LadyRunic

Blood's Jewels (High Casual Fantasy Revolution)

@Zoey Boey Get some sleep, you can always bug the crap out of me at any time. Same with Faeril.

Blood's Jewels (High Casual Fantasy Revolution)

@Zoey Boey No worries, and Faeril is free to chat to, if you want to interrupt her like we discussed last week.

Blood's Jewels (High Casual Fantasy Revolution)

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Arc I - Terreille in Trouble

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Winton

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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."

Blood's Jewels (High Casual Fantasy Revolution)

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Arc I - Terreille in Trouble

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Winton

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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.

Star Wars(AU) - After Knightfall

Adaahna Vanil & Mor'gann Arnhar

Location: Mandalore, Keldabe city, Alley

Mor’gann studied the woman as she tasted the word ‘shaman’. It was an odd thing this strange language of the traders, but she had heard odder in this crazy market. As the boy behind the Shaman raised his hands palm up, she gave a harsh chuckle. A sneer at the foolish notion that she couldn’t quite help as the boy looked ridiculous. Boy, young man. He was old enough to have fathered some whelps of his own. Though there seemed a lack of need on that front. She could probably take out the lad with a solid kick. The woman, however, was another matter. As she studied the alley about them Mor’gann’s thoughts picked out the words she knew and considered them carefully. It would be best to pretend to understand very little and let Adaahna do as much of the talking as possible. To reveal her hand would be offering something Mor’gann was not sure she wanted to offer.

If she got the words right it seemed that the woman wanted them to go with her. There was trouble stirring, but it was something Mor’gann was uncertain would turn in their favor. But there was the fact this woman a Shaman, which was a dangerous thing indeed. As Varina moved towards the two, the darker and younger woman stepped up laying a hand on Adaahna’s shoulder as she stepped in front of her guide. The older Je’di-Shaman spoke with authority, which made the younger Shaman duck her head slightly as she started to bow before remembering herself. Stiffening her spine, the dark young woman looked sideways towards Adaahna. [color=OIive]”Skull-ar?”[/color] She pronounced awkwardly, her yellow eyes narrowing dangerously on Varina. How did she have someone who knew the language of Mor’gann’s people? As far as she could tell, her language was unknown to these strangers. So that if someone knew it… But no one had left the village ever through one of the Traders. It was an alien thought to her people. But if she had thought of it… Could not another have? It was possible, not likely but possible.

The Togruta stood stock still, watching Varina cautiously for a moment before straightening her posture up and easing up a little at her companion’s hand on her shoulder, tilting her head to her Mor without taking her eyes off of the jedi.. “Scholar.. Story tellers, too much time to think and not work.” She whispered a quick explanation out before gesturing with a head motion to the woman opposite them, letting off a half-smirk to convince herself of her own confidence more than anybody else. Eyeing the boy that seemed to be the junior in their pairing before dismissing him as an opponent, surely if he had the authority to deal with them this force witch wouldn’t be the one doing the talking. ” If we come, you won’t coerce us with witchcraft? Change our minds? You’ll listen to our tale?”

”Skull’ar.” Mor’gann repeat slowly, committing the word to memory as was standard of any Shaman of her clan. Perhaps it was different out here, but shamans were the keepers of history in the clans. Well, outside of what was commonly passed down through word of mouth. An oral tradition that Mor’gann would gleefully call less than accurate. The old saying of the victor shaped the word was one she fully believed shaved away vital bits of information from the history of Dxun. Information that otherwise could help their prosperity if the people were not so stubborn as to ignore it. ”Change our thoughts?” Bristling slightly, Mor’gann gave Varina a sharp look. That was a dangerous thing, there were the odd story of Shamans meddling in the minds of people but it was an ancient legend told to the children to keep them obeying their elders or be handed over to the shamans. If this was possible… Could she stop it? Prevent it with her own powers as a shaman? Deciding that it was risk they should take to meet with the Storyteller or ‘Skull’ar’ she nodded slow. Tapping her chest sharply to indicate herself to the Togruta she nodded toward the strange woman and overly eager boy. ”Shaman.” She stated softly, she had picked up that Adaahna disapproved of shamans, but it was a risk Mor’gann would take. ” Shaman Mor’gann.” She clarified giving the new-come red woman a pointed look that dared her to challenge her right to that rank.

Adaahna’s sharp nail moving to scratch the bridge of her nose as the end of her spear is tipped back up to the sky, she glances sidelong at Mor again. Trying to figure out whether she should’ve known her a shaman, she definitely seemed the thinking type in retrospect, though at the time Adaahna had thought her just enamored with her mastery of tales and amusement. Pouting a little at the thought that her tales weren’t enjoyed, her focus turns back to the Jedi. “ Terms? Guarantees of safety? You won’t force this shaman to become a force witch?”

The dark-haired young woman looked bemused as her guide as she turned a list of near demands of the Je’di force vitch. Not that they were unreasonable, but that the concern for her was a curious thing. Perhaps Adaahna thought she would be useful later on and wish to keep her about, perhaps something more nefarious. Either way, it was a strange thing for the Dxun native. Though she wasn’t sure exactly what was said she did get the gist of it. A worry that she would be forced to become a Shaman for this woman’s tribe. Silly woman, a tribe only needed a certain number of shamans and seeing the boy was her apprentice? This red-skinned Je’di hardly needed another. ”Not keep.” She stated firmly to Adaahna. They could not keep her nor did they need to. ”We go. Answers trade. Stories trade.” Which seemed a reasonable thing and a fair trade would build goodwill. Perhaps enough to compensate for the disturbance the smuggler had caused.

Blood's Jewels (High Casual Fantasy Revolution)

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Arc I - Terreille in Trouble

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In the ruined town of Sharon, Shalador

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The Eyrien Warlord didn't pry as an array of feelings flashed crossed Mikhail's face. Gen had worked with Faeril for long enough to know when not to pry and when a Black Widow set about on her task piecing together some facet of the Blood's mind? It was best not to ask. Everyone had a right to their privacy, especially in their own minds, and when you were getting that healed... The Green Jeweled man nodded and turned away after Mikhail took the healing web. "Don't need to explain yourself to me." The grunt was gruff and brusque. In truth, Gennar didn't want Mikhail to explain. Even if he was one of Faeril's oldest and dearest friends, there were things he would rather be left in ignorance of considering his friend's Craft. "I'm merely passing on Lady Ashkevron's orders."

Meanwhile across the camp, Thom was sitting on a trunk within the sight of the fire but far enough to be out of reach of Bellinar and Denvar who both hovered over the food that Xandar had been cooking. The former being especially glad to be spared the task. Though both had been rather bemused at Xandar's choice of dress. Now Denvar kept a watch out of the corner of his eye on the boy, unaware of the gaze that came from above. The Black Widow leaned in the frame of the doorway, sitting on the cold stone as her wings wrapped about her in her exhaustion. Another boy. Another child caught up in the cruelty of war and torment that the twisted bitches unleashed on the land. Faeril's fingers laced through her gown and she felt the snake-tooth slide from its channel. It would be so easy to take care of the bitch Queen in the town. To just overwhelm the harlot. But the Lady Ashkevron did not have that power at the moment. Her reserves were just that reserves to be used in the service of the Queen she hoped would guide them to a new future. But at what cost? Could she let the boy and the Kindred Sceltie die for their cause?

Her hand pressed against her stomach as her hunger snarled. She should have gone down and eaten, but even moving this far had been hard. Waking up Fatima? Difficult. Her body was tired and needed the sleep she had deprived it of for so many weeks, now she was paying for it and overstretching her strength. Overreaching herself was an unfortunate habit her kin seemed to find themselves in. Watching the pale-haired boy, the Eyrien woman sighed with a troubled expression. What would the Queen decide in the interest of the boy? Could she live with the choice if it was death? The hand at her stomach pressed harder as an ugly snarl crossed her face. Of course, she could not. The only question then would be what she would do....?

Blood's Jewels (High Casual Fantasy Revolution)

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Arc I - Terreille in Trouble

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In the ruined town of Sharon, Shalador

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The dusty Sceltie paused as Dereen tried to distract him. Giving her a cocked head, he looked a bit perplex before shrugging it off. *I like playing fetch! I am Dunny!* As if he was a young lad old enough to know his manners, which he in fact was, Dunny sat and offered the Pruulish witch a paw. *Do you know the silly Queen? She will be a good Queen, but she is very silly!* The stick was caught and floated up as Dunny gave a doggy grin to Dareen as he floated the stick back to her. A smug gleam in those brown eyes.

As Mikhail walked off, he would find himself not alone as the burly figure of Gennar joined him. Watching Dareen and the pup, the winged warrior sighed and gave a sideways look at Mikhail. "Prince." He stated softly once they were out of earshot of the others, gently laying a hand on the Dea Al Mon's arm warily. "I am not saying you are wrong." He raised his hands in defense and gave the assassin a grim smile. "I agree with you and Ashke would not take the harm of a child well, nor would she permit it." No, Ashke would die rather than watch a child be harmed. She had seen too many of such deaths. "But do not go out on your own if you can help it. You are healing and these places may stir memories. Ashke tasked me with reminding you." There was a grim smile on Gennar's face as he looked towards the house where the Black Widow rested. "My sister, worries though she would never admit it. And for you-" He held out a small disk of wood and thread. A small healing web. Gennar's face warned Mikhail not to ask as he looked absolutely thunderous. In truth, Faeril had made it under her guard's noses for the Dea Al Mon on the dregs of her power. "She cast a spell into it to slowly piece your mind together. To speed up the healing so when she was at strength again she can finish her task." Gennar finished with an annoyed tone. Yet Mikhail would feel a familiar sense of knowing what trouble a sister's efforts could bring. The fleeting flash of a face nearly forgotten and the cruel pang of loss.

Blood's Jewels (High Casual Fantasy Revolution)

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Arc I - Terreille in Trouble

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In the ruined town of Sharon, Shalador

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Denvar yawned as he emerged from the rough shell of a home that would have sheltered them well enough from any rain. Having satisfied himself that Faeril was quite alright and tucked away, the Warlord Prince followed the scent of cooking meat to give his brother a wide grin. Diverting his path, Denvar moved to pluck a canteen and call in a rough looking kettle. Settling it next to the fire, with a nod towards Xandar that mirror one Bellinar had given the Ebon-Grey Warlord Prince a good few minutes before. "What in the name of Mother Night happened?" Denvar asked in a conversational way.

Bellinar was in a grumpy mood as he gave a huff of irritation. "The assassin took in a fool boy and his dog. The Prince is right in the fact we need to be wary, even of boys." Denvar gave a nod of agreement, though he look was grim.

"I do hope that Ashke won't be needed to deal with it. She was still asleep when I checked on her." The brother stated with a sideways look at Bellinar.

"Hopefully not. I just got back from visiting from Lady friends." The Eyrien warrior grinned with a leering look in his golden eyes. Yet there was a slightly uncomfortable look reflected in Gennar's eyes he watched on from where he was packing up the wagon.

Denvar seemed to miss Gennar's arrival from the house so shortly after his own as he gave a sharp laugh. "Well, I hope you enjoyed yourself as you got some information for us-?"

"Nothing overly interesting. The Queens here aren't looking for us- yet. The Sadist is on loan from Hayll, apparently his pissed Dorothea off. It's the talk of the town."

The talk by the coals of the fire were just out of shot of those who walked towards it. The boy's shoulders hunching in shame as Jandar recognized him. Looking utterly insulted as Jandar implied he had not warned Dunny, Thom bristled. "I did tell 'im! I swear I did!" He protested at Jandar in a harsh whisper. The Queen forgotten in his indignity and shame as he flinched away from the words that the Warlord sent at him. He hadn't known of the serving girl. Hadn't cared to be honest, but to admit that seemed to mark on his shame. "I-I didn't-!" Thom's eyes dropped to the ground as he shrunk under the Warlord's glare. Shuffling alongside Jandar, Thom looked utterly beaten. "Dunny got the stuff, not me." He offered weakly, afraid of the questions that might be coming. Namely why he had been pretending to be a girl. That would probably be the worst of it, and Thom winced as he considered how to best answer it.

Dunny had raced away to the fire and was dancing about the Eyriens, heedless of the worry his friend was in. As far as Dunny was concerned the Queen was a good Queen and the others smelled good too. Thom was a bit hard headed, but they would herd Thom to the fire. Dunny didn't have a doubt about that. Plopping himself right beside Xandar, the little dog thawcked his tail with blinding speed in the dust. *Meat? I smell meat! But why are you burning the meat?* Dunny asked in his rambling way of asking things. Gennar and Denvar stiffening as they stared in shock at the Kindred Sceltie. The dog not bothering to hide his speech from these men or Xandar. They belonged to the Queen and so they were good. Perhaps a bit rough around the edges and needed some training but they were good. *Here! The Queen will want these!* There was a loud clatter, as a pile of pots, pans, knives, and several pouches of herbs landed in a pile in front of a stunned Denvar. Dunny looked up at Xandar and Dareen, utterly pleased with himself. *See? I will help the good Queen! Should I wake up the female I smell? I will wake them up!* Without waiting for a reply, Dunny was up and bounding off towards where Faeril slept. If he was not interrupted the poor dog, or poor woman, would have an unfortunate meeting.

Blood's Jewels (High Casual Fantasy Revolution)

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Arc I - Terreille in Trouble

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In the ruined town of Sharon, Shalador

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The slight smell of meat just beginning to sizzle rose from the coal of the fire. Bellinar grumbling as he crouched by the fire where a thick roast was cooking straight over the coals without a pan or anything of the sort. Looking up, the tardy Eyrien warrior noted Dareen moving about the camp and gave her a tired nod. He would rather be sleeping, but Jandar wasn't preparing food. The man was frolicking with the strange Queen who thought tumbling about for the entertainment of some vagabond lad was a good idea. For all his opinions that this particular Queen, though strong, was far too young for the task Ashke had in mind, Bellinar couldn't just let the rest of the group go hungry. His cooking was far rougher than Gennar's but it was food, and edible. Two things that seemed the most important. Grumbling a muttered curse to himself, the Warlord Prince flipped the roast, and brushed away the coals and bits of ash from the side that had been buried against the heat, now glistening with fat and thoroughly scorched.

The Queen was odd and her men seemed to take a variation of exasperation and outright shock when dealing with her. Something that set Thom off balance. As Jandar returned to try and tame his Queen's appearance, the Glacian lad made a point to avoid making eye contact with the Warlord. Gold eyes widened as he was startled as the earth quaked beneath him as the largest man, Thom had ever seen landed in front of him. Even Dunny was startled enough to give a frightened yelp and hide behind the petite woman that he and Thom had been so worried of mere minutes early. The aforementioned lad also slinking closer to put the tiny woman between him and the Eyrien. Those warriors were legendary for their tempers and a Warlord Prince who had just been woken up while being an Eyrien warrior wasn't something Thom wanted to deal with. Hesitating, he watched the tiny Queen shoo the three men towards their camp. Looking to Dunny there was a silent exchange between the two, before Dunny bounced up to lay his paws on Fatima's knee and yip up a very good question.

*If I heard them to food, can I get more food? And pets!* It was a tie between what Dunny liked more. Food or herding things. Thom almost felt bad for giving the idea to Dunny, but if it got the giant Warlord Prince away from him for a minute? He would forgive himself, if no one else did. As much as Dunny was wary of the giant man, he was a Sceltie and they were herding dogs by their very nature. If he was told to herd something? It got herded. Scuffing his shoe in the dirt, the lad inched away from Jandar as he eyed the man. Hopefully, the Dhemlan wouldn't raise any awkward questions.

Blood's Jewels (High Casual Fantasy Revolution)

@SilverPaw So you did! Sorry about that, I just copy and pasted.