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Fatima, full of relief and joy, walked her way back into the campsite. She grabbed herself a little breakfast and sat next to Thom. She offered him one of her fine smiles. "Have I told you my name? I can't remember. Fatima, nice to meet you." She held out a hand briefly to shake before shoveling some food into her mouth.

Thom looked distinctly nervous and bashful when Fatima sat next to him. Being a young boy next to a powerful woman who held his life in her hand and having been found out by Jandar hadn’t exactly helped his confidence that he could slip away. Not that he would have been able to, Dunny was off playing fetch with another woman and Thom couldn’t leave his friend. Guilt was knawing at him for Dunny’s mistake, but he had told the Sceltie about the danger! It wasn’t like Dunny had risked himself without knowing what he should have done! The stupid mutt just- Thom cut his thoughts off as he nodded to the Queen. It wasn’t fair for him to blame Dunny. He should have gone along with the Sceltie. ”Thom… I’m Thom Moorson.” Or at least it was the family name his mother had given him in the Red Moon house he had grown up in. Twisting the strand of dried grass in his hands the mix raced boy grimaced slightly. ”I- I warned Dunny to stay away from people, Lady. I really did.” His tone was that of someone who was grieving for a mistake they thought they could fix while certain they should never have been blamed for it.”I won’t say I’m sorry. A man’s gotta do what we gots to, but I- I didn’- I wouldn’t tell anyone you were out here. I saw you all at the bookstore…” He stared at the ground looking utterly bashful as he trailed off uncertain if he was digging a larger hole for his corpse.

She watched him as she chewed, fiddling. When he was done she said, "It's alright little one. Fret not. Our desire is not to harm you. And even if…" she trailed off a moment deciding against saying the next thing. She didn't want to give the poor dear nightmares, even if the thought lived in the back of his mind.

"Since we have now become aquatinted we will be taking you and Dunny somewhere safe. You cannot stay here. Have you eaten yet?" She asked as she took another mouthful of food.

Thom shrugged absently and gave Fatima a startled look. ”Take us where?” There was worry there, reasonable considering the state of the Realm. ”I don’t need puttin’ anywhere!” He protested, looking sullen about his defeat.

"To a friend, so you will be safe, and warm, and well-fed." She said this last part pointedly as she filled the bowl with food and shoved it into his hands. "I can't and won't leave you to be hurt by anyone. Especially on our behalf. So, I'll make sure you're taken care of. Whether you need it or like it or not." She pressed a fork into his hand. "Eat, please. Don't make me have to feed you."

“Yes, Lady.” The young lad said meekly as he obediently began to eat what he had been given with the gusto of a young Blood male. Which is to say, with a bottomless stomach. Giving a sideways look to Fatima, Thom swallowed the meat that sung of wonderful flavors and gave a slight pessimistic shrug. ”What if where you leave me isn’t safe? Why can’t I stay? People say a lot of things in front of me without thinking. Not the Prince. Dunno what folk have against him, but he aint so bad less you cross him.” It seemed safe to talk to this Queen, even about the gossip of the back alleys and streets. Plus, if he could prove he was useful perhaps he could stay about. He didn’t know why exactly, but he liked this Queen even if her being a Queen induced a quiet terror in him.

"The Prince?" She inquired gently. It felt like the bottom dropped out of her stomach. She hoped against hope he didn't mean him.

Thom looked hesitant as he nodded slowly. ”Prince Sadiablo. I don’t know him. I saw him go into the bookshop afore you last night. He was nice enough, gave me a silver mark.” The boy looked utterly dreamy even admitting it though he shifted uneasily. As if she might take it from him or shake him for answers about the infamous Warlord Prince.

"Ah," was her reply. So it was him after all. Shit. "Well, I also have a nice Prince. And he has assured me this person would be very safe. And if you aren't treated well you can rest assured that my Prince will take this person's head. I won't let any harm come to you little duck." She reached out and ruffled his hair gently before pulling her hand back as if she had touched flame. "Sorry."

The ‘little duck’ blushed slightly as the older woman ruffled his hair. Shrugging slightly he looked away. ”’S fine.” He muttered embarrassed by his flushed cheeks. ”The big one wanted to put me in the ground. Anyone could tell that. We’ve had a few Eyriens in the Red Moon-” The boy pointed out surly about the fact the Warlord Prince was a Eyrien warrior. They tended to want any possible problem dead. Not that he didn’t believe the Queen, Dunny had spoken to her after all. But his mother’s Red Moon house had catered to a few and they had left… a mess behind them. One that was impossible to clean up. For all it seemed this ‘nice’ Prince was trying to be helpful he wanted to toss the lad to the unknown which Thom was not a fan of. To be fair he had been a tad bit curious about the pointed ear man- Mikhail his name was?- til this tidbit came up.

"Mmmm, it's true, Eyriens can be rough around the edges. Especially mine. But he's a good lad. He wouldn't hurt you. None of the boys here would hurt you. Because I ask it. And because Faeril would probably make them eat their balls if they did." She chuckled softly. "Now eat up. We'll get to leaving soon and we may not stop for food in a long while."

”Lady?” The word was timid as Thom studied the bowl shyly. ”I don’t mean to be prying, but you talked to the Black?” He gave her a look that was innocent of any malice if perhaps overly curious.

She stiffened as she turned her gaze upon the boy. Why would he possibly want to know about that? The look of innocence in his face told her that he meant no malice by it. The din of the camp died away as all of her concentration was on Thom. "Yes, I did."

The fear seemed to seep away from the boy. ”Oh.” It seemed that satisfied the boy more than anything else could. Enough he gave her a timid smile seemingly unaware of her sudden stiffness.

And it seemed that was it and she was not going to question it. If he had no more questions for her then she had no more answers. She relaxed and smiled again. "I hope we get to know each other well during our journey," she said. And with that she went about her business of packing the camp away. Erasing all evidence of their existence.

"Yes... I see..." Mikhail replied, in a serious tone after hearing Gennar's words. His brusque words were a clear indication that he was indeed merely following Faeril's orders. He couldn't help but feel that the words that he spoke to Gennar were somewhat wasted. He was following orders and that was all there was to it.

"You can go back ahead. I don't want to be involved in the decision the group will take regarding the boy and the dog." Mikhail said with a cold tone as he turned away, sitting down on the remains of a small wall with the healing web in his hands.

Even though he was definitely unsatisfied with the direction things were taking regarding the boy, he knew that he couldn't do anything if the group indeed took a decision. At least as a small consolation for him, the boy wouldn't die by his hands... Unless they were cruel enough to put that task upon him with the excuse that it was him who found the boy first. A series of events that was beyond Mikhail's control. Once again, a reminder that involving himself with others rarely brought anything good to the other party.

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The seaside town of Winton was a small and vibrant spot that was the crossing between the mainland and the island Territory of Chaillot, a large island territory known for its quiet life. Winton was the stop several made if they didn't bypass it entirely, to continue onto Chaillot. Any trouble that followed Fatima and her fledging group hadn't found its way to the winding cobbled streets or the old houses of the village that looked as though they had stood there for a century. Gossip was thick and fast in such a place, but it seemed that few people visited Winton, preferring the larger town of the Provincial Queen or the Territory of Chaillot. In fact, the only sign at all of the corruption that was plaguing those in power throughout the Realm had been Dunny's insistent refusal that this place was 'good' in any measure of the word. Even Thom with all his cajoling and assurances could not convince the dusty Sceltie that he would be fine. In fact, the small Sceltie had seemed to only make up his mind that going within this town was feasible if he was walking on his Queen's heels. It had endeared the Hyallian woman to a pleasant, grandmotherly looking woman who ran an inn close to the edge of town which Denvar had found and discreetly arranged rooms for their group, though none of them would be able to luxuriate in privacy. The small inn was clean if a bit small, of weathered and worn stone on the outside and soft paneling wood within. The sort of thing for someone passing through and not expecting to stay for a while, which was true enough for the group.

As they had arrived at Winton, Fatima would notice the dry looking earth. The way people hurried about slightly as though to remain out of the public's eyes, the streets that were not swept as though to discourage people from dallying about in them. Shops and stalls that were open kept a close eye on people who came to look at wares that were of decent make but from a few exchange that Fatima could note often had the seller producing something from beneath the stall that looked of far better make. These people were not browbeaten, but there was a wariness to them. One which their aged hostess had seemed impartial to when she had gleefully informed her guests of where their rooms were. In truth, it looked rather similar to Fatima's village back in Hyall save for the incessant noise of the gulls above and the view of the endless blue sea.

A group of well dressed young woman cavorting around a center woman with pale blonde hair and bright blue eyes who was laughing gaily with them as they sat in the low-wall garden of a restaurant as the group has passed would also attract the eye. Their dresses were perhaps a bit out of date, but the fabric and cut were of masterful work. Their jewelry was intricate and varied through the group, with the blonde in a gown of delicate magenta wearing pearls that were a delicate touch to her fine doll-like features. From her there was an utter draw of Queen, in in the sense to pull people to serve her but that is what she in fact was. So it was a slight relief to Thom that the Eyriens in the group had agreed to approach from another direction and had done so sooner. Not wanting to draw attention necessarily to Fatima. As the blond woman looked up sharply, her blue eyes flashed with something like a challenge and slight fear as she seemed to search for the Queen she too sensed before something one of her companions said forced her to return her attentions to the Aristo women about her. The two men with the group were a fair bit older, and looked uttered bored and entrapped as they charmed and played the gentlemen to the ladies about them.

That narrow call had been something of a worry, but Faeril was in a far more worrisome mood. It had been a solid week of careful travel and scouting to see if the village was safe to approach. Even with riding the Winds, there was a risk that while landing on a landing web it could force a confrontation that would not do their little group any good, and landing outside of a landing web would be nothing short of dangerous. Something that her boys were against risking for the Queen they were pinning their hopes on and their good friend. Faeril herself had other reasons to be against the danger... She had regained enough of her strength to no longer need constant rest or supervision. Not that anyone really listened to her on the latter. While she could not perform the more powerful Craft spells she knew, she could do the basic things without tiring herself out to foolish levels and it had given her enough strength to work on healing Mikhail a bit more. Which is why the two of them, three if you counted the boy, were in her room that she shared with Fatima. Where her boys and Fatima's men could keep watch over them.

Plucking her hands from the tangled web of her Craft, she looked at her runner and conscripted errand boy and raised a skeptical brow. He had been set upon her as a watcher by her three 'brothers', and for once Faeril had not argued. "Why don't you go beg some ale from the innkeeper for the Prince, boy?" She had never called the boy by his name but the young, androgenous mix-blood looked utterly delighted by the thought of helping and was out the door before she could add anything to her order. Giving a sharp huff of satisfied amusement, Faeril wiped away the sweat from her brow with a cloth. "Now if only the rest of you can jump like that." She scolded the male. This was the first chance for any healing of his poorly damaged mind she had been able to do since that first time in her eyrie. The web she had first used to work on him in her lap was a bit more complex than it had been and the strands that had gathered those so fragile and broken pieces now cradled them while the Black Widow carefully fitted them together. Sorting the shape the chalice of the man's mind while she gathered the strength to more strongly stitch them together. The fleeting memory of those images she had seen, that face that had brought joy and loss. A critical need to protect that wonderful woman, and the pain that had come of it. She had pieced together the softer memories. The pieces that were larger and would be harder to fight. The honest joy of a family, a clan, in the thick forest of which the Dea Al Mon called home. The time spent training under instructors and the praise and encouragement that had been given by that all-important woman. The fact that this mysterious woman had always been there and was always to be there. The Black Widow had felt the jagged sense of loss awoken by the small web that secretly siphoned a bit of Mikhail's strength away to make her own soft stitches hold and strengthen their grip. It tore at the Healer within her and her own aching loss that the boy reminded her so much of. Wiping her eyes slightly at the burning sensation in them, she set about rolling up the web. It would do her no good to push herself to the breaking point again, now more than ever. "It will not be an easy thing, this healing. With our pace, I can make sure it will be a clean heal then erase them to a far better degree." There was still a vibrant growl at the sister of the Hourglass who had done such sloppy work upon the assassin. Abysmal she would call it at best. Negligence. "But nothing to do with the mind comes easily, especially..." With such a botched spell cast in the first place! Shaking her head, she gave Mikhail a reassuring smile that seemed far too understanding. Mikhail would see a deep sorrow in those cold blue eyes, and a certain decision that seemed to have been made without the woman being aware she had made it when she looked back up as the young pale haired lad hesitated in the door with large hesitant eyes.

"Innkeep says it'll be two silver marks for a small keg-" The lad started nervously, looking a bit bashful at having to return empty-handed. Only to be met with skeptical and slightly bemused look for the cold woman.

"And if you had waited a second, I would have given you these." A slender hand gestured, calling in five silver marks, which floated over to the startled and slightly shocked lad. "Now go on, boy." The woman chided as Thom darted off pounding down the stairs to the main floor a second time like the demon-dead were on his heels and past the three brothers who were enthralled in a game of cards- poker, to be precise- which they had invited the rest of their company too.

On the other side of the town, on the outskirts, a small house sat wedged between its neighbors. The large Eyrien that graced the front door had drawn strange looks from the neighbors, but they were not the sort to ask questions. The building itself showed the signs of tired times, having knocked on the door Xandar now was face to face with a tiny female who was perhaps a quarter of his height and looking up at the massive Eyrien in a mixture of terror and awe. "Yes?" Though small, her voice spoke of a maturity that wasn't readily apparent. Lauran was indeed in her majority but her size had left her at a severe disadvantage with people assuming otherwise. So place a massive warrior from a race known for violence on the doorstep of her and her husband's house and things were bound to be a bit tense. "How can I help you-?" Her mousy brown hair and matching eyes were behind a pair of round spectacles as she narrowed her gaze up at the large man in suspicion as she blocked the way into her domain with a stubbornness that did not belong to an Opal Jeweled witch.

Finally, Dareen thought to herself. A good drink. In a thankful absence of her previous disguise, Dareen had went with the plan of making herself as masculine- or perhaps, as neutrally gendered, as possible. Thick clothes and armor hid her more feminine aspects, and she had put on a hood that more overshadowed her face. In addition, she had applied some of her old war paints. The entire top half of her face was covered completely in a shade of dark red. Meanwhile, a thick scarf obscured most of the lower half of her face. Anyone looking at her would just assume it was a traveller who enjoyed his privacy. It was a much easier role to play, because she could just shut up and not do anything and no one would bother her. They could whisper and look all they liked- Dareen was used to it. As long as no one spread word of a Pruulish yellow jeweled female Witch, it was fine. To be honest, Dareen had no idea how wanted or known of she truly was. Better be safe then sorry, and her aristocratic act was a miserable and humiliating one. Not that Dareen didn't deserve some of the universal making jokes at her expense, but "Rahina" put her fellows at risk.

Now, though, she could relax, if only for a moment. The mercenary was decent enough at cards, though by no means was she a professional. She leaned casually on one arm rest of her chair, with her hand of cards resting on her thigh that slowly bounced up and down. Her cards were meh, but the round had just started and folding was boring. With two pair, she was willing to get a feel for how the other brothers played. She raised an eyebrow and watched the silver-haired boy barrel past their game.

"Hmm. Raise." Dareen said, leaning forward and sliding two additional chips from her pile into the pot. She kept her voice quiet, but with only her company within earshot she was comfortable not putting on some silly, raspy, fake voice.

The conversation with Fatima had left Jandar irritated and broody. To call me naïve? When so far, she’s traipsed around as if she were but a young girl? Oh, but perhaps this casual murderous intent of hers was lurking beneath the harmless surface. The Warlord shook his head, knowing that was not the case, and that he was being more than unfair. However, the Queen had accused him of being ignorant, and had either not understood that he was warning her not to mistake necessity or convenience, or had simply brushed him off. At this point, it seemed far likely the latter was the case.

Needless to say, Jandar was rather distant, brusque, and dissatisfied in the time before they finally got packing.


The week on the road did him good, and he was feeling more centered. Honestly, he was worried for having left SaDiablo behind without meeting him again, but he had not been able to risk taking such an action back then. He could only pray to Mother Darkness that he would soon meet the man again – possibly under better circumstances…and with more wisdom. Ha, as if I could gain that so soon, he thought bitterly, with a roll of his shoulders.

The town seemed fairly pleasant at a glance, though Dunny wrote it off as ‘not good’, which made him wary enough. Besides, the people were in too much of a rush, so the façade of normality was just that – a façade. They also passed a group of rich, Aristo females, and Jandar sensed a sort of tension between them and Fatima, though it soon passed. It had him on edge though, and he was thankful for the following reprieve of good ale. The known company, such as it was, was also a bonus – when they weren’t quibbling, that is.

At the moment, some of them were enjoying a game of poker. Not really his thing, but it was better than nothing. Jandar perused his cards with a sweeping glance. Eh, he could probably work up to at least a Straight, maybe more if luck favoured him. “Call,” he stated, matching Dareen and forking over two of chips.

The first thing Mikhail felt when the group arrived in Winton was a strange feeling in the air. People weren't just going on their business as they would normally... Or perhaps walking in a hurried pace with vigilant and alert eyes was 'normal' to that city. Nonetheless, it was obvious that the people weren't calm and tranquil, almost as if there was something more for them to worry themselves about other than their daily lives. Despite all that, the hostess that greeted them as they entered in the small inn near the edge of town had a smile on her face and a gleeful tone as she showed them the vacant rooms.

Seeing as they were quite a large group, it was a bit unavoidable for them to attract some attention as they walked through the town. For that reason, Mikhail didn't bother to disguise himself as much as he did back when he went to the other city, instead, he simply pulled his hood to cover his head and part of his face, as in to cover the things that would most definitely draw a LOT of attention if anyone saw... Both his hair and his ears. There were a few... worrying situations as in they almost ended up attracting the type of attention they didn't need, like when a few girls that wore fancy dresses felt a certain pull towards Fatima, as it was evident by their stare and whom they were looking at. Fortunately, it ended up being nothing more than a small event, without many repercussions, at least until now.

Inside the inn, Mikhail was inside Faeril's room. Now that she had rested enough to use her powers again without much danger, she was going to continue Mikhail's treatment. After asking for Thom to get some ale from the innkeeper, Faeril continued the treatment. The first spell she had done when Mikhail had met her way back in her eyrie did help a lot, but it's effects were starting to get weaker and weaker, as it became evident by what happened a few days ago in the camp. All this time, Mikhail had been doing his best to keep his mind occupied and avoid thinking in anything that could trigger a response from his 'dormant' memories, as he felt that, despite Faeril's spell to dull them, they were still as sharp as ever, merely waiting until he gave a single step out of place in order to resurface once more.

"You have my gratitude, Faeril." Mikhail replied to her as she said that it would take some time to fully heal then erase his memories.

"As soon as they're completely gone, the better..." Mikhail said, slowly shaking his head.

"There is nothing for me in them. They're from another life... Another me..." He said, muttering to himself as he stood up, bowing once more in gratitude towards Faeril.

When he was about to get out though, Thom entered the room again, mentioning that it would be two silver marks for a small keg of ale. After Faeril gave him the money, she sent him again to the innkeeper.

"He is a good boy. Eager to help and to learn. Honest, despite being a bit of a troublemaker." Mikhail said, with a discreet half-smile. He was indeed satisfied that the group had decided against killing or wiping the boy's mind. Not only the sight of both of them interacting with Fatima was a refreshing sight, but Mikhail was sure that they were going to be useful to the group in their own ways.

Location: Winton, in front of Lauran’s home

The long week that passed was painfully boring and full of scouting around the town to make sure it was okay, which despite the presence of a few darker jewels seemed as safe a place as any. That is, unless they were found out. Their rag tag group looked a bit out of place, and the Eyrien Warlord prince had an air about him that was hard to disguise. Even if his darker jewel was vanished and he only possessed the sapphire, there was only so much he could do to hide his massive frame. Because of that he didn’t even bother with the cloak, opting for a sleeveless black tunic and trousers with his sword strapped across his back. It was much more believable if he just acted like a sword for hire.

After a bit of searching around he finally found the place he was searching for, and he got some glances but nobody dared approach him. There wasn’t a lot of people brave enough to ask questions, and it did him a bit of good if people were too afraid to raise suspicion on him. It has been a while since he last contacted the Warlord, but this was the last place he had made contact. Still a decent fighter, Gerold was more suited for self defense and keeping himself out of trouble, hence why he went into hiding as a rogue. He couldn’t blame him, but living like that was no place for Xandar. Quite frankly, he would be voted out of his skull.

The person who answered the door, however, seemed to be a brace one. The girl much smaller than he looked up at him, and although her eyes were wide her voice was firm. While it wasn’t inherently rude, it was clear that she had every intention to try and stop him if he tried to intruder, judging by her posture. She would hardly be trouble, only a opal, but he wasn’t looking for a fight. Which, usually was surprising,

”I’m looking for a man named Gerold.” Xandar said in a low tone, crossing his arms and leaning up against the door frame. ”The Reaper wishes to send his regards. Pleasure, not business.”

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She was glad to leave the black jeweled male far behind them. The further away they got, the less she thought about him. And having the child and dog underfoot was a lovely and welcome distraction. Words could not do justice to the relief she felt in their being with her. She did her best to spoil and dote on the pair, perhaps overcompensating a bit for having considered their deaths as a viable option.

She spared no glance for the haughty Queen. To do so would be to acknowledge that she too had felt the spark of contention. Instead, she kept her mind on the little dog which trotted at her heels. She hadn't been allowed a dog growing up. Dogs were working creatures, tools to protect and guide the sheep. A Queen could not be seen with a tool of the common man. Fatima especially loved that she could talk to Dunny. His delightful conversation kept her from wallowing in self-loathing. He helped her see the brighter things in life.

They made it to the inn without incident and she was grateful. For once in her life, she was behaving. She did everything she was told to do for her Queenly protection and did not even attempt to sneak off once. Nor did she whine or gripe about Xandar going off and having fun without her. Nope, she had learned her lesson, for the time being, after her stupidity in Sharon.

Fatima looked over the cards in her hand. She had nothing. Absolutely nothing. She glanced at the other players in the group, considering her options before heaving a sigh and laying down the cards. "Fold," she said airly. She disliked losing and it would seem luck was not on her side this day. Had it ever been, she thought with sarcasm. She leaned back to watch how the round would play out. Denny lay in her lap and Fatima was bolstered by this fact. She couldn't be too sad when there was a puppy to pet. She scratched him behind his ears and bent down to kiss the top of his head.

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The small woman seemed a bit shocked as Xandar identified himself as the 'Reaper'. The name belonged to a dangerous Eyrien warrior who was the second darkest Jewel in the Realm that anyone knew of. It wasn't exactly pleasant that her husband's past was coming back to stalk their doorstep so openly, but Lauran could hardly fault Gerald for that. She had met the Warlord when he had come into the small town, where she was working as a general store clerk, looking for supplies for his band of rogues. It wasn't like those foolish little stories some people wrote where the dashing rogue risked life and limb for the woman who captured his heart. If it had, Lauran would be the first to admit she would have wanted no part in it. Such naive romance was an irritation to her. Instead, they had grown close in their common hatred of the local Queen and she cut him a hefty discount of the goods he paid for. It had been a friendship that had grown to be more, so when Lauran had found herself pregnant with Gerald's child... It had only made sense they slip away from the rogues and Queens to a quiet place where they could keep their head down.

Which had worked, for the most part, they had moved several times when too many questions were asked and finally come to Winton. Here, nothing was asked and the less said the better. Oh, there were honest friendship and Lauran found her neighbors pleasant. Gerald worked on his shops and Lauran did a bit of weaving. It wasn't a rich life, but a happy enough one. Til this great big menace turned up at her doorstep. "Come inside, quickly now." Lest the neighbors see and ask more questions that Lauran cared to answer at the moment. "He's in his shop- Just don't-!" The witch fussed and huffed as she shut the door quickly behind the Eyrien. "Just stay here." She hustled down the hall and through a door.

Hushed voices could be heard before a small, wiry fellow slipped from the room Lauran had entered. His clothing was stained and a fine layer of sawdust covered his hands and shoes leaving a trail which the witch gave a murderous look at. "Xandar..." Gerald's voice was a raspy thing, something the Eyrien Warrior would be well aware as to why. Captured by a group belonging to a lower circle of guards in a Queen's Court, Gerald had been viciously whipped. His back a mass of scars to show his wounds, and his throat still holding it's own whisper of horror from his screams. Even, if he had been a fighter and a rogue... It had shamed Gerald that he had screamed so, that he had begged, and that was another factor of why he had left the rogue bands. Feeling as though he was too weak to continue the fight with them. "What can I do for you, Prince? I had not thought you to come to such a small village?" His voice had the accent of Chaillot, the Territory of his birth and there was a cultured way about his words that spoke of a higher birth than he would ever admit.

Elsewhere, Faeril gave Mikhail a skeptical look. "I believe those are traits that apply to all boys or any of that gender of any age." She pointed out with a fair bit of gentle amusement, something that would not have been common in the Healer-Black Widow before. Gently rolling up the tangled web, she slit it back in the protective tube and studied the door where the boy had been with a critical eye and almost fond smile. "And your memories must return, even if you do not wish them to. If I miss even the smallest sliver it could start your headaches again and it would be harder to correct. I would prefer to do things right the first time." Any other time those words would be added with knife sharpness, but now they were a soothing reminder and a gentle denial of what Mikhail desired. Patting the Dea Al Mon's shoulder she sighed almost forlornly. A wanting desire in her as she slid the tube into a small trunk that Gen and Denvar had brought up, with Thom playing the ever 'helpful' watchman.

"A raise, a call." Gen mumbled dry amusement as he watched Bellinar snarled and laid his hand down. It was his brother's third fold in five games and the aforementioned Eyrien stood up and walked to the bar. Helping Thom get a better grip on the keg the innkeep had given the boy before paying for a tankard himself. Gen chuckled and raised a brow at Denvar. "Will you be folding as well, or do something interesting?" Gen taunted Denvar. Denvar, who merely shrugged and slid two chips into the pot, shuffling his cards about in his hands. Gen huffed a snort of slight annoyance. It wouldn't have been so bad, but Denvar had a killer poker face when he wanted one. "Call. Heard you all ran into trouble coming into town?" He had two eights and two threes. It probably was a bad idea, but holding a jack as well promised he could possibly get something. Winking at Fatima, he gestured towards the boy tottering with the keg up the stairs to where Faeril and Mikhail were. "Wonder if Faeril will let the lad go." He wondered more to himself as he gave a amused sigh. "She likes children, not that she'll admit it."

Dareen scoffed humorously as the brothers spoke to each other, placing a hand up against her covered chin. She was half paying attention to the game- but it was something to do. People were folding and raising and it was great. Dareen had a lot of experience losing at gambling. One reason being she never really learned when to quit. Folding was boring, she was there to play, not watch other people play.

"Call," Dareen said, sliding over the appropriate amount of chips. She glanced over at Jandar and Fahima. Dareen enjoyed making small talk. Small talk eventually turned into banter, and she loved banter. There had been times where she had laughed so hard she had cried just by talking to her old mercenary friends. She wasn't expecting to get that here anytime soon, or ever, but anything was better nothing.

"Okay. So...you guys had like...servants and stuff, right?" She asked, raising a painted eyebrow. "What's that like? You just get them to do whatever you want? And they just do it?"

Dareen thought about what that would be like. Just having someone to put your shoes on and get you food. One boy in the streets played king and had some of his underlings be his servants. That was a strange day. Everyone got sick of it and threw rocks at him, but he had everyone going there. The idea of having someone do everything for her made Dareen feel guilty and embarassed, she couldn't imagine the mindset needed to just have people do stuff for you because you asked. Even if you were paying them. Unless Dareen really hated them, but people generally didn't have their worst enemies as their servants. That was just called taking dangerous slaves and usually ended with a knife in the back of the neck. Dareen blinked away her wandering thoughts and tried to focus on the cards in her hands and on Fatima and Jandar's response.

Mikhail looked at Faeril with an amused expression as he heard her talking to him. the gentle, amused tone on Faeril's voice wasn't something he could say it was 'common' for the Black Widow, at least from what he knew since he met her. Her tone also seemed to indicate that, surprisingly enough, Faeril seemed to like children, Thom in particular.

"Maybe... I do have a feeling he might be smarter than your normal boy though." Mikhail replied with an amused tone as he heard the Faeril saying as she looked at the door where Thom was a moment ago.

When Faeril went back to the issue of his treatment and his memories though, the smile on Mikhail's face instantly disappeared as she mentioned that it would be necessary for her to completely reconstruct and sew his memories back before she could get rid of them, an unfortunate reminded that whether he liked it or not, he would have to face his memories once again before getting rid of them.

"I... Can't say I look forward to that... Facing those memories will be a lot to take in... But what needs to be done, needs to be done." Mikhail said, conforming himself with the situation as he stood in silence for a moment before he turned to Faeril again.

"Will you join the rest of the group or would you rather stay here?" Mikhail asked as he nodded with his head towards the keg of Ale Thom had brought to their room.

"I can leave if you wish to spend some time by yourself." he said as he looked at Faeril, waiting for her reply.

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Fatima patted the dog, watching the game progress. She followed Gen's gaze to Thom. The poor boy was trying to hard but the keg was obviously quite the thing for him to handle. She carefully set the dog on the floor as she went to help the lad. "I don't know. It's not safe with us." She said as she passed him. It was spoken with a light, matter-of-fact tone that did not indicate the darkness she felt regarding their situation. Fatima took an end of the keg and grinned. "You know, it is okay to ask for help. You need not carry a burden alone when you are among friends," she told the boy with kindness. She helped the boy carry the drink up to the room. She gave Faeril and Mikhail a small smile and wave before heading back down to the common area.

She took her seat back at the poker table and pulled the dog into her lap again. She was just in time to hear Dareen's question. "That's a bit complicated," she responded with a smirk. "I spent a lot of time dodging the servants to do what I wanted. I did not like getting bossed around. But there were people who dressed me and made my food and such. The usual fair. But when I was able to get away I learned how to do a lot for myself too. Nothing beats having someone draw hot water for your bath for you though. I can handle bugs and dirt and eating bread harder than a rock. But cold baths are just the worst." She wrinkled her nose as she said it.

Location: Winton, in front of Lauran’s home

Xandar simply chuckled at the frazzled look of the small but stubborn woman, stepping in slowly before feeling the door shut behind him. Usually people acted a lot more humble and scared around him and his name, but she was very much so standing her ground. Usually, at least in his older days, he would smack a witch for not showing his the authority and respect he deserved, but he wasn't in any mood to start anything. He needed her to keep being cooperative, and sometimes it tool a bit of talking and not intimidating to get through to people. It wasn't his preferred method, but she others in his group had put them in a particularly rough position, now housing a child as the went rogue and on the path to fighting Queens. "Certainly, wouldn't want to track dirt into your lovely home." He muttered, lighting a cigar as he pulling the smoke into his lungs and exhaled slowly.

Leaning against the door frame, his golden eyes looked up to see the smaller Challiot prince walk towards him. He looked similar to how he did years ago, still the scrawny but a bit out of shape since his fighting days; it was quite obvious that he had been taking the more sheltered and quiet life with everything going on, even fancying himself a life. "Gerald, glad to see you with your head still on your shoulders." Xandar chuckled, puffing out a bit of smoke before vanishing it. His face was calm and his voice was low but his demeanor was a serious as ever. "Frankly, I wouldn't, but this is a special case. Don't worry, I'm not asking you of the front lines anymore, you can leave that to me. The reason I've come is my group had stumbled upon a... child, it seems. Instead of killing him or dragging him along, I'd rather see he tried to live some kind of normal life, and this seemed a bit out of the way. I know you don't owe me much, and I don't plan on staying here much longer, but for his sake I'm asking if this village might be a good fit for him. He's rough around the edges, but, he seems like he has a heart. An orphanage is better than a grave."

Jandar glanced at Dareen, curious that she chose to broach the topic of nobility when she seemed so uncomfortable with the concept. Fatima beat him to an answer, but nonetheless, he chose to expand upon it. “Well, I can only tell you about the Aristocratic perspective from my homeland,” he began spoking slowly, in consideration, rolling the words on his tongue. He formulated his thoughts, then began a steady explanation.

“I was raised with servants, and as a child, they were as much my guardians and secondary authority figures as they were my helpers. And while they are paid to serve, they are often considered allies, friends, or even part of the family. Even if they were not, there are certainly many things no one would think to ask of a servant…unlike here,” he muttered the last part quietly, so only the present company would hear.

“It’s one of the ways to show off one’s wealth, prestige, influence…power, basically,” he stated with half-a-shrug. “With the size of our estates, not having servants would be untenable. Clothes are often designed in such a way that you couldn’t put it on by yourself,” Jandar noted. “It is desirable to have good servants, and for that, being known as a fair employer is key,” the Warlord stressed, voice quiet but sure.

He was getting a bit restless, and the cards hadn’t really favoured him as he thought they would, so he decided to quit while he was ahead. “Fold. I’m off to stretch my legs a bit,” he stated, glancing at Fatima. He didn’t think she’d forbid it, but checked her reaction nonetheless.

Then he made his way out into the town, beginning an exploration. The Kaeleeran did not want to obviously stick out as an ignorant newcomer, however, and as such kept his gaze straight forwards, his pace as brisk as the natives’. He adopted the air of being on an important business, though occasionally stopped at a stall to peruse the traders’ wares. Jandar enhanced his hearing, keeping a lookout for any interesting rumours or information as he wandered the town.

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Jandar would find the town as it had been, the streets held that unkept look of town that wasn't at it's most prosperous. The people hurrying about didn't give the Dhemlan another look. He was just another refugee of so many fleeing west to escape the dark, twisted power in the east. Something that was so common these days as people sought passage to Chaillot, or the even less known passage to Kaeleer, to avoid and start anew. The air of important business stopped the Warlord from being stopped as he moved about the seaside town. The owners of the stalls he stopped at showing him their wares and rarely offering idle chatter as they normally would have. They were not uncourteous, but rather maintained a distance between themselves and the customer. As though they weren't sure to classify him as one of the 'blue-blooded' Aristocrates or as someone more base born. Yet even as he moved about, Jandar could hear the whispers and snippets of conversations floating about the town.

"The Queens to the East are growing more greedy and want more of our crops and the haul we get from the sea. They'll pay out the nose for it you know." A witch minding a stall of woven baskets and making still more of them was conversing casually with a man who was rearranging his wares as though in boredom.

"They will only pay if they can't take it, and that gold can go to buying them more than mere food." Came the pessimistic counter from a weary voice. "Which will mean war. Their harvests are failing because their Queens don't give back to the land."

"And ours does?" The woman hissed back in more of an undertone. "Lady Alice only wishes to look pretty and play the darling of the town. If we need to tighten our belts-"

The burly man gave the witch a sharp look. "Careful, Lorrie. That's near enough to treason. Lady Alice gives back to the sea and we get our harvest. May not be as much as we'd like but we're not starving. If she wants to play the darling to keep the First Circle loyal to her, then I'll let her. Where's the harm?" The woman, Lorrie, looked utterly disgusted but offered no protest as two men walked by. They were handsome fellows and wore swords as openly as their Jewels. A Sapphire and Opal respectively. Guards, Jandar would recognize. Guards on patrol about the town. Though they were ready for trouble, they seemed easy with the people. They felt nearly 'clean' in comparison to the men who had attacked Faeril at her eyrie only less than half a month ago. They were just about matching heights with sun-kissed hair and one giving Jandar a look over with sparkling blue eyes. It was a humored look, but the steel behind it promised trouble if Jandar started it. But neither stopped as they continued on their patrol path, not finding the man much a threat.

It was scant seconds later, when a far smaller form nearly collided with the Warlord. Her arms had been laden with packages that went skittering over the flagstoned marketplace as the elderly witch gave Jandar an apologetic look. "I'm sorry, boy. Should have been watching where I was going especially at this time of day." Dressed in a homely gown that was worn and patched and a headcloth that held back a mass of hair that was half fizz, and another half tangles, the woman looked like some demented Black Widow out of the stories parents would tell their children. The only thing she was missing was the warts. For her nose was a hooked beak and her back was bent with the weight of years. A Summer-sky Jewel rested on her pendent chain, a lighter Jewel. But there was a twinge of pride in the woman that didn't belong to her Jewel. Not seeming to notice the others that swerved about her, the old woman bent to collect the eight or so boxes that had gone scattering about.

The tiny woman kept herself out of the business of her husband and it was something Gerald was thankful for. If she knew something it would put her at risk, as if she was not already with him living with her. If the Queen found out he had once been a rogue, things could go rough for the younger man. Let alone the witch who harbored him, no matter if she was his wife or not. The fact she was would probably make things worse on her. Running a hand over his face, the memories that haunted him on those bad nights coming back as Xandar talked making him look haggard. "A boy-? That you want to see if we can take in?" He considered what his one-time leader was asking of him. Lauran was rather fond of children though they both hesitated at conceiving another one after the failed pregnancy. An unfortunately common thing if the witch worked her Craft or the child just didn't form right. It was something that even the largest of families could admit a close brush with at least. "Lauran, my wife, wouldn't mind, but-" He seemed to search for the right words and found none. "It's not exactly free of strife and there is danger even here Prince Xandar. The Queen is decent enough, but I wouldn't trust any Queen after what we've seen." There was bitterness there and it was understandable. How many good men, friends, had they both seen killed? Tortured? Taken and disappeared in the dark of the night or the middle of the day? And when those men turned back up how many were alive and whole? Yet there was a debt owed and Gerald could hardly refuse his commander. "But- If you think it's best, we could take him on. One more mouth won't hurt us, so long as he's clever enough to not bring trouble down on us all." He wasn't comfortable with it, that was obvious, but inviting an unknown into your home during these times was a dangerous risk. One that Gerald worried about.

Faeril had watched Fatima and Thom lower the keg, the Queen disappearing back down the rickety stairs while the boy looked eagerly between the two. Wanting some chore to aid them, the Black Widow thought with an amused smile. As Mikhail offered to join her downstairs, the witch sighed and inclined her dark head. "I shall join the others with you, but first..." She made a slight motion, the keg's tap opening as it filled a cup Faeril had called into being from that place where the Blood could store things. Scattering a few herbs from a delicate bag she vanished, the witch of the Hourglass Coven let a delicate tongue of witchfire brew the mixture together. "It will help the headaches, and ease the heart." She advised, all too aware of the boy hovering in the doorway and eagerly listening to every word like the youth did when they were trying to not be obvious about it. The Dea Al Mon's words coming back to her. Yes, he was right. The boy was bright and clever. Smarter than most children his age, but she could understand why. Left alone, especially in these troubled times? It was grow up quickly or die. Which he was not going to do. The train of thought had caused the witchfire to flare around the goblet. Dismissing the flames, she carefully floated the warmed glass over to Mikhail.

"Boy, why don't you help me down the stairs? I still am feeling a bit off-balance, shall we say?" It was hardly a request, and it was never one that Faeril would normally make as she swept by Mikhail with a firm look in his direction. Her stride making clear note that she did not, in fact, need the aid. But still, Thom offered his arm with the awkward courtesy of someone learning the proper manners and aided the Black Widow down the stairs. Reaching the bottom, she shooed the boy back up the stairs to harry Mikhail with a flip of a wing. Watching him race up the stair with an odd fondness in her eyes.

A fondness which was noted by Gen. His hand laying his cards on the table as he watched his longtime friend. "Fold." He muttered, defeat in his voice. Though if it was about the game or what he had hoped was not, he couldn't say. Muttering a Eyrien curse, that he didn't try to hide, he arched a disapproving brow as Faeril glanced in his direction with a challenging fire in those eyes. One he could do without seeing, Gen thought bitterly. She just had to grow attached to the boy. Children were a weak spot of Faeril's and he had been aware she had taken the boy, figuratively, under her wing. But this? Running a hand over his fave he picked up his stein of beer and downed it in a few hearty gulps. "No." His voice was a ponderous boulder dropped in the middle of the table.

"I did not ask you anything, Gennar." The Black Widow responded coldly as she gave Fatima and Dareen a respectful nod. "In fact, I said nothing at all." Gen merely gave her a disapproving look.

The Warlord's face was impassive as he progressed through the town, but he was keeping careful not of his surroundings, and memorized all the precious bits of information he gathered from the conversations. Oh, the disgruntlement of this western part of Terreille seems somewhat promising. I wonder what would happen if the first circle turned against this Alice queen…Yet, some people do seem fine with her...or just resigned. Then, a couple of guards passed by, eyeing him with a warning look. Jandar gave a slight but respectful nod to them, a silent promise that he wouldn’t cause trouble. Not right now, that is. But these guards-

Jandar was once again startled out of his pondering as a small form almost barrelled into him. The Kaeleeran looked at her with a bemused smile, wondering if she truly was as much of a Black Widow as her looks seemed to indicate. He’d be surprised if she were, honestly; the little old lady didn’t seem cautious enough for it. “No problem, ma’am. Must be hard ta see with all them boxes,” he said, adopting just a hint of a rougher speech. He’d noticed the distance people had kept from him, so seeming like a genial non-Aristo traveler may be for the best.

So saying, the Warlord bent down and helped to old woman in picking up the rest of the boxes. “Lemme help carry these?” he offered, holding perhaps a bit more than half her wares. “Wouldn’t want ta run into a fella again and get knocked over yerself, eh?” He asked, a playful smile about his lips. Jandar raised both questions at the female, doing his best ‘clueless lad’ impression. Of course, if the lady refused, he’d just return the boxes to her, perhaps easing their weight with craft or some similar subtle assistance.

Dareen chuckled quietly and thought about the boy, and the brothers relationship with Faeril. It was certainly an interesting dynamic. Nothing like Dareen had ever seen before in her apparently limited world experience. Meanwhile, Fatima and Jandar had given her answers about being nobles and having servants. She didn't know what she expected. Basically they just got to have people do whatever they wanted no problem. Saying that aloud would probably offend them and Dareen didn't really feel comfortable pressing either of the about it. Genuine offense would probably occur, which wasn't what she intended. They probably weren't at place where teasing and ribbing were appropriate. Plus, it would be a cheap shot as they didn't really know much about her and she had just asked them to open up about something. Was she overthinking this? Maybe.

"Right, right." She said absentmindedly, responding to them and the brothers ponderings about the boy and just kind of establishing that she was very vaguely 'present' at the table.

Either way, this round of poker had heated up.

"Guess it's just you and me now, Denvar." She commented, raising an eyebrow. He had a killer poker face. If he really was that good at poker, he could probably guess that Dareen's cards were average at best, supbar, even. Really, Dareen was just raising and calling because folding was boring and gambling was fun. Dareen blinked as Faeril gave her a respectful nod. Or maybe that was just a respectful nod towards the table in general? Or just Denvar? Maybe there was somebody more respectable behind Dareen that she somehow hadn't noticed? Dareen quickly raised her hand and then let it fall in an awkward return of the nod. Underneath her face wrapping she smiled nervously. She would have to talk with that woman soon. They had an unfinished conversation and she hadn't had a moment alone with the Black Widow since- literally ever.

Dareen would find one and confront her about some things very soon. Definitely. She would definitely, definitely, do it. She was just waiting for the right time. Once the opportunity presented itself, it would for sure happen. Definitely. One hundred percent, for sure, definite- Gah! She was not looking for to that conversation at all.

Dareen sunk into her shoulders a bit and tried to focus on the game. "I, uh, I raise again. Two of these...these thingies. Chips. In the pot, there we go." The word for chips in common very briefly escaped her and the slightly flustered woman sat back in her seat and glanced around at the others at the table.

Location: Winton, in front of Lauran’s home

Xandar drew another breath of his cigar, swirling it in his mouth a bit before exhaling it out of his nose and vanishing the vapors. It seemed his small little wife had left the two men to talk business, which was quite fine with him. He had a feeling she wouldn't be afraid to voice her opinions to him. After raising his eyebrow a bit he chuckled and patted the man firmly on the shoulder, looking at him with his gold eyes as he took the cigar from his mouth. "Gerald, I never said you had to take the boy into your own home, unless you wanted to. I wouldn't suddenly thrust a child into your life that's not yours. All I ask is you keep him in good hands, whether that be yours or somewhere in the city. I just needed him away from... us, and the danger associated, you understand? It was either that or death. This is giving the boy a chance. Once he's out of my hands and we're out of this city, it's not my concern what happens to him. This is giving him a chance at life."

The Warlord Prince crushed his cigar and vanished it, running a hand through his long hair, having grown out a bit during their travels. He should probably start pulling up his hair out of his face, but, for now he had bigger concerns on his mind. "At the very least, we drop him off in the city and I can say I tried my best. He's a somewhat clever boy, although a bit of a troublemaker. But once given instruction he hasn't caused too much trouble to us on the way here. At the very least, we can have a few drinks like back in the old days before I'm off again." He let go out the man's shoulder,cracking his knuckles before turning to the door and opening it. "I'm residing in a tavern close by, you can find me there. If there's anything you need of me while I'm here, I suggest you ask now. I wouldn't come asking for a favor if I didn't intend on repaying it. I am an Eyrien man, after all."

Mikhail watched together with Faeril as Thom opened the door, carrying the keg of ale with Fatima's help, whom waved towards them before going downstairs again. With Fatima going downstairs again and Thom looking to Faeril, eager to help, she finally turned to Mikhail, saying she would join the others downstairs. Before going though, she waved her hands, making the keg open itself, pouring a bit of ale in a cup she had called from the cupboard. As she added a few herbs in the mixture, with a delicate tongue of whitchfire to brew everything together, she finally offered it to Mikhail, saying that it would help with the headaches.

"... Alcohol?" Mikhail asked, carefully grabbing the cup she had offered with one hand, inspecting it.

Yes, he knew that ale was only one of the ingredients, for all effects, that was a medicine brewed by Faeril herself, so it wasn't like Mikhail was doubting her. It was only that he wasn't someone that enjoyed alcohol very much. Bit by bit, Mikhail began drinking the medicine, being almost overly careful with it due to the alcohol.

"Not exactly my cup of tea..." Mikhail said with a chuckle, cleaning his throat after he finished drinking it.

After they were done with that, Mikhail followed Faeril and Thom, who was helping the black widow to get down the stairs. Mikhail did notice how Faeril looked at Thom and it was clear to him that he wasn't the only one that liked the boy. When they got downstairs though, Gennar, who was in the middle of a game of poker with Faeril and Denvar, also seemed to have noticed Faeril's stare and replied to it with clear disapproval on his voice, stare and reaction, letting out a 'no' before even Faeril said anything.

Not wanting to interrupt their small... conversation, Mikhail decided to look at the game of poker between Dareen and Denvar. Now that Gennar had folded, they were the two last ones in the table. That said, Mikhail still paid a bit of attention in Gennar and Faeril, since the matter they were discussing was about Thom and it wasn't a surprise that Gennar would indeed like to get rid of the boy.

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She watched Jandar go with a slight nod. She would never detain him. It simply wasn't her way, as she herself greatly despised being cooped up and kept hidden. That had been most of her life, unfortunately. She turned her attention back to the game, watching Dareen and Denvar with interest. Her hand continued to absently pet the dog. Dareen raised the stakes again and Fatima had to grin. What a brave woman to keep going in such a fashion. She must have had good cards.

Fatima set Denny on the ground and stood, stretching. "I need to use the loo, be back in a tick." She walked off in the direction of their rooms, hoping to find privacy there now that it had been quitted by Mikhail and Faeril. She entered the plain, simple quarters - nicer than some places she had stayed in the past - and made a bee-line for the bathroom. She closed and locked the door before turning to study her face in the mirror. Dark skin, light eyes, dark hair - all of her Hyallian traits so obvious. She shook her head and summoned a box.

With reverence, she opened the lid and peered into the jars of herbs which lived there. She pulled out a few, seemingly at random, checking their contents before putting them back. Frustration turned down the corners of her lips and furrowed her brows. She didn't have enough herbs left to make a proper potion. She tried to run a hand through her hair but only found a tangle of curls from which she had to free herself. Fatima vanished the box and thought long and hard. What was she to do? It would not be too long before her Moon Time started and she did not have any desire to awaken the protective nature of the Warlords. They were already wary and jumpy enough as it was.

Heaving a grand sigh, she exited the bathroom and made her way back down the stairs to the common area. She did not take her place at the table again. She went to the tavern owner instead and ordered a drink. And then asked him, on the sly, the best way she could get herbs in this town.