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[h1][u][b]Blood's Jewels[/b][/u][/h1]
[h2][u][i]“Terreille in Trouble”[/i][/u][/h2]
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[@eclecticwitch] "You'd have to ask the barkeep about the ale, I'm afriad." The younger of the brothers started with a gruff voice. Denar raised his brow at Gen as the latter replied. The Warlord Prince hiding a smile in his own tankard. It seemed guests had come for the Lady Ashke. A pet name to those who were in her inner circle. To the rest of the valley she was Healer Faeril. To the rest of Terreille she was Healer Ashkervan. A woman whose feelings were locked behind shields of ice. Giving a slight nod of his head, Denar rustled in wings slightly. Flexing them and letting the two escorts of the Queen see the powerful body beneath. "But I believe out resident Healer might have a few tales to tell. She is a fan of traditional tapestries." It was all true, every word. Faeril even had a collection of tapestries her family had spun across the ages from time to time.

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

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

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

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

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

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