searching any that were written in Dhemlian or Common, as those would be the only he could read.

"I have until sunrise to return the pouch and the documents to Erkyn before I'm in danger," he muttered to Fatima as he carefully handled the documents. She nodded her understanding.

Her heart dropped to her stomach with each paper she opened. Words and phrases were used that implied some very dark things. One of which was the shaving of a male from Kaeleer. Her face paled as she read it and found she could not bring herself to finish that particular letter. This felt a lot less innocently mischievous and a lot more horribly devious. It seemed Jandar had the same sorts of feelings at the written words before them.

Jandar snarled aggressively at the tidbits of information about how Terreille, or rather Dorothea and her underlings specifically, were playing Kaeleer, using their people, playing with both Realms…What was more, the document implied Saetan SaDiablo was there, somewhere, with some kind of connection to Dorothea. What did the self-proclaimed queen have over him? The letter implied their relationship was nowhere near cordial, of course not. A man such as him would never co-operate freely with the likes of her, but…What exactly is going on? Jandar paced furiously as he thought. He slammed a fist into the nearby wall, centering on the slight pain, calming his breath and racing heart.

She lifted her eyes from the stacks of letters and watched Jandar walk back and forth in the room. She jumped slightly when he hit the wall. “Careful, you’ll wear a hole in the floor,” Fatima said in a soothing but light tone. “Did you hurt your hand?” she asked with real concern as she noted the dent in the wall. He had much more pressing things on his mind though and had not heard her.

This wasn’t something he could handle right now…and truthfully, not something he could handle by himself. But where was he supposed to find allies? His future Queen? Certainly not. If the Lady was in hiding, or on the run…he couldn’t endanger her. But perhaps he could enquire as to any pertinent information she might have. Before that, however, it would be only courteous if he told her a bit about himself. “I’m from Kaeleer. Truthfully, I came here to find information on certain suspicions that have been unconfirmed…Of course, even if I managed to return back home, something like this wouldn’t be enough,” he gestured at the documents. “Most of all, I’ve wanted to find SaDiablo, and discover a way to return him to Kaeleer one way or another. Do you know any specifics that might be relevant for me? A location you’ve heard about where I could find allies for my endeavor? Something that's common knowledge to you but only a hint and a rumor to someone like me? Anything at all?"

She wrinkled her nose at him when he spoke the name SaDiablo. She slowly shook her head and responded, “Unfortunately I have little information as well. My companion and I are looking for some help currently. While I cannot tell you directly, yet, where it is we are headed you are welcome to join us. As far as the Queen Killer goes, I know not where he is or what he does. It does not concern me what that beast does.” She maintained a civil tone but was unable to keep the ice from it when speaking of the infamous Saetan.

Jandar's eyes widened in shock at the title Fatima used for SaDiablo as well as her obvious distaste of the male. Wh- No, it can't be, he can't be co-operating with her voluntarily. He was still in disbelief as he answered. "I...see.," he slowly nodded his head, considering her offer. "I will join you then. You know this land far better than I. Shall we meet in front of the inn at sunrise?"

Fatima nodded that she would meet him. It seemed their work together was done so she took her leave and snuck back down to her room. Once safely in the confines of her rented space, she sat down on the bed and stared at the floor. She was processing everything that had just happened and what it meant for her future. She would need to tell Jassen when he came back to the room. If he hadn’t already and gone to search for her in a panic.

After Fatima was done inspecting the documents, and they’ve discussed all they could in the time they had, Jandar put the correspondence and pouch in order, off to find Erkyn again. He headed to the rooms the inn had allocated for the guests to stay at. If Erkyn didn’t have one of his lackeys acting as a guard, Jandar would simply head from room to room, knocking and asking after the Lord until he found him. "I 'ave the pouch," he'd introduce with a cocky smirk, the accent and tone he'd introduced himself to Erkyn with in place, the messenger bag held enticingly in the palm of his hand. "'Ow much it worth it t'you, then?"

Erkyn sneered and glanced about, "Where is Gendry and that wench?"

Jandar shook his head scornfully. "Your fella went off some'ere af'er he made sure this is yours. Maybe for a drink or to get a fuck of his own," he shrugged carelessly. "The girl's likely cowerin' in some corner, tryin' to keep away from me," he groused. "Now, this," he indicated Erkyn's possession "Jus' so you know, it was in the stables of all fings. The stables! Dunno who stole it, but they left it lyin' 'round with the papers all tossed 'bout. Your guard wasn't sure if anyfing's missin', so you'll hafta check that yourself. I won't mind if you pay me by the number of papers returned," he affected a crooked grin.

Erkyn sneered and snatched the satchel sorting through it quickly. Tossing a small clamp of the silver marks the Blood used as currency. In total there would be twenty. An overly generous sum for how miserly Erkyn was. "Get gone before I decide you'd make a better gift to the Queen."

Jandar caught the marks with a pleased smile. "'Course. Pleasure doin' business, Lord," with that, he turned, and left, heading to his own room for the second time that day, though it'd been perhaps an hour or two since he'd first settled himself in there. After locking himself in the room that was temporarily his, he stored the marks with his other belongings. They would certainly be useful in the future. Money always was. With a sigh, the Kaeleer native sat on the bed, rubbing his temples. All the stress had caused a headache to built, not to mention the pain in his hand from when he'd hit the wall had made itself known. Thankfully, all he had to do now was rest until tomorrow and avoid Erkyn and his men while they were all still in such dangerous proximity. The Warlord rolled his shoulders and neck with a soft groan, slid his knife from where it was still sheathed at his back and slid it under the pillow, undid said belt and removed his boots, then threw himself on the bed to finally fall asleep.

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Winged Boar, Aven, Askavi Terreille
@eclecticwitch
It was dawn the next day, and the sun was well over the horizon when Jassen opened the creaking door into the interior of the Winged Boar. As ever the place had a unique charm that the Eyrien race had honed over the centuries. Posts chipped from various minor, or the odd major, bar fight bore a cleaver wedged into the wood from where some young strapping youth had annoyed old Randalvar past the point of wisdom the night prior. Passed out about the tables were the odd Warlord or Prince who were either too drunk to find their way home or too poor in manners or coin to tempt for a roof over their head. These were those who were fleeing the harsh treatments of Queens and many bore disfigurements they were careful to hide. They were Eyriens warriors, and they did not need pity.

Nor was what Randalvar offer them pity. In return for a place to rest their head and a warm meal in their bellies and sour ale to dull the ache of pride and heart, the males passed on news and advice. They kept their silence and moved on without a word when morning roused them. Even now, one who appeared almost as grizzled as the old barkeep staggered up and out the door past the Queen and her two male escorts. Her golden eyes narrowing at the woman, but he kept his tongue from saying anything. Not that he could since he had not the tongue to speak with.

That morning Jandar, Fatima and Jassen would have found it quite easy to slip from the inn with the crowd of people eager to do the same. Jandar would have noted a smaller, ragged figure watching him among the mass of people rushing to reach their destination, the rare few loitering about the inn for pleasure. The storm had been a nasty one, and had turned the roads to a soup of mud and brought the odd tree down. Several men were already out in the predawn clearing away the roads for the more mundane travel. While most preferred the Winds, there was the odd folk who would take the roads for their own reasons. The thief lad had slipped away before another look could be taken of their appearance.

Jassen had been less than thrilled with the new addition to their small group. His job was to protect Fatima, and failing that, to protect his own skin and that of the Court. The hard truth but one none the less. Jandar's appearance made that difficult especially with how odd the man was. The Dhemlan people of Terreille were nervous and often destitute due to the cruelty of Hyall. This man tried to mimic that, but it was a mimic. Jassen hadn't been born yesterday and had spent years watching for such signs to keep his Queen and now Fatima safe. Gazing about the inn, he grumbled to himself. "This is walking into a den of viper rats, Lady." Which he wasn't wrong about. The Eyrien race was a dangerous warrior race and they were not the easiest to deal with on a good day. Hungover and with a potential enemy Queen in their midst? It would be trouble.

Randalvar thumped out of the back room, his arms across his chest as he gripped a long bladed stick, an Eyrien weapon. His eyes narrowed at the new comers as he braced for a potential fight, his wings arching behind him. The membrane punched with small holes and a variety of scars. "What brought a Dhemlan, a Hyall guard and Hyall 'Lady'," He spat the word 'Lady' for what it was. A potential enemy Queen and he was not in the mood for games with the Court politics. Not with two trapezing fools coming through after one deadly looking youth. Was he running a tavern or an inn?! "And don't waste my time." He snarled as Jassen stepped forward with an equal temper rising. "I'd put you on yer back, lad. Only you wouldn't be getting up from it."

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Dareen had been given a room between the brothers two. In truth, it was their own brother Belinar's room but the Warlord=Prince was currently out and they planned to scrub it down before the twin of Denvar returned. It was not so much for the security of their Black Widow and Healer, so much as to stop Dareen from doing anything stupid or Faeril from doing anything stupid to Dareen. The Pruulish witch would be judged, Faeril had decreed, but not by her. So would it be, til Faeril forgot her own wordings when her temper took her. Gen and Denvar sought to make sure such a thing would have a reason to happen. Xandar had been dumped into the Healer's workroom with its great bed and various shelves of potions and tools for Faeril's trade. Mikhail had been granted Gen's own room, the Warlord grinning and pointing out with a too reasonable tone that he was probably the only male in the building who would get a bed with a woman in it.

Nevermind, that the woman and he would be sleeping and nothing else. Despite his slight jest, Gen was more keen on the more masculine of the two sides of a coin. Which was well enough according to Faeril, as she rose earlier than the others. Gen's snores rasping about the room while she prepared for the day. A quick breakfast of bread and cheese, and mindful to leave a platter out for those who would rise well before her two guardians, the Healer slipped from the kitchen to her own place of thought. Yawning and sitting absently on a bench in the garden where she grew herbs for the healing and breaking of minds and bodies, Faeril studied the fog that had most burnt off of Aven. The eyrie had been built into a spear of the cliff that effectively separated the front garden from the back and limited the back. Several trees grew offering shade about the winding paths where wormwood and nettle, among other herbs, grew offering their shade.

It was comfortable enough, wrapped in a shawl of knitted wool and a dress that would not be ruined form a bit of grubbing about in the dirt as was evident by the stains of brown earth damp from the night's rain on her keens and in the nail bed of her hand. Brushing away the annoyance with a half-hearted attempt. Faeril considered their situation and found it aggravating. Mikhail and Xandar were drawn into her web and she could well see the reason why! Though she still felt the weariness of stretching herself too thin for too long Faeril would have pushed herself further if it was necessary to confirm so. That both had been so willing was worrying as well, but she wasn't of the mind to complain quite yet. Patting down the braid of black hair that hung over her shoulder the Eyrien woman sighed. It was Doreen, the Pruulish witch, she couldn't place. More than that, the woman was a killer of her, Faeril's own, caste! If she could just place what to do with the woman, place what she was supposed to do with everything that was falling into her lap then maybe she could figure out something! Closing her eyes against the headache that was forming, Faeril unintentionally drifted off.

There are two types of arguments. Those of words, and those of swords. One is meaningless, pointless, and a waste of time. Scholars in ivory towers pointing at their books and saying ancient phrases as if it grants them the right of way. The other is glorious. An argument of swords is one of progress and clarity. The winner and loser are obvious. He who had the will to win is the victor. He without, is discarded.

...I don't think killing someone proves you're right.

Doesn't it? There is nothing truer than steel.

Dareen awoke slowly, crawling her way out of the memory that replayed itself in her dreams. The commander haunted her with his words even now. He was a wise, brave, and powerful man, and Dareen hated him terribly. Perhaps it was because he reflected the worst parts of herself. The majority of her one might say. Blinking slowly, the Pruulish witch inhaled the morning air that had made its way into the room the brothers thoughtfully granted her. She was half expecting to sleep on the couch. Opportunity had presented itself in the luxurious bed, an opportunity for a great nights sleep. Instead, Dareen had spent most of the night trying to get comfortable and staring at the ceiling or the back of her own eyelids. Maybe she was worried there would be nightmares. Maybe she was worried there would be memories. Or maybe it was simply the fact that she was living in the house of someone she would have been paid to find and kill just a month and a half ago.

Dareen caught sight of her mostly naked body in the mirror. It had been a long time since she's seen herself in a mirror like this. It was easy to forget just how much of her body was marked in lines. They wrapped around her arms, around her chest, down her abdomen and circled her back and shouderblades. They spiralled down her legs, looped around, and went all the way back up once more to the base of her neck. There, they met, and followed the her scalp until it peaked out of her hairline and onto her forehead, where they created the memorable insignia on her face. They were a reminder of yesterdays past.

But today was a new day and there might be work to do. She had not expected to see another sunrise. She dressed herself in her clothes from the day before and took a moment to look around her room for her weapons which she was still stripped of. Mikhail had suggested that she not drink the coffee, and she did not intend too for she did not need it. Well, she didn't used to need it. Something about this place made her tired. Perhaps it was all the greenery or the way she sank into the bed like mud. Still she woke up early, far earlier than most people would. The morning was the best time to travel, to spare oneself of the harsh desert sun for aslong as possible.

Lingering in her room a little bit, Dareen finally worked up the nerve to leave and make breakfast. Turns out, breakfast was already prepared. She half expected Faeril to be sitting in a dark corner, ready to cast wrathful judgement, but instead there was no one. Bread and cheese. Uncertainly, she reached out for the bread and took a bite. It was soft and delicious.

Dareen sat down in a chair with a napkin and a small serving of the meal and ate. Nothing to do. The light filtered into the window, and the yellow jeweled witch finished the breakfast quickly. She just had to wait. Wait for her fate to be told to her. Restless she stood up from the chair and began wandering around the rest of the house. There was an exit into what looked like a garden. The green barrier one of the brothers set up earlier was gone. Dareen took a tentative step outside and saw Faeril sitting in a chair. Intaking air sharply she retreated back into the house. It looked like she was sleeping, actually. Well Dareen didn't dare disturb her. Heading back into the house, still tense, she made her way back to the couch to sit and wait.

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While Fatima had given Jassen some warning about the new member of their party joining them and this person's position as a true part of her Court, it had done nothing to lighten the man's mood regarding this interruption. He had made it quite obvious with the number of harrumphs through the rest of the evening. She had known Jassen since the beginning of her life, he had always been someone who was around to watch over and protect her. He was obviously not pleased that this person they had just met could earn even that small amount of trust from her that had taken him so many years to build. In truth, she did not entirely trust Jandar yet, and on their travel away from the inn which had been their refuge from the night, she explained with as little detail as possible where they were going. Fatima did not reveal where she was a Queen who held court but had merely made mention that she was searching for help to ensure that her people could thrive. And would have food through the winter months.

The travel had been otherwise quite uneventful and she made an effort to get to know her new companion better. She shared minor details of her past - traveling around Terrielle and often slipping her protectors as a youngster - and listened to any stories that Jandar saw fit to share. The muddy roads were a traveler's nightmare but Fatima had to reign in her wild energy to keep from jumping into puddles or throwing mud balls at her companions. It was exhausting to be well-behaved. At long last, they arrived at another inn, the one her maid had mentioned. It was hewn rough as if crafted from the ire and hardened will of the Eyrien race. All marred stony facets and stained surfaces, the building was just as uninviting inside as it was outside. But it had not been built for her sensibilities and so Fatima could look at it with an eye of curious interest.

She made a soft hissing sound at Jassen's comment. No need to be rude. "As long as my people will have full bellies I would gladly drink and bathe with viper rats," she whispered back to him. She had never seen an Eyrien before and the great wings were so much bigger than she had even imagined. Fatima desperately wanted to run her hands over the wings, touch them, and perhaps go for a ride into the sky. How much flirting would she have to do in order to win one of them over, she began to wonder. She chewed on her inner cheek as she brought her mind back to the task at hand. No time for fun. It was so hard being so freaking serious. She did not have long to mull over this when the proprietor of the establishment appeared and spoke to the trio. She caught his tone when he spoke 'Lady' and she flinched slightly. This moment of weakness was enough to give Jassen time to posture which the Eyrien obviously did not appreciate.

Stepping forward with a kind smile on her face, she placed a hand on Jassen's arm to reign him back in. "Calm," she said softly before turning her attention back to Randalvar. She cursed herself, realizing she had not asked her maid what it was she should say to this man in order to seek out the black widow in secrecy. Her quick mind tumbled and fumbled for a moment before she opened her lips and said, "I am in search of tales. There is nothing quite like traditional stories of our land weaving together in an intricate web to create a vision of Terrielle and her people. And I would love to listen to one who could weave me such an oral tapestry. Do you have any stories for me?" There, did that make sense? Had she gotten her request across?

When Jandar woke up several hours later, washed his hands and face in a basin, dressed himself, equipped his dagger, bow, and quiverful of arrows while the sword and shield were Vanished. He shouldered his backpack before making his way down to the main inn room, paid for some bread, cheese, and even a fill of ale for his leather flask for the way, and finally went to saddle and rein in Teo as well. Jandar thought he saw the thief watching him as he left alongside his new travelling companions, though it might have been someone else. Jessen, Fatima’s other companion hadn’t been pleased at Jandar’s presence, but the Warlord ignored the other male, while he reciprocated Fatima’s gesture in getting to know each other. He realized she was keeping him in the dark regarding the details of where they were going and why, but as far as he was concerned, that was simply a sign of a good dose of sense and cautiousness.

The fondness with which Fatima spoke of her rambunctious youth seemed to hint that she was still a mischievous, energetic, perhaps even slightly childish woman. Though he by no means knew her well enough to draw sure conjectures as to her character or judge her. Actually, the only thing he could ever possibly judge her for was foolishness or injustice, and she’d not shown an inclination to that so far. In exchange for her stories, Jandar shared a bit of what it was like for him to live in Kaeleer. He told her of his grandfather and father, of memorable hunting trips, exhilarating tournament wins, and his research interest. He hinted at the frustration that grew in him due to having evidence of strange things befalling people from Kaeleer who went to visit the courts in Terreille, yet being unable to do anything officially. He was vague on certain details so Jassen would not be alarmed further, but otherwise honest with Fatima.

Thus, the time till they arrived at another inn in what was apparently a village dominated by Eyrien warriors passed pleasantly. There was something off about the inn’s patrons, but Jandar couldn’t discern what exactly that something was before the inn-owner, a grizzled Eyrien Warlord Prince approached them – rather offensively, he couldn’t help but note. Could these be some sort of a local rebel group? Though he was dubious of such a conclusion based on the information he had, Jandar still considered this situation to be a potential opportunity, though certainly a dangerous one. He waited curiously for Fatima or Jassen to react, though slightly tense at the possibility of swift and unfortunate escalation of hostilities.

Thankfully, Fatima seemed fairly well versed in de-escalation and mediation, though he couldn’t help but turn to stare at her in surprise at her…explanation. She mentioned weaving, webs, visions, and a person who dealt in those, and who else could she be referring to other than a Black Widow? He turned back to the inn-owner, assessing the male’s mood. How would he respond to that? Would he be prepared to hear them out? Or was that input of Fatima’s enough for him to turn them all away? In any case, Jandar did not believe that him responding to the inn-owner until the Eyrien said his piece would help right now. The Eyrien had had most of an issue with Fatima, so even if Jassen or himself chipped in at this point…it would most likely be unnecessary.

Sitting on Gennar's bed to rest, Mikhail couldn't help but to think about the things he saw when Faeril entered his mind. Even though he rejected those memories, he couldn't help but to think about them... They were the reason for his suffering, so many nights he spent without sleeping but he couldn't help but still be curious about them now that he could analyze them more clearly, without the painful memories and the strange feelings. Who was the woman on those memories, who was... he?

Unfortunately for him, it seemed that it was still too soon for him to think about those matters, as he could feel the memories becoming more vivid and the feelings returning. Forcefully making himself forget about that, he finally laid down his head on the bed. Hopefully, it would be the first night in a long time that he would be able to sleep comfortably.

The night was uneventful for Mikhail. A quiet, perfectly calm night without dreams. Something for which he had longed for a long time. Feeling refreshed and rested, Mikhail slept for more time than he usually would thanks to Faeril's treatment. Nonetheless, it was still early when he got to the kitchen, just to find up that both Dareen and Faeril were already up. Dareen had just finished eating her breakfast and was sitting down in the couch with a tense posture, as Faeril was lost in her own thoughts outside. Not much was needed to realize that both women had their own problems to think about, judging by both their expressions and the atmosphere around them. Unwilling to interrupt neither one of the them at that moment, Mikhail nodded towards Dareen in a discreet greeting as he sat down and silently began eating his own breakfast.

After finishing, Mikhail stood up as he headed towards the front door. Upon passing by Dareen, he stopped, looking to her for a moment.

"The flowers and herbs do have a wonderful fragrance in the morning. You should come to the garden, it might help you to calm down." Mikhail said with a surprisingly serene expression, completely different from the one he showed when he had arrived.

Respecting Faeril's space, Mikhail was satisfied in slowly walking around the garden, stopping to appreciate the morning dew, glistening on the herbs and flowers decorating the garden, as well as their delicate and subtle fragrance. To anyone who stopped to watch Mikhail at that moment, it would be clear that he was another person compared to how he was acting when he arrived. Even though it was probably a result from Faeril's treatment and a good night of sleep, observing him with that serene expression on his face, one would not help but to think that the change on his personality was too radical even taking in consideration Faeril's treatment.

It wasn't until at least 9:45 AM until Xandar arose from the great bed in the healer's room, groaning as his stiff body cracked and stretched as he got up. He had been sleeping for... well, a long long time, as he had a full night's rest and was sleeping on the couch for gods only know how long. His body was weary from the traveling and fighting under his injury, the sleepless nights of always looking over his shoulder. This, on top of his wound being healed and extracting poison from him took a toll on his body which required numerous hours of sleep. He did feel a lot better than yesterday, but it would take much more than one good night's sleep to have his wound close on his side. He brushed his hand over his damaged sides, the bandaging seeming to hold up and the stitches secure for now. He wouldn't want to tear out the stitches, as he has done in the past. At least right now he had no reason to push himself that far. By the time he was up and about on his own the wound would close up and he'd be on his merry way. At least, he hoped so. Whatever Faeril was planning, keeping him around, he had a feeling it would be a long and dragged out process. Well, at the time he didn't have much of a choice, so at least this was a better alternative to slowly dying.

Xandar rolled out of bed and looked at the various potions and vials lining the walls, curious things of different shapes, sizes, and colors. He hadn't a clue what was what, and he wasn't about to find out, so instead he decided to exit his room to start out his morning routine. When he made him way to the kitchen it seemed that there was a platter out with cheese and bread. Or, rather, there was. Some boundless heathens had ate all of it. Drat. Xandar's stomach grumbled quite loudly as he took a second to scan his surroundings. It seemed three people were already up, one in the living room and two out towards the back garden. He saw that Dareen was in the living room, patiently sitting, and he assumed the other two outside were Faril and Mikhail. Well, there was no need to try and socialize, so instead he decided to ignore them and make his way to the front of the yard. The conditions outside were decent so it seemed, it was a nice day compared to the heavy rain earlier. He took a long breath and exhaled, stretching his muscles and walking under the shade of the largest tree in the front yard. There weren't many, being on a mountain, but it would provide a nice spot for training. His stripped his shirt off, stretching before getting to work.

He couldn't do a whole lot with his injury, but just simple pushups, sit ups, pull ups, and a light bit of jogging suited him well as he took a sigh and put his back to the tree. He didn't break a sweat, but he didn't want to risk pushing himself too much. He didn't know what the day had in store for him. He rubbed his bandages on his side before reaching into his pocket, pulling out a cigar and lighting it in between his fingers. He took a large inhale and slowly breathed out, swirling the smoke in his mouth as he watched some birds fly off in the distance. He had been waiting to take a drag for hours, and sadly his cigar supply was running low. He would have to go out for some soon, or his mood might be a bit more sour than it already was. It calmed him down just enough to sit and enjoy the moment, and to second guess some bold or rash actions of his. Some might call it an addiction, but he liked to call it a habit, just like his drinking. Did it affect his health that much? Directly? No. Indirectly? Well, there have been a few drunken mistakes. Eh. At least one of those drunken mistakes weren't children. At least, as far as he was concerned.

The Ebon-Grey Eyrien Warlord Prince stood up, spreading his large and grandiose wings as far as they could go before he hurled himself into the air, flapping his wings. Just like the birds, the freedom to fly was a gift and a blessing that most creatures dreamed of doing. It was just like walking, it came so naturally and so easily as he twist and turn effortlessly through the air like a leaf on the wind. Not even the sky was the limit for him, and he would even challenge the clouds just to see how high he could rise. Just like the tale of Icarus, he was stubborn and confident, but his wings haven't melted off yet. Years of experience and fighting prowess had keep him alive this long, and he was hoping a black widow and some luck would help keep him alive for the near future. Speaking of Black Widows, he flew around the estate to the back where he spotted her nodding off down below. He decided to swoop down quickly, effortlessly and silently landing besides her as he also sat on the bench.

"Mistress of this fair home, I hate to be a bother as you're looking oh so tired, but I was wondering where I could go for a proper meal and cigars. I wouldn't want to aimlessly wander and get myself into trouble if you could point me in the right direction."

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"You look as though you just woke up to seeing Faeril in one of her rages." Drawled an Eyrien as the front door opened and closed for the second time that morning, long minutes after Xandar had flown from the front garden. The man looked very similar to Denvar if it weren't for his shaven head and an old burn scar wrapping across his side. His jacket and shirt hung over one of the armchairs, drenched in what was hopefully water and absently soaking into the once pristine furniture. Crashing down on the couch next to Dareen the Eyrien raised a brow and grinned in a smile that was far from comforting. "So what is a little Pruulish witch doing sitting on my sister's couch like her execution is nigh? I can promise you it most likely isn't. Fae's bark is worse than her bite." He mimed telling the small witch a 'secret'. "The bite is poisonous." Laughing at his own joke the Eyrien Warlord Prince, summoned a small chest and began to unloading it of books which he sorted into different piles. His Tiger-Eyed Jewel swinging absently.

Faeril who had been dozing woke with a start when the bench beneath her groaned as a Warlord Prince of a different Jewel sat down upon it. Her icy eyes glowering at the giant. "Smokes? Cigars you mean?" Rustling her wings the Healer roused and peered over her shoulder back at the kitchen where the larder she had brought out was indeed empty. There was food in the pantry but with the number of mouths to feed, it wouldn't hurt going down to Aren. While she wasn't one for stopping by the shops, Randalvar always kept a fair larder he could just hand off her 'brothers' for a bit of extra coin. "You should be resting and not flying about." She noted with a disapproving look even as she raised a hand to silence the Grey Jeweled male. "You are an Eyrien warrior. I already know the answer, just as I know if you call me 'Mistress of this fair home' so early again, I will enjoy reexamining your wound." Giving Xandar a pointed look, she yawned behind a hand before pushing herself to her feet. [color=SlateBlue]"I have need to speak to Randalvar, so I might as go with you to show you. Lest you fly into a mountain admiring yourself."[/colro] She snipped spreading her wings with a weary slowness as she walked through the garden to the fence boarding the edge of the cliff. "There is a store just down the street from the Winged Boar. You can find smokes there, and despite his temper, Randalvar would give you a meal that tastes better than Gen's coffee." Directed the Black Widow as she cast a downstroke with her wings that drove her into the air. Giving a nod to Mikhail who seemed to be touring her more functional gardens, the witch swooped about the eyrie before riding the eddies of wind in an easy glide towards the small village of Aren.

It was a mere fifteen minutes by air, and with a little extra speed granted by favorable winds. Lighting lightly on the ground, she dusted her gown free of the debris of the air to hide the slight stumble and gestured with a pointed finger towards a sign that read 'General Store'. "They won't have anything of real quality, though you might want to stock up." There was a queer note in her voice as she mentioned stocking up. Xandar would be fairly certain that either Faeril had plans or had seen something. Just as he would notice the jewel the witch was wearing was the Blood Opal and not the Red. Turning towards the tavern, Faeril paused to shift her wings. She would need to rest soon, but it was not the time for that. Not yet.

Winged Boar, Aven, Askavi Terreille
@eclecticwitch @SilverPaw
While Jassen was slow to back down as he harrumphed and took a step back, letting the Queen he served access to the grizzled old warrior, he was keenly aware of the rest of the Eyriens stirring and eyes watching. Randalvar on the other hand, gave the Queen an annoyed look though there was a glimmer of interest in his golden eyes at Fatima's earlier words. "Our land? You aren't an Eyrien, lass. Best remember that." He advised the woman with a deep chuckle. "Terreille isn't one land no more. It's scattered and broken."

"For the Queen's pleasure." Mocked one of the prior night's patrons.

Snorting at the quip, the old Eyrien shrugged his shoulders. "You want a tapestry? Go make some Landens make a gift of it. You want a story, demand one from some poor male." Eyeing Jassen and Jean with a weathered gaze as he considered the threat the two posed. "Though if you are looking for an interesting story to tell. Go to the eyrie high up the side of the mountain." Readjusting his grip on his bladed stick, Randalvar considered if the Black Widow would gut him for this intrusion. But if they could snip away a Queen who was trying to hide being a Queen? Was the risk worth it? If it wasn't, she would come back with no memory of the Ashkevron residence. Or not come back at all. "And go alone, unless you want to coat this mountain in blood." He rumbled deeply, the patrons about him rousing slightly. Jassen glared and moved to step in front of Fatima again.

"We'll keep the lads entertained." Noted one of the patrons with a bit of amusement and sadistic glee.

The Pruulish witch looked up at Mikhail and tilted her head to one side. "I, uh, might do that. Thanks." She didn't move from the couch, however, and watched him go. He seemed to be in a good mood...Dareen liked him better the other way. A few moments later, Xandar lumbered on through and Dareen raised her eyebrows expectantly, but he said nothing and was soon gone. Then, someone else walked in.

Dareen eyed the stranger wearily. Judging from his face, he was probably another brother. How many of them were there? What's next; Crendar? Shmenvar? Fortunately, this one seemed easier to tell apart from his shaved head. The thing that was most different about him was his confident, almost hostile aura. He began unloading books- he was well read, apparently. Dareen always preferred verbal story telling to books, she thought absent mindedly.

Blinking, she focused back on him and spoke to answer his question. "I'm sitting on your sister's couch like my executions is nigh because I have nothing better to do. It's either this or look at flowers."

"I've only just gotten to know her...and under pretty unpleasant circumstances. But hey, at least the law is on my side, right?" She was remarking about the irony of the situation. Despite all the killing Dareen did, Faeril was actually the one hiding from society. Dareen was actually an upstanding citizen by the law's standards. The thoughts were bitter and humorous, leftover from her times as a mercenary. Kill one person, you're scarred for life. Kill ten, you don't feel it anymore. Kill fifty, it's funny. At least, that's how it was for Dareen.

So either they are rebels or just a bunch of disgruntled Eyriens, Jandar thought sarcastically to himself, though he was also well aware Terreile hadn’t been how it should be for a long while. And at least these people saw the root cause of it; certain people’s corruption that had spread almost throughout the whole land. It was a wonder there was still a Queen such as Fatima left – one that seemed to actually care for Terreille, something that was apparently a rarity in this Realm.

“Be careful if you do go,” Jandar warned Fatima, though he was fairly certain she would go, and already knew to be cautious. But really, all that coating a mountain in blood was dramatic. It wasn’t as if Fatima had an army, and while there were plenty of Eyriens, there were only Jassen and himself to go against them. A small barrel worth of blood at most, that. It was a morbid consideration, but if these warriors were so eager to spill blood, Jandar would oblige them. “So that’s how it’s going to be, after all,” he commented, rather peacefully – perhaps resigned, even. He vanished the bow and arrows with a touch – they’d be useless in such close quarters – and summoned his sabre and shield. Fighting multiple opponents alongside a stranger who had a dislike for him wasn’t going to be pretty, but Jandar hoped Jassen was aware that in such a situation watching each other’s back was not only optimal but necessary.

“Show me what Eyrien warriors are made of, then,” Jandar called out to the group, admittedly getting fired up about testing his mettle in a real fight. The tournaments he’d been in so far might have been ferociously competitive and a good way to better his own skills, but this would be something else; a real battle, though a small-scale one. There was also the fact that Eyriens weren’t as common in Kaeleer and were said to be fiercer in Terreille. He supposed he’d get to see exactly what they were like. The thought of going against such a well-known warrior race made him grin as he took a fighting stance, eyeing each opponent. He’d start on the defensive, not only because they were outnumbered and he had to learn a bit about the warriors he was about to face, but because Jassen, a technical ally of his, was also an unknown.

The gardens were indeed quite something, as it was expected of a healer. There were many medicinal herbs, all organized and separated by type. Their fragrance and their freshness was a clear indication that it was a well kept garden and not merely just for looks.
It took a while until more people came to the garden. The sounds of wings beating alerted Mikhail to Xandar's presence, whom despite his wound was already flying around without any difficulty at all. Even though he was some distance away from Faeril when Xandar came to him, he couldn't help but to overhear their conversation, including Faeril threatening to take another look at Xandar's wound if he didn't take it easy.

After a small conversation, Faeril herself said she would accompany Xandar to a store after the Winged Boar inn on his search for cigars. Faeril herself seemed to have business in the town. As she opened her wings to go with him, she nodded towards him, which Mikhail replied with a simple nod back as he took a small branch of a particularly fragrant medicinal herb, rubbing it into his hands and appreciating both the smell and how fresh it was.

When Faeril got back, he certainly would ask her if she could use one branch or two of a few of those herbs. It would be good to have a few of them with him in case anything wrong happened.

After a while, Mikhail head back inside to where Dareen was. There, he met another Eyrien, who was casually unloading a few books from a chest. Due to his striking similarity to Denvar, he assumed the man was one of the Eyrien brothers.
Arriving just in time to hear Dareen's words, Mikhail nodded towards the Eyrien man in a discreet, polite greeting.

"There is no use worrying yourself over matters that are beyond your control." Mikhail said to Dareen as she passed by her, taking a seat on the chair nearby the couch. As he passed by them, the fragrance of herbs on his hands filled the air for a second, before Mikhail resumed his normal, quiet behavior.

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She knew this realm was broken and she hoped that one day it wouldn't be. Things changed. Sometimes swiftly and sometimes at a snail's pace. But things changed. One of the Eyriens said, "For the Queen's pleasure." Fatima visibly winced again. It was not the words themselves which inflicted emotional pain; it was the tone with which they were spoken. She disliked the comparison many made to the others of her caste. It wasn't her fault that they behaved so poorly to their people. However, she could not fault the people who felt that way either. It was they who were downtrodden and so respect was something hard to come by.

Her interest piqued when the barkeep finally gave her the sort of information she was seeking. Tilting her head to the side she considered his words carefully. Go alone? Perhaps she should. A part of her feared that going alone would mean her death. But going with her companions would certainly mean her own. She turned white-gold eyes on Jandar as he spoke. She had to smile a little at his confidence that she could go on her own. She knew Jassen would be making a fuss if she decided to do so. The smile soon faded as Jandar offered a challenge to those within the bar. A soft flush swept over her cheeks and she turned and moved toward him.

Now in his space, she stood within his defenses. He could not, hopefully, attack without harming her. Fatima placed a hand on the arm that held the blade and looked up at him, shaking her head. "I ask that you stand down," she said quietly. "Now is not the time or place. Especially since there is already ill will towards us here." She hoped he would listen and hoped, even more, the Eyriens would not take offense to his actions. Things were much different here than they were in Kaeleer.

She turned to the barkeep again but remained close to Jandar. "If you would be so kind, I would like a few moments to speak this over with my companions. Could I ask you for some of your fine ale as well as something to snack upon? We have coin with which to pay." She pulled a few pieces from her side pouch on her belt to show the bartender lest he thinks she was lying. If given the okay she would lead the way to a table in the corner where she could sit down with her men and discuss the best plan of action while unbeknownst to her the person she sought stood outside of the tavern doors.

It seemed like the woman was in one of her moods... or maybe it was just her constant mood. He wasn't quite sure if she was warning her because she cared or because she didn't want her little play thing to be broke before he could be of service to her. Either that or she just loved to yell at him. Maybe a combination. He was sure somewhere deep inside there was a heart that cared about something other than herself. Maybe this was her way of showing affection, constantly belittling people with her words.

Or she just possibly hated him. Although there was no shortage of threats as he simply chuckled at the comment. "Oh I'm sure you do enjoy causing me pain dear, but rest assured I'm taking it easy compared to the usual. I do have to keep in shape and stretch out these limbs. I can't just be laying around."

Xandar stretched his shoulder as he watched the Red Jewel prop herself up and unfurl her wings, talking about going with me as she had to discuss some things with Randalvar. Well, at least he would get some directions, just as long as he wasn't getting an earful the whole flight down. "I didn't know you left the estate on your own without your trusty pals. As long as I don't fly head first into the mountain, I would be happy to escort you fair lady. Just in case something crazy happens, like a Queen and her posse waiting for you at the bottom." He chuckled, jumping up into the air and propelling himself with his wings as he followed her. "I better hope it's better than Gen's coffee, I don't know if much could be worse."

As they landed Xandar had slid his sleeveless tunic back on to look a bit more presentable as he scanned the area. Nothing out of the ordinary it seemed, and it looked as thought both Eyriens were wearing their lighter jewel on this occasion, the Blood Opal and the Sapphire. As she said to "stock up" he wondered what was going on inside that head of hers. She definitely had a plan or had seen something with those powers of hers. He didn't like the tone in her voice, it seemed like a lot of work for him, but at least she made a fair point to warn him.

There was more to it than she was leading on, but for now he wouldn't push. There wasn't much he could do at this point in time anyhow. He looked to the general store and nodded, walking a few steps towards it before turning his head back. "Alright, I won't be gone long, I'll meet you in the Tavern in a few moments. If you need me let me know, just try not to need me before I get my smokes."

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"I am quite capable of taking care of myself." Snipped Faeril mostly to herself as she brushed aside the door to the tavern where Eyriens were shifting restlessly. A scene of tense discussion taking up one corner, as Jassen watched the room and ready to spring into action against a room full of enemies. Though at the appearance of the Ice Healer the regenade Eyriens withdrew to leave a line between the hostilities in the room much to the grizzled Randalvar's amusement. Spreading her wings slightly, the Healer forced the warriors back a bit more. Pointedly ignoring the sense of dread she felt from the corner of the room. Fatima and Jandar could see the Blood Opal the woman wore, though Jean would sense something deeper to it. As if it was not her Jewel of Rank, the one she had gained from her Offering to the Darkness. "Randalvar. My guest are eating me out of house and home. I do hope you have my supplies?" Anyone who opposed the Queen could find a healing from Faeril and thus her reputation was a fearsome one with a temper that would make a Eyrien warrior pause when pitted against a Healer's instructions.

"Got them, right in the back. But first, can I tempt you for a drink?" Randalvar offered, having returned to the bar from delievering mugs of ale to the men and a decent wine to the Queen. All of which Jassen was thoroughly and openly checking for poison. "If I was goin' to poison it, you wouldn't be able to sense it!" Snapped the barkeep at the aforementioned man.

A set of blue eyes turned to glance at the trio of strangers and widened in something akin to shock. Turning back to late for Jean to not notice, Faeril closed her eyes and sat at the bar while considering her options. "I shall take drink for now, Randalvar." A Queen and a Dhemlan man, both of who were wrapped with strings of a dream. Gripping the shot placed before her, Faeril downed the drink and placed her hand over the top lest the old man try to get her drunk which was less likely than the sun rising in the west. "You are a fool Randalvar." She hissed with venom as she struggled with what exactly to do and the risks that could arise. Especially if the great lout she had healed and flown down here with decided to heed this Queen's call.

The general store was organized and the tottering older witch was more than happy to see to it that Xandar got what he needed, and at a steal of a price. Which, if he had been wise, he would not have contested. "As if I would charge extra when you are doing such good work getting rid of those nasty folk, dearie. Now, you just keep on doing what you're doing and stop complaining. I'm quite able to put food on my table and when I can't I just go down the road and bully old Randalvar. The man's as soft as a kitten for little old ladies." A hint that told more than most would have liked. But he found himself with enough cigarettes to keep him for a long while and a good stock of coffee aside from that. Not to mention whatever else he had bought. "Now you take care dearie, and don't let our Healer slice you to ribbons. She's all bark." The old woman had assured the Reaper. A young, wingless lad sweeping the shop had muttered just loud enough for both to hear, 'The bites poisonous', before the elderly woman reminded the lad that it had been the Healer who had helped him not two weeks past when he had twisted his ankle!

"And then she told me the next time I tried to show off by being a fool, she'd cut it off!" Complained the lad. His lack of wings not the cruelty of a Queen, but rathr one of the few throwbacks to when Eyriens had offspring with the other races, and branding of the life of an outcast. "I was just trying to Craft some wings on myself!" The old woman merely rolled her eyes and shooed Xandar from her shop with his supplies.

Winged Boar, Aven, Askavi Terreille
@13org @Zoey White
The warrior paused in his sorting of books to raise a brow up at Dareen. "The law..." He mused with a chuckle as though she was jesting. A chuckle that faded as he realized she was not. "Sorry, witchling. I don't know if you hit your head or were raised with Landens." The Warlord Prince named those that worked the land without the Blood's connection to it. Queer folk who had relied on the Blood for a good harvest as it was the Queens who had the connection the strongest. It had been the Queens duty to walk the land and renew the power in the earth. A duty that lay forgotten as it was inconvient. "The law is what the Queen's say. We could drag you there for a trial, but that would mean Faeril's death. I can't see Lady Ashkevron kneeling to some twisted bitch." Shaking his head the man continued his sorting of the books. "The law here is what Faeril says. Though she's not Queen she's stepped up to keep our heads on our shoulders. Done a good job of it too."

Turning his gaze on Mikhail, the newest come Eyrien bristled slightly before Denvar appeared in the archway. A glad cry on his lips as the two mirror images embraced with much back-thumping and suggests of beer. Still grinning Denvar gesture to their two guests then to his twin. "If I may introduce Bellinar, my twin and all mouth."

"And you're nothing but ears. Mother always says we balance each other out." Quipped Bellinar as he punched at his brother's head. Missing with good humor.

"Never said she was wrong." Denvar protested as he continued with the introductions. "Mikhail, a patient of Faeril's and Dareen of Pruul. Faeril has something of an issue with her."

"Faeril has issues with her mirror when the mood is on her." Complained Bellinar as he studied Mikhail with a look of slight confusion. "I've seen a lot of people in my time but none that got pointy ears. Something of Faeril's doing?"

Jandar did not expect Fatima to insist to try and prevent any bloodshed. Worse, she looked genuinely disappointed, perhaps even embarrassed or ashamed of him. He grimaced as she stepped into his personal space, endangering not only him, but herself as well. Nonetheless, he vanished his sword and shield reluctantly, though his hunting knife remained sheathed and in view on his back. “Very well, but if they–” his pointed warning against the rowdy bar patrons was cut off by a confident female’s entrance. The Eyrien warriors retreated before the female, not out of fear, but respect. Jandar couldn’t help but wonder who the blackhead was. Besides though she wore the Blood Opal (as did he), he felt that her Jewel of Rank was darker, perhaps even a Red just as he had?

Despite his concern, the Warlord sat down at a table his Queen chose, and accepted whatever the innkeeper – Randalvar, the mysterious Eyrien female had greeted him as – brought to the table. Unlike Jassen, he did not believe the bar owner would try poisoning them, not when he simply had to wait for the Eyrien lady to leave. Surely, whenever she did, the hotblooded Eyriens surrounding them would decide to have their fun again. If and when they did, he would be ready. He mentioned his concerns to his Queen. “Fatima, the warriors here…they might not be amenable to peaceful discussions,” he was frowning as he scanned the bar, trying to get a read on the Eyriens still there. Would they, after all, still want to test the mettle of who they saw as a pesky intruder? Or would they head that unknown female's warning and not bother them for the rest of their stay here? Jandar did not know, and this discomfited him to the point of tenseness, a restless state wherein he was rather over-vigilant and ready to react to the slightest disturbance.

Dareen opened her mouth and palm as if to say something back, but it was clear her sardonic ways went over his head. Her humor was as dry as the sands of Pruul. The law is what the Queens said. Well yes, Bellinar, she quipped silently. 'At least I have the Queen's word on my side'? Whatever.

Then she looked over at Mikhail, who offered one of those hollow platitudes that didn't help anyone ever. The problem with that advice is that it was going to eventually be under her control, so naturally she was trying to think of what she might do or say in any hypothetical scenario. Yes, it was pointless, yes, it was stressing her out, and no, being aware of these facts didn't mean she wasn't going to do it! It was either that or look at the flowers!

Bellinar was his name, apparently. She looked between the two men and then rested her head on her palm. Oh, great. They're bantering. It seemed Bellinar had shifted his attention to something as mundane as Mihkail's pointy ears. So Dareen just sank a little further into the furniture, content to let the conversation pass her by. The witch had exactly zero interest in learning about Mikail's pointy ears.

Mikhail silently listened as the Eyrien replied to Dareen's words. Despite the harsh words, he was speaking the truth. There was no such thing as the 'law' told in stories in their society. Whatever the queen spoke was the law. Be it good or bad. It was a simple matter of hierarchy. Whoever was on top had the right to call the shots and that was final. In that case, Faeril was indeed the 'law' inside that house. Judging by Dareen's reactions to his words, resting her head in her palms, she knew very well that fact. Unfortunately for her, Mikhail not only had no reason to, but wasn't in any position to try and defend her. Ultimately, her fate rested on Faeril's hands.

Other than the talk about law and hierarchy, Mikhail was surprised when he heard that Faeril wasn't exactly on good terms with the queen, despite her position.

It was then that a familiar face appeared in the room. As Denvar greeted the Eyrien, who was called Bellinar, it became clear that they were in fact brothers, if it wasn't clear enough due to the striking similarity.

"I will try to keep that in mind." Mikhail said with a chuckle as he heard Bellinar's warning about Faeril.

From what he had seen about Faeril so far, she seemed to be a strong woman with strong oppinions, but she was no fool either. He respected her professionalism and despite not knowing her that well, it was clear that she was an intelligent woman. Intelligent enough for Mikhail to not drop his guard too much around her...

"I take it it's your first time seeing a Dea Al Mon then?" Mikhail asked, looking to Bellinar as he asked about his pointy ears.

"I don't blame you, I am indeed very, very far away from 'home'." Mikhail said, with a chuckle and a calm expression, although it was clear that there was something different as he mentioned the word 'home'. Almost as if he didn't believe on it's meaning or something.

The trip to the general store was uneventful to say the least, a older woman and a wingless lad sweeping up the place were the only other ones around. The store was layed out simple enough where he could find everything he needed pretty quickly, and the price was actually fairly low, compared to what he was used to. Before he could even ask the older woman responded to the question he was about to ask, and he was wise not to say anything else but a polite thank you as he took his items. Some coffee, cigarettes, a bit of food and odds and ends. He still had a fair bit of coin left on him, but it wouldn't last him forever. He chuckled when the younger boy complained about the Black Widow, to which he replied "She's threatened to cut off lots of my appendages, no worries. She might be tempered, but I believe she has a soft spot deeeeep down there somewhere. You're lucky to have her around. And I'm sure you'll be able to fly in your own way one day."

He gave a wink and a wave before heading across the street, groceries in hand to the tavern. He could sense that there were a lot of people in there, and some were of a higher breed than the others he had encountered in the tavern earlier, or a regular basis for that matter. But Faeril was in there, and so was Randalvar, so at least a few friendly faces were there. Not that he was worried, but if anything happened, he would sure get an earful after. Walking into the tavern with a cool swagger, he watched as several Eyrien men were on the sides of the bar, watching the people in the middle. A Queen and a Dhemian man who reeked of something higher than a Blood Opal, possibly on par with Faeril. It was hard to judge just by entering the room. Faeril looked like she was taking a drink talking to Randalvar, and he decided to ignore everybody else entirely and take a seat at the bar, setting down his groceries and leaning on the counter with a yawn.

"So, I see you're having yourself a busy morning Randalvar."