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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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[h3][color=SlateBlue]Faeril Ashkevron[/color][/h3]
[color=SlateBlue]Location - Ashkevron Residence in Askavi[/color]
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The Eyrien woman look up sharply as her blue eyes- a trait that did not come from the long lived races- narrowed at the Queen. [color=SlateBlue]"So you are awake."[/color] Faeril set the spice aside as she plucked the bottle from the Hayllian's hand, shaking it randomly over the stew. Leaving the questionably stew to boil, the woman moved about the kitchen cleaning away the mess that had been left in her wake. [color=Slateblue]"The men are not back yet, but your... former Court lives."[/color] The large, leathery wings opened and closed as Faeril shifted slightly. Unsure how much Fatima knew of her lineage, unsure what could be said on that account. Yet in the end, what could she say? She had not been meant to see that, so the Black Widow kept her peace. Her lips thinning at yet another weight to her already burdened heart.

Thus, when she spoke again her tone was cold and dispassionate. [color=SlateBlue]"Denar, Belor, and Gen are taking them to the border where they will leave them to their fate. We cannot risk crossing into Hayll."[/color] The unspoke '[i]and lead the guards back to you'[/i] hung in the air, as the dual caste Widow and Healer sat at the heavy table. With the weight of the Askavi mountains about them, Faeril doubted that Fatima felt comfortable. The eyrie itself was like a maze in it's ever twisting halls and plentiful rooms and the masonry that carved more- when needed- from the living mountain. Many of the other races found it unnerving, much to the hardened woman's amusement. Pouring herself a cup of tea, coffee being something she never had the taste for save on her most tiring of healings, Faeril [b]Called[/b] in a second cup using the Craft to pour the tea and slide the hot beverage over to a second chair. Her Red Jewel was not as strong as it had been, but she wore the red, and Beneth had- by far- been the lesser. [color=SlateBlue]"I did as was nessecary, nothing more. They are fine aside from several broken bones and bruises. Much the same as my boys."[/color] Considering all three of those so-called boys, were Warlord Princes (albeit wearing the lighter jewels) Faeril failed to bite back the slight smirk at what their reaction would be to such. For the many years she had spent with them, came with a good bit of friendly and familiar amusements.

[@Torack] The barkeep snorts in annoyance. "Youngster now a days." He mutters to himself, frowning. The sharp yellow gaze however turned to the battered Andressa. Small bruises peppering the woman's skin from where the assailants had held her.  Opening his mouth as if to say something, the door opened with a wood cracking thud as three Eyrien warriors tumbled in. Each looking battered as if they were part of a barfight- which they had been. Lucivar would note one of being a Green Jeweled Warlord and the other two Warlord Princes of the lighter ranks. Rose, if one were to go by the Jewels about their necks. "Mother Night. Run through a horde of Jhinka?" The grizzled barkeep snarled at the trio.

"Just about." Complained Denar with a snarl as the witch began to fuss over him. While there was nothing between the two, they were allies against the twisted Queens. Which allowed the witch to give the Warlord Prince a scolding look and sharp jab to a particularly ugly bruise, eliciting a yelp form the foolish Rose Warlord Prince. Belor gave into the treatment with little fuss, seeing all the good it did his brother. "No, just doing some work for the Healer. Ashke can be the right taskmaster." The snarling male huffed, as he studied the two new comers with some interest.

The Green Jeweled Warlord, however, was sharply looking at the bruises that covered Andressa from the attack on Greyhaven. His golden eyes narrowed along with those of his brothers. "Lady," His stance was nothing but respectful as he eyed Lucivar with a unspoken challenge. "Are you quite well?" The deadly quiet in that voice was a unspoken question as to how the witch gained her injuries, and for all that he and his brothers were battered and bruised. They would see to it that justice was meted out. Sensing the other Prince Saroths rise to the killing edge, the barkeep's daughter stepped away quickly. It never turned out well to be caught in a fight between Warlord Princes. With careful steps the three fanned out. Belor, the worst injured with his bloodied wings and two black eyes, drifting towards the door and most likely to summon aid.