Location: Ashkevron residence, front yard -> Down the cliff -> Nearby woods

With a quick nod, taking in the comments and talk of the others he turned around and steadily made his way towards the edge of the cliff. The warlord prince decided to ignore the comments and looks about his outfit, as it was really only natural for him to be dressed as such. even if it wasn't overwhelmingly warm, he knew he would be radiating heat by the end of his activities. He didn't really know if anybody was going to come with him to help, nor did he care. He was more than capable of cutting plenty of firewood for them in a short amount of time, as he was no stranger to this activity. He'd been doing it for hundreds of years at this point, and he's cut as many trees down as he had people.

The descent was a quick one, as he simply hopped of the cliff and made a rather swift descent, letting gravity do most of the work. When he reached close to the ground below he spread his large wings out, giving a mighty downward stroke of his wings to stop himself, landing gracefully on both feet as he took around his surroundings. The trees around him offered some decent shade, which was much appreciated, but things started to get hot quick as he went right to work. He spun the large ax in his right hand, whistling softly as he Ebon-Grey Jewel glinted in the dim light. He channeled a psychic blast into the edge of the ax, swing it and bringing his left hand for more control as he made a very baseball like swing. There was a loud splitting sound, and he pierced straight through the entire tree in one swing, the whole thing suddenly collapsing and landing with a "thud".

Xandar chuckled softly to himself, seeing he overdid it a bit as he calmly walked over to start chopping the tree into usable logs of firewood. He continued to focus his craft through the ax, making precise and powerful blasts to help cut the wood cleanly. Each swing was better than the last, refining his work to a cutting edge as he learned to work with less powerful blasts and making them just as effective. A powerful blast could do much destruction to everything around it, but a controlled, refined, and precise blast could be much more lethal even if less powerful. Even with a simple task such as chopping wood, he used this time to train himself, ever ready for a fight. His wasn't fighting for himself anymore. He was fighting for others. And that kind of fuel made the fire in him burn brighter than any wood fire he could ever make.

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Gen snarled at the insult Dareen unintentionally spoke towards the Ashkevron eyrie. "Not a torture chamber, and you'd be wise never to repeat that in Faeril's presence." It took a few visibly deep breaths as Gen got himself back under control, the wound striking close to home. "Black Widows are a secretive bunch and perhaps the Ashkevrons are an old family. Their Black Widows worked their Craft down here in private. To heal, more than they harmed, though we are Eyriens and sometimes a price needs to be paid for what was taken. The Ashkevrons extracted that price one way, or the other." The Green Jeweled Warlord gave the Pruulish witch a pointed look. There were times when a male got too caught up with themselves and they violence they could wreak. A life would be left in ruined, and a price would be demanded of the perpentrator. "My brother and I sought out the Ashkevrons, our mother was broken and unable to protect herself let alone us. Eyrien society is not kind to half-bloods, but that did not matter to Lady Nivarian. So think before you slight my friend and her family." Gen's voice was harsh, old memories stirring in his mind as he placed silk over the books and Vanished the trunk. Calling in another which he began filling with tools in far better condition. Not a single thread was getting left behind if the Warlord could help it.

The Eyrien was also pointedly ignoring Mikhail as he stabbed the prisoner in his thigh. Blood welling up around the hilt of the dagger as the blade bit deep, the leg jerking but thankfully no major veins were hit. The Warlrod wore the Opal and growled in pain as Mikhail jerked the dagger out. Blood spreading across the stones, Gen wincing at the thought of the cleansing that would need to be done of the room- again. "Start? Just finish it, you'll kill me anyways freak." Snarled the fighter as he jerked against the ropes that held his hands, it was lucky for his three captors that the Ebon-Grey attack had drained his jewels. The other one, a Purple-Dusk was stony in his silence as he came aware of the situation.

In front of the Eyrie, Fatima and Jandar laid waste to Faeril's front garden. What survived the fight as they built the pyre for Jassen. Bellinar cringing and thanking forethought that the herbs and plants Faeril actually cared about were in the back garden and thus not easily accessible for trampling. "Ashke is going to kill us all for the mess we are going to leave her house." The Warlord Prince nearly moaned. As he hefted some of the firewood that sat next to the house to start to form a platform for more. There was not nearly enough for a pyre. He suspected that Gen had been planning on fixing that fact today. Well, there had been a lot of plans today that were ruined. The stiff wind had scuttled away the rain that had fallen leavin the wood and ground wet and soggy. Now it was merely overcast once more. Dreary the day.

Xandar would find himself not alone as there was a thud as the grizzled barkeep landed near to the trees. His own warblade in hand, a weapon that had seen better days. Though not for the lack of upkeep and care. It just was an old blade that was well used and loved. Randalvar looked furious and wary, "Prince." He addressed Xandar, his wings rustling nervously. "I sensed a fight up by the Eyrie. Came as soon as I got my lass somewhere safe." A reasonable fact, especially as a group of angry and battle thirsty Eyriens, could very have descended on the town with the thrill of victoy. Something that would not have done well.

Dareen was a little surprised that Gen had taken her little joke so personally. But she had to remember not to get too comfortable, she wasn't with the company. These people still hated her guts, and she couldn't blame them. After all, she was a murderer. She had to hold her tongue and show as much respect as possible. It was a bit of a culture shock, to say the least.

"Right. I'm sorry. Not a torture chamber." She said, glancing over Gen's shoulder as Mikhail stabbed the prisoner in the knee. Mouth sideways, she silently began helping Gennar place the tools into the secondary box. Careful not to cut herself on any stray sharp point or edge. Focusing on her work, she decided to take a moment to reply to Mikhail.

"Thanks, Mikhail. But, I'd rather make myself useful if I can." She wasn't exactly sure what she could do. Dareen doubted Gennar would be comfortable with Dareen helping in the interrogation part itself. To be honest she wasn't exactly sure what she was going to do with herself. At least down here she was participating in something rather than being lost in her own thoughts watching over Faeril's door. Besides, the idea of Faeril waking up and the first thing she see's being the face of a treaherous marauder wasn't an appealing one. Unless Gennar told her to leave she'd stick around down here. Eventually she would need to regroup with the others and potentially meet that one guy that Fatima seemed to know. Who knew what the future held? Ever since this morning everything was on hold. Hopefully the coincidence of Dareen showing up and then them being attacked the next morning didn't cause any suspicion. Not like she could blame them for thinking that, but still. If only Dareen was that skilled at deception. Placing an object in the box she took a moment and looked at the two unfortunates on the ground. She wondered if the others would let them live.

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Jandar quirked an amused eyebrow at Fatima’s reaction to Xandar stripping, and returned her smile with a faint uplift of his lips’ corners. He then followed the Queen, helping gather nearby branches, picking the larger ones from the ground and occasionally tearing one off straight from a tree. He deposited the material to the same spot Fatima did, and assisted in uprooting the stones. Fingers strained with the earth from the handiwork, he turned from where he was crouched over the disturbed ground, facing Bellinar. Jandar chuckled at the Eyrien’s complaint. “We are sure to leave here, so the mess should not matter as much, should it? Besides, it may even lead the enemies to believe the place was actually ransacked.” His smirk stretched into an evil smile as a mischievous idea occurred to him. “Perhaps we should strive to cause an even greater chaos, both without and within Faeril’s house.” By that point, Jandar’s shoulders were shaking lightly in mirth as he held back a full-blown laugh, though the desire soon passed by, and he sighed, shaking his head left and right twice. “That was, of course, a joke,” he added, dryly.

Bellinar gave a wane-but-game smile at Jandar's joke. "If they did think that, all the better for Faeril. Though I doubt if we leave that we will ever return. The Widow's path is now entwined with your Lady." The Warlord Prince nodded towards Fatima before continuing. "Faeril is just fussy about her home and it's a family home. Been so for generations."

Jandar brushed the earth off his palms and stood up, briefly glancing at the platform Fatima an he had set. It was as good as it was going to get until Markov returned with proper logs. He then turned to Bellinar. “I agree that it is very well possible she may never be able to return, even if we all survive whatever we will have to go through yet. The kind of mission we are undertaking…I myself have doubts as to when and if I may be able to even visit Kaeleer," he confessed. “I can only pray that the hardship we are to go through will be worth it in the end.”

"Kaeleer... I've never been. Faeril wished to go there one day, but after the business with her mother and aunt and hunting our father down... The taint of the twisted Queens was strong and we couldn't risk leaving." Bellinar almost looks wistful, as he sighs in resignation. "We need somewhere safe to gather our power and recruit a Court for Fatima without stepping on another, reigning, Queen's toes."

“Indeed. I do not know much about the state of Terreille, except that it is rather awful, if you don’t mind my saying so, but such a safe spot may very well reside within Kaeleer. Returning there, however, might be a challenge, what with the strict border control in this Realm,” Jandar made a complicated expression, somewhere between a smile and a grimace, and which was coloured partly by nostalgia, partly by bitterness at the things he had seen and learned in Terreille, and partly by worry for Fatima and the precarious situation they were in.

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Fatima kept to herself as they worked. She was absorbed in the labor, allowing that energy which stagnated and wallowed in every hollow bit of her to be released through action. She cried as she worked, tears spilling from a solemn face but never slowing her actions. Back and forth between the woods and the garden bed. Fingernails were torn with the effort of digging loose stones. Mud brushed over her face with the back of her hand or brushed off on her blood-encrusted tunic. It was easy to see that the woman was quite the mess, however, she behaved with the decorum a Queen should have. This was something beaten into since a young age. She heard her name once, spoken between the two men who helped her. She lifted her eyes to them for a brief moment - bleary and tired. It did not seem to concern her currently and she went back to her introspection.

Once she was satisfied with the way things were laid out she did a quick double-check. She had to make sure each thing was exactly in the place it should be. From there she called on the energy of her birthright stone to dry out the wood. Her Sapphire was the only jewel she was truly used to using, having kept her Grey hidden for her whole life. It may have been the deep sadness she felt, the inability to focus, or perhaps she was just so emotionally drained but it didn't work. The wood did not dry and she tried again. Still to no avail. Tears were streaming more freely down her face with the building of her frustration.

With a choked sob she blasted the wood again. This time, completely by accident, it was with the Grey. Her Grey was something she did not have as clear control upon and when her emotions welled and swirled it tended to act out. The wood immediately dried, becoming brittle with the release of water. Steam billowed before them for a moment then followed by the scent of smoke. None of the wood had caught fire, but it looked as if it would catch flame should Mikhail and Xandar have a conversation too close to it.

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Mikhail raised an eyebrow as Gennar replied to Dareen's words as she called that a 'torture room'. Even though she was technically correct, the Eyrien warrior didn't seem to take those words kindly, taking them as an offense to Faeril. Even though Mikhail was currently busy with another thing, he couldn't help but notice how strongly Gennar reacted to that word, stronger than one normally would. Even though Dareen had no intention of offending neither Faeril nor anyone, it did seem that those words had another meaning to Gennar, something much more personal as he spoke about his mother and his family before finishing.

Before he turned back to the prisoner he was currently 'interrogating', he looked to Dareen, nodding towards her in response to her reply to his previous question. Even though it was clear that she didn't exactly enjoy being there, Mikhail could understand her reasoning. She wanted something to do, even if that meant watching Mikhail torturing someone.

"There are fates much worse than death." Mikhail said, looking to the bound man with a predatory stare.

"I can provide you with one of those and if it's not enough to 'persuade' you..." Mikhail continued.

"Would you happen to know what exactly a Black Widow is capable of? I wonder how easy would it be for one to extract everything we want to know from your mind before tearing and completely destroying it. Madness can be much worse than death." he said, as he grabbed the man by his head with a quick movement of his hand, grasping it firmly as he approached the dagger from his right eye.

"I recommend you to look away, Dareen." Mikhail said, turning towards the Pruul witch before he went back to his previous task.

"Now, continuing from were we stopped... Do you have anything to say? It will be much easier and faster if you cooperate. Otherwise, I can keep you here for a long time before finally killing you." He said, slowly plunging the dagger into the man's eye.

It didn't take much for the unfortunate prisoner to realize by the way Mikhail was moving that he knew exactly where he should cut, pierce or crush in order to inflict as much pain as possible without killing. It would take an extraordinary amount of willpower in order to resist what was about to come.

Location: Nearby woods-> Cliffside -> Front yard

Xandar finished the swing of his Ax as he propped the shaft on his shoulder, turning to face Randalvar. He had almost all the wood chopped already, and he slightly tilted his head at seeing Randalvar all battle ready. ”Well you aren’t wrong, there was indeed a fight, but you are very late to the party. I had all the fun myself it seems, left a whole army dead or demoralized up there.” The warlord prince said this with the utmost casual tone as he starting gathering firewood and vanishing it. ”And before you ask there were no casualties on our part, just some scrapes and bruises. More hurt egos than hurt bodies. But, you might want to know that one of those people in your village was the one who informed the Queen of our whereabouts.”

The grizzled warlord growled deep in his throat as Xandar insulted the village, Aren. "We wouldn't betray the Black Widow, she's done a damn bit for our village." But there was some doubt in Randalvar's golden eyes. It was his worst nightmare that one of the villagers had turned on the Healer who had done so much for them, but it was viable. Times were only getting harder and people were desperate. "I can vouch for every damn person who entered my tavern today. Hell's fire, Mother Night and May the Darkness be merciful. How is Lady Ashkevron?"

Xandar shrugged, swinging his Ax down on some of the remaining chunks of wood that left to be cut. He wiped the sweat off his brow, focusing his attention on the fallen tree. ”As much as you trust you people, I’m no stranger to being stabbed in the back. There was a note on one of those soldiers with the location of the Eyrie and detailing the presence of both The Widow and myself. The only people with that information are the people in the village or up there, unless you suspect one of them to be a traitor.”

Xandar vanished the rest of the wood and the Ax, brushing the saw dust off of his hands as he turned himself towards the older Eyrien. ”Alive, thanks in part to me on two separate occasions. They planned on cutting off her snake tooth finger and her wings before kidnapping her, but I put a stop to all that. She got a few cuts and bruises, drained herself a bit, but she’s resting now. She’ll be back to normal soon.”

There was a gruff chuckle of relief, though it did not reach the old Eyrien's eyes. "That's going to scrape her pride, not to mention her temper. No Ashkevron woman wants to have to rely on a senseless man. Especially when they've done something as stupid and drain themselves worrying over nothing." Vanishing a few of the wedges of firewood himself, the warlord set about helping Xandar. "I don't doubt someone betrayed someone, but- well, shit. Means we have to start looking at our own and that's never a decent thing. I take it, we best expect to do that without the Widow able to check if the party is guilty?"

"It's always a struggle looking within, as it could really cause some tension. We'll need to go about this carefully. There are a few of them interrogating some of the prisoners of war I had acquired. That might lead to some information, but I'm pretty sure the sadistic bastard is just entertaining himself." Xandar cut the remaining pieces of firewood, nodding as Randalvar offered his own help. "Oh the Widow will be fine, I'm sure, she can bitch all she wants. As far as her abilities we'll have to go without them for now, I don't need her draining herself needlessly again. We'll need her strength. We've started making arrangements to leave, though to where I have no idea."

The Eyrien and sighed Vanishing more wood. "Well, good luck with that. Her Aunt and her Mother were both prone to draining more power than was reasonable. To be sure, they were excellent witches! But damn if they didn't drive a man to madness- and not the permanent kind." He grumbled, remembering those times all too well. "Just wear a cod piece, when you tell her that." Advised the old warlord with a maniac grin that screamed 'better you than me'. His face turned serious as the Reaper spoke of leaving and not knowing where to. "Well you can't stay in Askavi, that's for damn certain. Wouldn't go towards Hyall or Dhemlan either. I'd say head west til you got a good idea of what to do."

"This'll have to be cod piece enough, I'm sure she'll leave them alone as she might want to use them herself." The Ebon-Grey teased, stretching his shoulders and giving a large flap with his wings, seeing as all the wood has been vanished and ready to be transported. "Well that's not much different than what I was doing. We can discuss that with the rest if you'd like to come with me. I'm using this firewood to help with a funeral pyre. There actual was one casualty, the one older gentleman with the Queen. I was impartial to his death, as I do not know how it happened, and also he tried to kill Faeril. But Fatima seemed to care for him so the least he deserves is a proper burial."

"Hmph," The Eyrien Warrior grunted, choosing to ignore the jab that Faeril might find the Reaper interesting. "You are serving this Queen now? Didn't think I'd see the day." Joining the Reaper in his ascent up the cliff, Randalvar hesitated for a minute before speaking up in a warning. "Be careful with that offer if you mean to tease the Widow, Prince. This entire Realm has scars."

"Well considering the pull towards her, and the fact that she seemed like the only decent one with good morals I've met in hundreds of years, I'd say so. It's actually nice having a Queen to serve after so long. The rogue life wasn't ideal, and it wasn't preferred, but it's what had to be done. But I really think now we can make a difference." Xandar chuckled at the comment towards him, reaching the top of the Eyrie as he calmly landed. "I'm always careful Randalvar, but I can't say much on that subject. I'm not so sure myself, and she doesn't make it any easier on me.

There was a soft chuckle. "No Ashkevron makes it easy."

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The screams that echoed in the subterranean room were haunting. The two men were quick to spill what they knew, only asking for mercy as they had families of their own to care for. A fact Gen shot down in harsh and short order while asking for details the men could not or would not provide. "Most Eyrien warriors live in war camps and go to their families only to produce children." It was a harsh light into his own society, but young men in their prime like these two were not likely to have formed such a close bond to a woman to treat her with any decorum. A fact that was cemented as they spat curses even as they begged. From them Mikhail, Gen and Dareen would learn that they had been sent by the order of the Master of the Guard to Queen Melian. Someone Gen had no kind words for, though he held off on the judgement on whether or not to kill the two warriors, mentioning that perhaps it would be best to leave that to the Queen and Black Widow.

Up above, as Jassen's body burned, Randalvar watched as he and Xandar stood next to the fallen man. Bidding his farewell to Queen and men, the elderly Eyrien glided down from the eyrie. It would be later in the afternoon when everyone minus Faeril found their way inside. Both Bellinar and Denvar busying themselves with packing up bits and pieces of the house that couldn't be left behind. Gen was pouring out a mug of coffee for Fatima as he started the conversation. "As much as I want to wait until Faeril wakes up. There's no sign that she will any time soon, and we do need to figure out where we are going. Not to mention how you are going to fill your Court, Lady Fatima." The Green Warlord stated formerly as he began rummaging about the dining room and vanishing the precious sets of dishes. The front parlor made less than pleasent by Mikhail's earlier display.

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Xandar had brought the entire bed from Faeril's room into the dining room, seeing as though the preferred lounging spot was covered in blood. Faeril herself was on that bed, and sleeping or not, she had a large Eyrien Warlord prince with his arms and wings wrapped around her. It was very clear that this meeting was impeding is nap time, and Faeril would have to be present and miss nap time too if he had to. It was only fair. He ponders of the topic of where the group should go, thinking back to his own experiences traveling and the advice from Randalvar. “West. I have contacts in Shalador and Nahele that I could try to contact, get a bearing on our situation. Nahele in the mountains would be ideal for hiding, and if that goes south, Challiot to the far west is as isolated as they come. My communication has fell with them recently, but it’s worth a shot.”

Jandar sat at one of the wooden chairs, his back and elbows leaning on the dining table as he faced the rest of the people crowded in the room. The bed carrying the Black Widow and Xandar was the methaphorical pink elephant in the room, but beyond a startled look, the Kaeleeran Warlord chose to ignore it. "As a more of a long-term goal, I can only offer aid in Kaereel, however the issue would be getting there. If we can get more allies via Prince Markov's acquaintances, that could certainly be helpful," he commented.

The bed took up half the room, and while none of the three brothers had stopped him since they found the entire situation highly amusing... They had vanished some of the furniture in the way as 'they might need it elsewhere for Fatima'. Faeril herself had slept through it. A testament to her exhaustion. Meanwhile her erstwhile protectors snickered to themselves.

It did take quite a long time for Mikhail to clean the mess on Faeril's secret room and dispose of the bodies in a... 'discreet' way, without letting the others see it, but when he finished, he went to the dining room where he probably could find the others. The results of the torture were as Mikhail expected. Even though they didn't know much as they were merely pawns for Queen Melian, they did confirm that they were sent by the Master of the guard. It was clear that Queen Melian wouldn't let them go that easily. As long as they stood somewhere in her territory, where her eyes and ears were everywhere, they would have a very tough time... Even if they left her territory, it was highly unlikely that she would let them go like that... Which gave Mikhail a few good ideas about what to do.

Getting there, Mikhail was greeted by a rather strange sight... Someone, for some reason, had taken Faeril's bed to the dining room. Somehow, even after being dragged from her room to the dining room, Faeril was still sleeping soundly on it. Choosing to simply ignore said scene instead of asking something, he began to say what he had to.

"The warriors who came after us were Queen Melian's pawns. They were under orders of Queen Mellian's Master of the Guard." Mikhail said, hopefully gaining the attention of those who were in the dinning room at the moment. "We won't be safe as long as we stay inside Queen Melian's territory. Even if we leave, it's highly likely that she will still go after Faeril. That said..." Mikhail continued, expecting that the Eyrien brothers would be able to tell Faeril of Mikhail's plans when she woke up.

"We can use this against her. Our best bet is going to another Queen's territory. No matter who she is, she won't take kindly if she knows that another Queen sent her forces inside her territory without consulting her first. Even if this other Queen knows Faeril and has a similar objective as Queen Melian, she and Melian will still enter in a conflict, which will give us plenty of time and room to disappear if we're careful." Mikhail continued.

"It will give us some time to organize ourselves, assess the situation and make preparations to deal with it." he finished, looking to the Eyrien brothers.

"I would be grateful if you passed this information to Faeril when she wakes up too." He finished, waiting for their answer.

Bellinar shrugged. "Well, considering things... Big, Ebon-Grey, and about to loose his balls over there can tell her." He smirked jerking his head towards Xandar.

Xandar yawned into the top of Faeril's head, using it to cover his yawn before picking his head back up and looking at the rest of the people in the room. "Hey, it's not my fault she's sleeping like a rock. I don't think it'll be too hard telling her 'hey, we're going here'. It seems like no matter what, West and out of Melian's territory is our best bet. We just need direction and purpose, but from there we need to take our journey one day at a time."

Dareen had followed Mikhail out of the chamber beneath the house after a moment, scratching the hood around her head. Man. That was brutal. Mikhail sure did know what he was doing. Blinking a bit at the sight of a bed in the living room, and this whole situation Xandar had put himself in, Dareen found a comfortable looking corner and leaned her back against it, crossing her arms and staying silent for a moment. To be honest, Dareen still wasn't sure what her relationship relative to the others was. Most likely she didn't have much of a voice in the matter. She didn't even know if she was invited. Still, only one to find out. "Obviously, you shouldn't go south, towards Pruul." While the suggestion itself was obvious, Dareen had perhaps mistakenly used some more provactive language in regards to her relationship with the other people in the room.

Fatima had stayed to watch the last of the fire burn down to coals. She, bleary and tired, entered the Eyrie. There was still blood but she hardly noticed it. She followed the sounds of people and the warm glow of light to the dining room. Hereupon she found... a bed.... with Xandar and Faeril. And everyone else milling about. Fatima blinked a couple of times and then backed out of the room. She entered again and there was still the bed. She rubbed soot stained hands over her face and looked toward the brothers. "Can you point me in the direction of the kitchen? I'm going to put on some coffee."

Gen took Fatima in hand and steered her to a comfortable chair, pouring her a cup of coffee. "We have coffee in here. Milk and surgar too." He added, gesturing to the little bowls of said condiments. "So Pruul and Hayll are obviously out... I wouldn't risk Dhemlan." The Green Jeweled Warlord Prince noted.

Denvar sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "Kaeleer may not the be the worst idea in the long run of things. We haven't heard of anything from the Shadow Realm." The other name by which Kaeleer was known, "So it's probably the best option. How to get there though..."

Gennar shrugged, "We get out of Askavi, then figure that out. And- shit." The Warlord swore as the Eyrien woman in Xandar's grasp shifted and stirred. The three brothers immediately jerked to wary attention. Far too used to Faeril's temper and knowing that knew she would not take kindly to the situation. Xandar himself would feel the woman squirm about and cuddle deeper before there was a positive shift of her body and temper. Hot fury warming the woman and the bed as icy eyes snapped up to lock onto the Reaper.

"What in the name of Hell are you doing in my bed."

Xandar smiled at Fatima, nodding his head. “Welcome to the discussion, my Queen. We were just discussing our next move, or at least where we’re heading.” He said, nodding along as the brothers spoke. He made a unamused face at the mention of the Shadow Realm, a place he had heard of but knew very little. He had no contacts, only mythos and legends. He also knew that Mikhail’s kind had come from there, the warrior race of that realm.

“While I don’t know much of that place, I don’t think we need to figure out long term. Short term we can just get the hell out of Askavi west bound into the mountains. Getting away will do us good, but we also need to help formulate a plot of attack. Gather intel, gather support.”

It seemed the rather warm and squirmy bundle of joy in his arms was staring daggers up at him, seemingly woken up from all the noise. He smiled casually, not flinching like the others as he slowly started to pet her head, running his fingers through her hair. He looked down at the bed, then back into her eyes. “Well, it was comfortable. And the furniture is a bit bloodied up thanks to your old friend Mikhail. So when I brought you in here I took the liberty of offering you some company while we discussed our next move. Care to join us? I figured you wanted to be apart of this discussion.”

"Ah," came her simple reply to Xandar. She took the warm coffee into her hands and just stared into the inky depths. "Thank you," came her rather late mumble. She brought the cup to her lips and sipped carefully. She was glad of the acidic, bitter drink. Helped bring her clarity in what was proving to be a very foggy day. She looked back at Xandar and Faeril with a frown. "You know... I rather enjoy him alive. Please don't hurt him too badly." She then went back to her coffee. She was not about to allow the woman to harm her Eryien friend, not while they were weak in numbers. Not while they were in danger. But she wasn't going to let him just get away with his silly actions either. Everything had a consequence.

Faeril's ice filled eyes narrowed at the cocky warrior as the foolish man ran his fingers through her hair. As enjoyable as it was, and damn him for it!, the woman savored it for a moment as her cheeks flushed with a mixture of pleasure and anger. Jerking her head and self away from the Xandar, the woman gave a impromptu yelp as a large arm about her waist as the Ebon-Grey locked her in place. "You just decided to pick up my entire bed, and move it out here. So you all could continue a discussion." She stated slowly, her voice filled with glacier coldness. "Release me, and take my bed back." She stated each word slowly as if speaking to someone not particularly bright. "You three did not stop him?" She snapped at the brothers who had looks ranging from smirks to hurt false innocence.

"Well, you were sleeping," Fatima said in their defense

Mikhail heard in silence as the group considered the options they had. Dareen had been somewhat quiet since he finished interrogating the Eyrien prisoner, but she did a quick comment mentioning Pruul. While Pruul would be a good place for someone to disappear, it was also an incredibly dangerous place for a thousand different reasons. Overall, not a good option for them.

After welcoming a rather confused Fatima, Gennar was the next to voice his thoughts, adding Hayll to the list of the places they shouldn't go. He also mentioned it wouldn't be a good idea to risk going to Dhemlan, but considering what they were trying to do, they should consider it too.

"Kaeleer..." Mikhail repeated, thinking.

"It might be a good option. It wouldn't be that hard to erase our tracks. The lack of information is exactly what it makes a very good place for what we are trying to do. Getting out of Askavi will still be a bit dangerous, but once we get there, we should be safe." He continued, after hearing Gennar and Xandar.

Before he could say anything more though, Faeril, who was sleeping soundly until now, finally woke up and she was just as pissed as Mikhail thought she would be when she saw Xandar on the bed with her...

Knowing that nothing good would come out of the current situation with Faeril, even after Fatima's words, Mikhail discreetly gave a step back, grabbing a cup of coffee as an excuse to give a few steps back so Faeril's eyes wouldn't immediately met with his.

“Well did you not want to be part of this discussion? I figured you would want in. I didn’t want to disturb your sleep.” Xandar chuckled, still holding her as he carried her over the shoulder and slid off the bed. He used both hands now, holding her securely as he floated the bed behind him. “Well you heard the lady, she wants no part in this. I feel like we’re in agreement anyhow. To the mountains and out of Askavi, then off to the land down under. Marvelous. Well, goodnight everyone.” He said as he disappeared with Faeril and the bed into her bedroom.

Dareen scratched the back of her head through her hood, furrowing her brow at the odd display of petty power plays. It reminded her of the squabbling amongst the lower ranks of her old crew. But it was hard to read Xandar's actions as merely playful teasing. One of the most essential parts of having a healthy banter-based relationship with comrades is the ability to allow oneself to occasionally be the butt of the joke. Dareen couldn't imagine the Grey jeweled goliath allowed himself to be put in a situation like that. She glanced around at the brothers three, Mikhail, Fatima, and the new person whom with she had not been properly introduced. There'd probably be time for that later. Dareen watched with a bemused detatchment as the bed floated out of the room and vanished around the corner. "I, uh..." She pressed her lips together and said nothing. But somehow the brief statement managed to get her message across anyway.

Mikhail watched in silence and still shocked as the exchange between Xandar and Faeril went on, resulting in him quite literally carrying her away in his arms, together with her bed into Faeril's bedroom.

"... I don't know if it's too early to ask but... Do we already have a replacement for Xandar...? Oh, by the way, I'm not cleaning the ground after Faeril is done with him." Mikhail said, giving another sip into the cup of coffee he had began drinking only as an excuse to walk away, but now was drinking it for real.

It was then that he heard Dareen's voice as she began saying something but interrupted herself. She was awfully quiet since the 'interrogation session' she saw him doing... While Mikhail understood that she wanted to be useful, he couldn't help but to think that she was still a bit shocked about the experience.

"Dareen, are you ok?" Mikhail asked in a low tone as he gave a few steps towards her.

"I do understand you want to be helpful, but you don't need to force yourself to do or watch something you wouldn't like to. The things you watched me doing in Faeril's secret room... Can I do anything to help you forget about them?" Mikhail asked, low enough so only Dareen would hear.

Unlike other times, his voice was much calmer and his eyes weren't as cold and penetrating as they were anymore. With the situation calming down, Mikhail's personality also changed accordingly, a trait that those who were around him should have noticed by now.

Dareen raised her eyebrows at Mikhail. "Hmm?" She hummed questioningly. Mikhail was offering...emotional support? If in a slightly ominous way. Help me forget? She thought. She supposed the thought was nice. Certainly Dareen was no stranger to violence. "Well, thanks, Mikhail." She started talking a little too loud, then lowered her voice to math Mikhail's tone. "But, uh, I'm fine. You don't need to...help me forget." She managed, suppressing a smirk. What he did was pretty gross, though. Still, she tried to politely dismiss his concerns.

It was all quite a lot for Fatima to take in. She could not process the information - sights, sounds. She touched her fingers to her forehead and breathed deeply before letting out a slow and shaky breath. Her expression turned sour for a moment as Xandar waltzed his way from the room carrying the rowdy Widow. Mikhail mentioned something about a secret room. Things to forget. She shook her head and downed the last of her coffee before standing. "I am longing for a hot bath," she directed the comment toward the brothers. "And a warm bed. Would you be so kind as to direct me?" Her voice was tired and raspy, having been put too much to work this day.

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Faeril gave a squawk as she was scooped up and carried from the room. Her mind slightly blurred by sleep and stunned by the indignation of her position. "What do you think you are doing?!" She protested, if she hadn't drained her jewel the Widow would be trying her best to slap her kidnapper silly. Alas, she was incredibly weak much to her disgust. This is what she got trying to help people!

Xandar brought the bed and put it back into its original spot as he gently lay Faeril back down in her original position. He shrugged his shoulders “Well you were complaining I moved your bed, so, I moved it back. Simple enough.” Xandar yawned as he crawled into bed next to her, taking the covers and burying himself in them. “Now you can go back to sleep, Lady Faeril.”

The dark brow twitched as Faeril stared at the obnoxious warrior. "I shall." She growled deeply. "Get out of my bed!" She tried to snarl, a weak yawn interrupting the threat. Pushing at his larger form to try and force him from her. "You bone-headed-! I will rip your stitches out!"

“Hey, I worked very hard to keep those stitches in, per your advice.” He groaned, not even dazed by the weak pushing he felt. He curled up tighter into the blankets, peeking his head out. “Come on, one night? Mikhail bloodied up my usual sleeping area and all the other furniture. You could be a gracious host and provide me a place other than the floor.”

Faeril sighed, at least this Eyrien was taking care of his wounds. Others like him would be ripping wounds open just to prove who could flex more. Then her thoughts paused as she growled. "What...? What did Mikhail do to my house?!" Faeril swung her legs over the edge of the bed as she pushed herself weakly to her feet.

Xandar sighed, seeing Faeril try to get herself up and roam the house. He leaned forward, grabbing her by the waist and pulling her back into bed with him. He kept his one arm draped across the front of her. “Shh. Don’t worry about it. We can take care of that tomorrow. It’s late and you need your rest.”

The Black Widow glared at the man over her shoulder as Xandar yanked her back to the bed. While she was concerned about the house, it was hard to keep that to the forefront of her mind. It was late. A late morning, along early afternoon of fights, and then whatever they had done. It was now merely early evening, but having stayed up the night before. Faeril was feeling the ache of tired bones. "I'm a gracious host. I haven't killed you yet." She hissed, pointedly moving Xandar's arm off her waist as she laid her head on the bed. "And I could give you worse than the floor."

Xandar groaned, retracting his hand and rolling over as he laid facing away from the Black Widow. He knew that she should rest and if she wasn't going to realize that herself he would babysit her and make sure she was in full health. They would need her strength in these coming days, and she was far from replaceable. This much he knew, considering she was the one to heal him. "How rude. Then how would I go about chopping your wood with a sore back? As much as you won't admit it, you need me just as much as I need you. And I need you to rest and relax a little."

Faeril huffed a breath as she pointedly ignored and failed to ignore Xandar. "I am resting!" Relaxing, however... especially with the most annoying Eyrien to walk through her door next to her. "I'll gut you." Came the tired mutter.

[center]
Interacting with @Slim Shady @eclecticwitch @13org @SilverPaw @Zoey White
It had been a solid few days since the group had left the Ashkevron residence in Aven. Faeril had been less than thrilled to leave her family home, but there was little other choice as the Queen was hot on their heels. Randalvar had taken possession of the property and sworn to keep it safe for her return. A return she did not expect to ever be a thing. It might have been to Mikhail's relief that Randalvar had also promised to make sure her eyrie would be cleaned and kept that way averting the woman's wrath. Gennar and his two brothers had been hovering about the Queen and the Black Widow as much as they could despite the fact they were needed to act as the group's hands among the Eyrien settlements. They were not suspect unlike Xandar and could be risked, unlike Faeril. A point that all three had ganged up on their younger friend about. Faeril's job was to keep safe and thus out of the way.

It was through the brothers that the group was able to procure a coach, one that Gennar felt comfortable steering through the Blue Winds, though not the green. With four Eyriens, Mikhail, Jandar, Dareen and Fatima not to mention two horses a larger coach had been procured. Something that Gen would not speak about the price of what it cost him. "We can afford it." He stated simply, though he did whisper something to Faeril. Dareen would be the only one who overheard. The coach had cost enough to keep a family fed for a year, an outrageous sum. Faeril had winced at the price, but said nothing. The coach was a means to the end and got them out of the mountains of Askavi as quickly as possible.

Now, they stood before the landing web of a ruined town. Off in the distance was a second town. What might have been a Landen's village before the Blood claimed it for their own. War had come here in the past few decades, as in evidence in the hollow shells of homes and shops charred from fire. The blood-red witch blood bloomed about the buildings and along one side of the street. Left untended and a reminder to the horror that was being wrecked across the realms. Around the village, a circle where the Shalador people once had danced was now grown over and thorns weaved into the grasses. The tall yellow sea that surrounded the town interrupted with strands of orchards and trees. True forests to the east and far closer to the foot of the mountains.

Assured no one was in the town, the three brothers had returned to the carriage with their news. Gennar offered a hand to help Fatima out first as well as Faeril, the latter of who had recovered in part from overworking herself. "There's a newer town out to the north-east, but we didn't see or sense anyone in the area close to us." Gen reported. "Figured we ought to pause here and figure out if we want to stop by the town or not."

Faeril nodded to herself as she looked at the ruined shells that were once were homes. Homes she did not want to draw the memories out of, for the last memories here would be of things better explained by the blood red flowers. "We should stop, if only to hear the news." She offered as she looked at the witchblood flowers. Turning her head away after a time.

Dareen felt a little awkward in the coach. She felt like she didn't quite belong, like there was something unresolved. Was it the room she wasn't supposed to see? The fact that up until a year ago she was an enemy sworn to kill the very people she had now allied herself with? Or was it just because she was just a weird person in general who didn't know how to get along with anyone except her mercenary corp? Perhaps it was the fact that the couch she was sitting in cost enough to make the penny pinching Pruul vomit. Enough to make the ride feel like a gift. Dareen always hated gifts. They made her uncomfortable. Debts and IOU's were the way of her old crew, so having someone to something for you for free was a rarity. Though Faeril was certainly among the higher class, Dareen doubted she had bottomless coffers. Especially under these dire circumstances. On the run, forced from her home...the nomadic mercenary couldn't imagine what that would feel like. It didn't help that having sympathy for other people was a skill she lacked practice in. A part of her brain that not long ago everyone around her told her was a weakness. Maybe this awkwardness was just a symptom of no longer feeling confident in her purpose or her surroundings.

Whatever the reason, the coach was preposterously expensive and Dareen made extra care not to spill or damage it in anyway. While she had wished to draw, she didn't want anyone to see her sketching. It was kind of private, so she kept the journal tucked safely away in it's little pocket dimension. For the most part she spent the trip staring gloomily out the window, resting her cheek on the heel of her hand.

When they arrived in the village, it was a familiar sight. War made most places look the same. One pile of rubble was difficult to differenciate from another. Abandoned. This place has no one to repair it, no one to take care of it. Time had taken it's toll, aswell as if not more than the blood soaked toil of warriors.

"Yeah, I agree. We should stop and see what there is to see." She said in agreement with the Black Widow Healer. Not to mention it would be nice to have a little rest from all the travelling and camping they had been doing over the last few days.

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There were a few complications while the group was on their way out of Askavi, fortunately though, the worst one of them, at least until now, seemed to be the price of the coach, which made even Faeril herself react as one of the Eyrien brothers whispered it to her. Due to the number of people that were travelling together, not counting Faeril's things, a big coach was necessary, thus, justifying the price. Despite Mikhail being always in full alert as they made their way out of Askavi, luckily, nothing out of the ordinary happened. Having left Faeril's home behind, to be taken care by Randalvar, one of Faeril's acquaintances, one she could trust according to her words, they left Queen Melian's territory.

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After some time travelling, Mikhail and the group found themselves in front of a ruined town. From there, the group was able to see a second town in the distance. The hollowed houses, destroyed and burned buildings, together the general state of the town was a clear indication that nobody had lived there in quite a good time. That said, despite that, the blood-red witch blood blooming through the building cracks created an incredibly beautiful scenery. As the Eyrien brothers went to scout the area, Mikhail spent a few minutes simply walking around, appreciating the scenery until they finally came back with news.

After consulting with Faeril, she said that they should stop in the newer town that they were able to see in the distance in order to hear the news.

"I do wish to remind you that the probability of Queen Melian having sent someone to tail us isn't small. Also, we should try to be discrete if we are going to that town. Even though it is far away, we only need one wrong encounter to give Melian information about us." Mikhail said, looking to Faeril and the brothers before he turned to appreciate the abandoned town again.

"It would be smart for Faeril to not go. We should send someone who wouldn't be as easily recognized by any possible contact Queen Melian might have." Mikhail finished as he looked to the group, waiting for a reply.

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In the days that followed, Fatima had been somewhat of a mess. She tucked away the ashes into an urn before leaving the Eyrie. She spent her time quiet and dour, sticking close to Jandar as he was the nearest thing she had to an 'old friend' at this point in time. Her bronzed skin was pale. She barely ate or drank anything. It took much rousing to get her to speak or move more than necessary. She was just a husk of a person.

It was in silence she allowed herself to be helped down from the carriage. She hadn't wanted to move initially but was soon pushed out into daylight. She blinked against the sun, raising her hand to help block against it. The whirr of grasshoppers built a grand crescendo before dying away only to repeat their resounding song around them in the grasses. The others were speaking about a town. She found she was having trouble caring. Hearing. She couldn't feel the thrum of life here that she normally would upon entering a town. Upon closer inspection, it became clear that the homes had been abandoned. Fatima walked barefoot into the witch blood and followed an invisible path into the town.

Perhaps it was due to the conversations they were all having but it seemed that by some miracle she was able to drift away into the old town. It felt as empty as she did. She paused for a moment to kneel down and touch the blooms of the Witch Blood. Her fingers brushed over delicate petals and she took in their scent. It was calming and strummed a chord in her heart. With tears pricking the corners of her eyes she stood and again moved toward the first of the houses. Her fingertips brushed over the walls in desperate need of white-washing. Rotted timber left a sweet scent in the air which mixed sickeningly with the Witch Blood. Lifting her skirts she rounded the side of the building.

The door had since fallen free of its place, laying on the ground. Blades of grass poked through holes and cracks. A fine, dirty moss had started to creep along the edges. She looked inside the home and found dust coated every surface of the room within. She held her breath, afraid that if she were to breathe out it would disturb the settled peace of abandonment. Her eyes searched the room finding tools, kitchenware, a pot at the fireplace, and some bits of tattered darning.

Curiosity gripped her, the first fleeting, fluttering emotion she'd had beyond her heavy and tired depression in days. She followed it, ascending the single step up into the house. Her skirts created a wake of disturbed dust particles behind her. Freed from their brethren, they swirled and danced on light breezes created by her movements. They caught and reflected in beams of sunlight, giving the first signs of movement in the houses in what had to be years. Unable to stop herself she touched and picked up some of the items. These were memories left to rot. They had served a purpose and done their due diligence before being left to wither into the nothingness bequeathed them by the endless march of time.

She lifted a necklace from a table, but the thread had since decayed so much that it was no longer able to support the weight of the beads. With a clatter they scattered about the room, the sound deafening in what had been a sweet and somber silence. Fatima winced and as she turned toward the doorway she noticed, for the first time, a box beside it. She approached the thing, wonderment at what forgotten memories it could hold quickening her breath. She reached out her hands and pushed open the lid.

The Eyrien brothers procured what seemed like quite the expensive coach, and Jandar wondered however they were able to afford it, but the fact of the matter was that they needed it. Through the Blue Winds, Gennar led them out of Askavi. During the trip, Jandar stuck to Fatima, being the one who usually coaxed her to eat, sleep, move, and could only hope that that spark of life would eventually return to her. For now, he let her reflect and mourn most of the time, with the occasional encouragement she needed to prod her into doing more than sit and think and wane.

Eventually, they arrived to a landing web of a ruined town. Jandar released Teo from where he’d been fastened in the front of the coach alongside another horse, letting him find something to graze amidst the ruins. There wasn’t much. Buildings falling apart, life missing – even vermin seemed to be rare, and the fields of witch blood. This place had been ravaged by war, cleansed by fire, abandoned by men. Nature was beginning to overtake the place, the thorns and weeds and grass a surprisingly welcome sight in what was otherwise an utterly desolate scenery.

“Indeed, we best make a camp here, and split into two groups. One to stay here, one to scout in the town. It would be least odd if only one of one were to go, seeing how different from the natives we will be…But it should be safer if a few of us go,” Jandar mused. Perhaps only the three Eyrien brothers should go? If they sent to much of a mixed group, there would be questions. Then again, the same might hold true for a trio of Eyrien warriors. “Perhaps myself, Mikhail, and one or two of the Eyrien brothers. Dareen, maybe,” he added. “Fatima, Faeril, and Xandar would certainly stand out too much, so it is a given that they stay here. Prince Markov, you could of course protect the group that stays with you here, correct?” he addressed the Eyrien Warlord, hoping the male would not desire to go into the unknown town. “We’ll certainly need to think of a story we can give to the citizens. Should we simply pose as a rag-tag group of travelers, I wonder?” That was the closest to the truth after all.

As he thought this, Jandar’s gaze flicked around, and he suddenly realized Fatima had managed to wander apart from them while they’d been deep in thought in discussion. Immediately becoming more alert, the Warlord focused on enhancing his sight with the power of his Blood Opal jewel, the power giving a subtle glow to his eyes as he looked around intently. He saw the Queen duck into one of the abandoned buildings, apparently intent to explore. Though somewhat worried and uncomfortable, he let her be for now, though resolved he’d keep an even better eye on her from now on. Incidentally, he also saw Xandar go off in another direction, following a couple of viper rats. A mild frown graced his lips, but he did not comment; it was fine with him if the Eyrien went ahead and exterminated the vermin. The Kaeleeran Warlord only hoped Markov had heard and agreed with his suggestion.

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Gen nodded as if in thought as Mikhail spoke. "Melian would have descriptions of myself I suspect." The eldest of ther bothers noted. As Faeril's constant companion he was a common sight near his old friend, and if there was indeed a traitor among the people of Aven or someone Faeril had healed then it was entirely likely that the wicked Melian had a description of him. "Bellinar travels enough I don't think you'd be missed brother." The warlord commented to his brothers.

Bellinar was lugging a box containing the basic amenities off the couch, setting it on the dusty road the man nodded. "Might not be a bad idea as I'm less noticeable." The Warlord Prince looked troubled at something as he looked about at the hot and weathered plains of Shalador noting the signs of fights in the past and the weary look of the land. A land that desperately needed a Queen's love and the Blood's care. "But then we have the problem of the fact that I'm a Warlord Prince. People get jumpy when an Eyrien Warlord Prince comes to town." Giving a wolfish smile at Jean, Bellinar gave a rueful shrug. "We generally spill blood before we leave." While the Kaeleer native might not be aware it was common knowledge to those who lived in or had been in Terreille for some time that Warlord Princes were outright feared and with good reason. They were the most vicious of the Blood and the 'delights' of the Queens often honed that temper into a shortened fuse. Eyriens more than any other as their fuse often burned at both ends and with their renown as warriors. The most fearsome of which was Saetan the Seducer. A Warlord Prince of rumor and legend that served the Queen of Hayll personally. A man who was arguably more feared than the Reaper, not that anyone was going to mention that even when Xandar was moving out of earshot.

"A Prince of exotic nature, a Warlord who could pass for a Dhemlan of this Realm, and a Pruulish witch passing through Shalador." Faeril sighed as she rustled her wings slightly. A cool breeze passed by the others in the shimmering heat of Shalador, a heat that rolled up from the deserts of Pruul. "I suppose if we doll up her a bit and hide those tattoos we might be able to have Dareen pass as somewhat wealthy.: The words were blunt but Faeril had been in foul mood for days since learning that her house had been trashed and they would have to flee. "Though I would want to know how you plan to hide Mikhail?" Giving the assassin an apologetic look, or as close to one as she could manage, Faeril sighed. "You stick out with how you look. Jandar and Dareen might pass as a wife and husband." It was a fair idea, Pruul bordered Dhemlan and while it was not common the long-lived races sometimes did marry the short-lived. A partner that would last mere decades in a life that would span the centuries. It was a rarity and the children often found it hard to find their own partners in turn. Too long-lived for the shorter-lived races and the long-lived races were loath to see their children die before their own time. It was a bittersweet match.

Yet Faeril turned her gaze towards the distant town looking puzzled and worried. "I do not think we should light any fires or risk any light above the ground at least. It would not do to be seen." But that was not the Black Widow's concern. There was a pull, an irresistible urge to go to the town or to weave one of her webs. Yet neither would be permitted with the way her old friends gathered about her nor did she suspect that the Reaper would take it well after complaining about her restlessness. Her brow furrowed more as she unintentionally glared at Jean who just happened to be between her and the town. The Black Widow trying to put a finger on what it was that was pulling her, as it was only her training in the Craft of the Hourglass that allowed her to notice it so definitely.

She was not alone to feel this pull, however, a subtle urging was pulling at the Queen's power as she opened the lid of the box to find a small flute inside warped with the age and elements. The Shalador were a people who adored their music and history and Hayll was tolerating of neither. The Queens raised the taxes for their own coffers and had dances and music only for their own pleasures. Giving nothing to the land and taking all it could offer to leave a barren wasteland that would in time become desert from the starvation of love. Xandar meanwhile would find himself in a large building that might have once been a manor house for a Queen. It was the most intact building and the yard in the front was thick with Witchblood. The red-leafed flowers declaring to Jandar's knowledge that while witches had been killed throughout the town this area had been the true site of death. There was a distasteful psychic scent that left what would be the parlor reeking to Xandar, but with a bit of looking about the Ebon-Grey would find his way to the cellar.

The darkness filled with the subtle chittering of a mass of viper rats as they suckled their young. If a light was shined into the darkness it would reveal a mass of bones, odd bits of wood and cloth that the rats had gathered in their search for food and had built a rat's nest with it. The pieced apart skeletons of horses, dogs and cats littered the pile as did the remains of humans that for all the knowledge in the world could be Blood or Landen. Some were whole hinting at the ugly idea that they had been tossed in here on purpose or perhaps were desperate to risk hiding in a pit filled with the vile venomous rodents. It would take a fair bit of witchfire to clear out the mess and that would surely rile the viper rats causing them to swarm and attack the threat to their claimed home.

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It had been a messy few weeks since he had left Hayll in an uproar, the shattered and twisted body of Dorothea's little 'special guest' Alanya had been found in her room by her servants the day after the 'ball'. If one could call the parade such a thing, Saetan was more of the mind to call it what it was. A play for Dorotha's entertainment, to see what trouble she could potentially stir up for her own amusement. Fingering the glass of wine he held, the Black Jeweled Warlord Prince almost smiled as several youths apprenticing in Lady Laska's court scuttled past whispering between each other in hushed tones as their faces grew pale. Word had already spread here of what he had done, but not quite quick enough to the Queen of Hayll's delight. Laska had graciously accepted the gift of his services with open arms in exchange for a few of her apprentices to learn more about the 'culture of Hayll'. As if they had any! He, in turn, was to prance to the lowly Queen of Eldra's tune. Only it had been mere days when one of the apprenticing queens had sent back a letter hastily written to Laska of the true reason Saetan had been so cheaply put on loan. The poor, brave, little fool had undoubtedly paid with her life for risking so much under Dorothea's nose and the Queen of Hayll had let the letter go through to just stroke the flames of terror all the more.

Setting the wine to the side, Saetan almost wanted to just break the chain binding him to the bitch-queen but he couldn't bring himself to do it. There was so much at stake and to risk it would be a miscalculation on his part that would bath what remained of Dhemlan in blood. Blood that they were slowly losing to the Hayll Queens who had swooped in like harpies onto the land to divvy it up among themselves. If any of the queens already there opposed them or were in their way? They disappeared and no matter how many he made disappear it was never enough. Hayll was a festering breeding ground for the rot that plagued the Realm. The fear instilled in the men by Dorothea had them instill fear into the witches under them and so it spiraled until all the Realm would be a mess and the Blood for what they were. They were already forgetting with each passing year. Eons of training erased as people fought for power over each other and laid fatal flaws in the methods they taught others so they would not be shown up and later disposed of. It was a disgraceful situation and it drained on Saetan's weary heart.

He was tired of it. The hushed whispers, the urges that if he just complied things would go all the better, the offers and bribes for him to sweeten Dorothea to something or other. As if he had any control over what the woman did! Oh, he had some through the terror he inspired but it was an ongoing battle between them. Pulling on the light black coat over his white dress shirt, the man walked towards the door. No one stood in his way as he exited the Queen's Residence, no one dared. It was just as well, thought the man, he would rather not be interrupted with his thoughts. The streets of Eldra were clean for a time around the manor but after that... Shopkeepers let their windows dirty to discourage certain guests and people hurried along trying to hide the terror that they might be sighted as potential amusement for Laska or one of her favorites. A few braver souls nodded in greeting to him subtly, before going about their business. Yet no one approached the Black Jeweled Warlord as he strolled down the street. Disgusted by the smaller form of Draega that Laska's great-grandmother, Marthea, had built just within sight of what she had and her descendant now called the 'rat pit'. The ruins of what had been Sharon, a beautiful town before Marthea had driven out the queen and declared she liked where the landens lived better and was taking that for her own. The landens had been thrown out and left to rebuild while expected to pay a heavy tax. Thus Hightop had become Eldra, and Marthea had gained her own personal playground. The reports he had gained on the woman suggested she had kept a house there for her amusements complaining that her parties made a mess of her own residence and her servants never could clean it well enough for her liking. Saetan gritted his teeth, it was rumored that from time to time Laska too would use the 'rat pit' for entertainment though he had seen and heard little proof of that.

Dareen hadn't thought about that. As evidence by her bold entrance into the tavern where she had met Xandar not too long ago, she had never disguised herself or bothered to hide her presence whereever she went. Let them gawk, yet? Usually, though, she was just one merc in a crowd of many. Perhaps it was a bad habit. But...dolled up? The wording might hurt a more fragile ego's feelings. Passing as wealthy? She laughed outloud and pinced the bridge of her nose. "Oh, man. That's funny," she shook her head. After a moment she flattened her palms and shrugged.

"I think you overestimate my ability to blend in, Faeril. But I suppose I could give it a shot," Dareen wasn't proud. Still, there was something richly ironic and pretending to be the type of person she had spent her entire life trying to avoid being. The doting wife of some Warlord Prince, all done up and dainty. How much makeup would she have to put on just to cover up her tattoos? What kind of clothes would she have to wear? When was the last time she even put on makeup, period?

Jean and Dareen had been introduced to each other over the course of the carriage ride over here, of course. He and Fatima were close, she could tell, though the details of their relationship she couldn't quite discern. Either way, if everyone else paired off that would just leave Mikhail and Dareen, which would probably be one of the most suspicious couples in the universe.

"What do you think, Jean? Would I make a good noble?" She asked, turning to the man with a wry smirk on her face. She put one leg behind the other and lifted the sides of loose fabric and gave a little mocking bow. Clearly the kind of bow she had only seen whenever she saw someone else doing it, but that was part of her joke. Especially since she was dressed as a lightly armored nomadic warrior, all straps, tough fabric, and earth tones. The closet thing she'd ever worn to a dress was the long part of her tunic that came a few inches down her legs at most. Straightening herself she rolled her shoulder joints, as if such a pose, even done in satire, put strain on her body. Joking was all well and good, but she was wondering if she could actually pull something like this off. She was smirking but there were undertones of embarassment and nervousness in her body posture and voice. Though her good humor was genuine the apprehensiveness made itself apparent as she stared into the middle distance for a moment before glancing back between Jean and Faeril. Crossing her arms she took a few steps back and leaned against the carriage, subconsciously making it harder for any would be attackers to sneak up on her.

“Ah, so any Eyrien Warlord Prince would be viewed with open terror and/or hostility. I wasn’t aware, I admit,” Jandar admitted to Bellinar. From the corner of his eye, he checked on Fatima, but she’d not yet exited that one residential building she’d went to inspect. Surely, she would shout if something were the matter? The urge to check on her grew, but the Warlord turned back to the present conversation. “Certainly, a Dea Al Mon is an exotic sight anywhere in Terreille,” he replied to Faeril, then turned to Mikhail briefly, “But, Prince, have you not ever disguised your features during your travels?” the Warlord queried.

When that matter was cleared up, he focused on the Black Widow once more, pondering her suggestion. Playing the role of a husband to a Pruulish witch, was it? It was plausible, though he’d need to establish a basic story with Dareen regarding how they might have ‘met’ and ‘married’ and other such details. Even if no-one asked anything beyond their names and their status as a couple, it was better safe than sorry. Especially since the people might be mightily curious at such an odd matching; longer-lived races taking on a person from one of the shorter-lived races was a rarity for a reason.

After mentioning they should light no fires, Faeril suddenly glared at him. Puzzled, Jandar looked at her, then behind himself, where he could see the newer town off in a distance. “Faeril? What’s the matter?” he asked gently, dearly hoping the woman would answer honestly. But she was a very reticent individual; he had the impression that she kept her troubles to herself, rarely revealing them to people she knew well (such as the brothers), never mind to strangers. Sighing only within the privacy of his mind, Jandar waited for her answer, then approached Dareen.

The Pruulish woman seemed to find the notion of having to act as a rich girl outrageously hilarious, and Jandar offered her a crooked grin. “Thankfully, you will not have to pose as a noble,” he uttered dryly. “Only as a someone decently well-off. Once you…dress up, as it were, I suggest you resign yourself to keeping as silent as possible in town. We could pass you off as a demure lady, I suppose,” he drawled sarcastically. He was just teasing the witch, honestly. She seemed like the type that could take it in good fun, and possibly banter just as well in turn.

“Truthfully though, the fact that I don’t have the common sense and knowledge of a Terreille native is much riskier,” the Warlord confessed. “So, let’s try to establish a story that would make sense,” he suggested, “with Faeril’s help,” Jandar nodded at the Black Widow to include her in the discussion. “I could present as a son of an affluent merchant, who recently married his business associate’s daughter – that would be you, Dareen, so think of a profession that could get one rich in Pruul for your part of the story,” he gestured to the Pruulish witch. “And now, my newly-wed wife and I are travelling Terreille as part of our honeymoon,” he finished proposing the key elements of their fictional backstory.

“If that sounds acceptable, then I’d only need to know what’s the easiest to make profit off of in Terreile,” Jandar added. Suddenly, he grimaced distastefully, and chose to add a clarification. “And please, for the love of Mother Night, do not just say slaves,” he shuddered mildly, remembering the bloodied pens he’d seen in Terreille Dhemlan. He knew those things had not only been used to hold animals; he was not naïve. Nonetheless, the fact that such things were practiced – and openly! – within parts of Terreille was…abominable beyond belief.

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She lifted the flute from its home within the box. There was nothing much else of interest in the small wooden crate. She investigated the object, fingers roaming over the holes as the faint smells of yore touched her nose. The wood was badly damaged and even smelled of invading mildew. She suspected that, even if she were a talented flute player, this particular instrument would have played quite poorly. She set the object back into the box and closed the lid once more. She idled beside it a few beats as she considered whether or not to take it with her. She decided, at last, she would and vanished the box with a flick of her fingers.

Now that the immediate interesting thing had disappeared she noticed a nagging she had been, up until now, ignoring. It pulled at her power, thrummed over her heartstrings, and generally made a mess of her worn nerves. It made her feel ill. She frowned and touched a hand to her chest as she stood and exited the house. She looked around as if the thing might appear to her but she could tell from the subtlety of the urging that whatever it was that pulled at her in this way was not close. Or it was very, very small.

She attempted to push it from her mind as she wandered further into town. More abandoned homes. More sad memories. The place just reeked of it. She rubbed a hand over her face and it came away wet. Fatima realized she had started to cry again. In frustrated anger, she scrubbed away the salted water from her cheeks. When Fatima had finished she found she was standing in an open field. Perhaps it had once been some sort of garden or park, but now it was claimed by the wild. Tall grasses were interspersed with Witch Blood. A great sadness welled up in her again and clapped her hands over her cheeks, causing them to turn red with the sting of her palms. She turned from the stupid park to head back to the stupid carriage where all her stupid allies were. Okay, her allies weren't stupid. She was just feeling upset and she had to remind herself that she shouldn't take it out on any of them.

Fatima soon approached the small group and made a line straight for Jandar without much of a look toward any of the others. She placed a hand on his wrist and leaned her forehead against the same arm as she closed her eyes. She had missed everything that had just been spoken about and so was feeling a little out of place. She just needed a moment, someone to lean on until she had her wits about her again. Though, it had been at least a day since her wits were anywhere within arms reach.

Mikhail listened as Jandar voiced his opinions. The location they found themselves in right now was perfect for them to set a camp and rest for the time being. It was discreet, hidden while still decently close from a town and if they were careful, nobody would think in going in an abandoned city... Unless they were searching for something very specific... In that case though, it wouldn't make much difference.

"It would sound rather suspicious for a group of mere travelers to have such an expensive coach. Merchants or minor nobles fleeing from power disputes would do far better. That said, any story works if we give it a good and believable background." Mikhail said.

Regarding the matter of who would go to the town, their choices were restricted to but a few of the group members. Just as Gennar said, he was a constant companion to Faeril, so his face would be well known and easy to identify. Bellinar on the other hand, did travel a lot, according to Gennar's own words, so he could also be a good option. Regarding Fatima... Even though Mikhail didn't want to voice his concern unless necessary, she was currently going through quite an... emotionally unstable moment after what happened, so it would be better for her to just rest and remain safe. Jandar too was a very good option, as he was an unknown face, much like Dareen and Mikhail himself.

"I merely suggested the idea of sending someone who isn't known by Melian. I will fulfill any role assigned to me to the best of my ability despite of who you will choose to send to the city." He clarified, as he heard Faeril, asking how he would hide himself.

"With that said, it is undeniable that with me being an Dea Al Mon, I do draw attention anywhere I go here." Mikhail said, agreeing with Jandar and Faeril as he gave a step forward.

"Still, I wouldn't be good at my job if that proved to be an obstacle to me." He said, briefly activating his sight shield, before giving a few steps before deactivating it again, in a completely different position than the one he was before.

Those who were paying attention on him would notice that despite the sight shield being incredibly helpful, Mikhail's abilities weren't restricted to it. The few steps he gave with it active were so light that they left no footprints and no sound. Not only that, but he moved unexpectedly quick despite how silent he was being. By controlling his respiration while doing so, he was basically a ghost.

"When necessary, yes. It is easy to be seen as just a faceless nobody or just be ignored if you know what you're doing." He replied to Jandar as he asked him about disguises.

With part of that matter already decided, Jandar and Dareen were about to begin to prepare themselves in order to go to the city, the night began to fall on the abandoned city of Shalador and the group began preparing themselves for the night.

"Indeed, It would be wise to not light any fires. The less we draw attention to ourselves, the better." Mikhail said, agreeing with Faeril.

"It might be a long night to those who are not accustomed to similar situations, but we have little choice." Mikhail continued.

"Even though it might be unnecessary, it wouldn't be a bad idea to have at least one person awake in lookout. We can sleep in rounds. Since I'm accustomed in sleeping far too little, I can stay up a bit more than the others." Mikhail said, offering himself to be on lookout.

Location: Carriage-> Main building -> Rat Nest

Xandar had payed little attention to his surroundings while they were traveling, simply keeping to himself or sleeping for most of the ride. Most of the few days between the events that happened and today had been a blur, he helped pack up for the trip, trained, and slept pretty much the entire time. That fight had left him pretty exhausted, considering he was nursing an injury. And while it was getting better, he still didn't feel 100 percent. Still, he was plenty healthy to take on whatever they would stumble by on their journey. Or, at least, he hoped, otherwise this would be much more dire than he thought.

Immediately upon stopping Xandar hopped out and went about to explore the town, not really trying to engage in conversation with the others. It wasn't important to him either way, and right now he needed to stretch his legs and try to find something to do. Keeping an Eyrien cooped up for hours, let alone days, was a tragedy waiting to happen. He was sure his job would just be to protect the others, as it always seemed to be, given his title anyways. Although at the current moment he didn't sense anybody near them, so this play would be relatively safe. However, there seemed to be an infestation of vermin, the poison kind, and this would be a great opportunity to blow off some steam and keep the others safe.

After a bit of wandering around he approached a manor that reeked of death, and he knew immediately that this would be the place. It seemed whatever had happened in this town, this is where all these witches were killed. And those rat bastards most likely were holed up somewhere here, and with a bit of digging around his suspicions were confirmed. Upon reaching the cellar he lit his hand with witchfire, shining a bit of light on the subject to see a mass pile of bones, human or otherwise. Yup, this was most certainly the place. These things were a plague to the land, they helped nobody and spread disease and death wherever they went, feeding off of it. No purpose, except to be a burden. He would feel no remorse burning them all alive.

After sending quite a bit of witchfire directly into the nest, the whole nest lit up like an inferno, bathing the cellar in light as the flames ate away at everything in it's path. Xandar immediately threw up a shield around the nest, controlling the flames, but more importantly, to keep the rats in. He knew shortly they would be trying to escape and see who was burning down their nest, and sure enough, dozens of those things started throwing themselves against his shield. They seemed more determined than he originally thought, and added some more strength to the shield, ensuring it wouldn't break.

He lit a cigarette, taking a long drag of it as he watched the flames run rampant, melting flesh and bone off the creatures in seconds. It was a thrill, watching these things die by his hands, chaotic flames being such a destructive force. It was also beautful in a sense, the way it moved, the heat it gave off, the light it produced. Beautiful and deadly, the way to an Eyrien man's heart it seemed. He figured this would get rid of most of them, although there were probably a few stragglers outside the nest. Hopefully they would run off after seeing what happened to their nest, but if he had to go hunt down a few more it would give him something to do. Hunting animals for sport filled the time, however, nothing was a thrilling as taking a person's life, watching it fade from their eyes. These beasts were meaningless to him, and after watching the flames for a bit he turned around on his way to exit the manor.