[hr][hr][center][img]https://i.postimg.cc/50VBWNfh/63507c917b644ae085a53d695ad43269.png[/img]
[img]https://66.media.tumblr.com/2fa3b68ea7ccb5e241580009fa3f8dfe/tumblr_nrjjdcXvK71uq1wtvo1_500.gif[/img][/center][hr][hr][h3][b][i][center][color=8519A2]Arc I - Terreille in Trouble[/color][/center][/i][/b][/h3]
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[center][h3][color=SlateBlue]Faeril Ashkevron[/color]
[img]https://img00.deviantart.net/57a4/i/2017/010/a/2/yennefer_of_vengerberg_by_nikivaszi-da82bef.jpg[/img]
[color=SlateBlue]Present Day
Location - Ashkevron Residence in Aren, Askavi[/color][/h3]
[color=SlateBlue]Interacting with[/color] [@13org] [@Slim Shady] [@Zoey White]
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Denvar hissed a sharp note between his teeth as he slipped beneath the arch into the kitchen, noting quickly that Faeril's latest patient had taken the chair that would give him a unobstructive view of the front entrance to the eyrie. Though he could perhaps see the couch that frame the fireplace but little else with how the wall obstructed the scene that was surely playing out and Denvar did not envy the sight of it. [color=Tan]"Gen, let me deal with the horror you're brewing."[/color] The Tiger-eyed Warlord Prince growled, shoving his brother out of the way as he took over the task. Though Gen in his defense shoved back and a short scuffle of straining males in a short and heated argument over the brewing of coffee ensured. Meanwhile Mikhail would be able to hear into the front palor though he would not be able to everything from his seat.

Faeril looked with distaste as Dareen walked in without a care for the wet mess she made of the floor or her hostess's couch. Flicking her hand absently at the woman, Faeril let a heat charm scourge her couch of it's dampness and the puddles from her floors and lessen the state of the woman's clothing. Denvar was a fool for not shielding against the rain but to be fair he had be preparing for a potential fight, though not the one he had found in the kitchen to save their collective sense of taste. While her couch would still be damp, it at least would not be utterly ruined by the Pruulish woman's thoughtlessness. [color=SlateBlue]"I see you know your Protocol ever so well."[/color] The Black Widow=Healer stated with a icy tone as she sat with delicate grace into the chair opposite of both Xandar and Dareen. 

Protocol was the doctrine of manners and laws that the Blood followed. It shaped and gave their society a chance to work without Warlord Princes snarling and snapping the spines of lesser males for simply looking at them. It gave the Blood a level of civility they adhered to. And Dorothea was slowly twisting it to her means. Letting children who grew up learning these guidelines with a twisted sense to them and giving the Queens power without question or restraint. Pointedly ignoring Xandar for the current time, Faeril considered the Yellow Jeweled witch. [color=SlateBlue]"It is not common to see a Pruulish witch in these mountains, nor one so armed. Most of those that do bring little good with them."[/color] Her eye burned with the cold fury which seemed to make a slight nip of cold in the air. A effect the more powerful of the Blood could cause. The Black Jeweled Warlord Prince was famous for coating rooms in ice. [color=SlateBlue]"You would do well to remember that I outrank you. Both in my Caste and my Jewel of rank."[/color] Her chin dipped to acknowledge the Red that hung about her neck. As the Lady of the house, let alone as a Black Widow and Healer who wore the Red, Faeril was granted by Protocol a level of respect and Dareen wasn't showing it.

After her piercing words to the Pruulish witch, the Eyrien woman turned her gaze to the lounging Warlord Prince. Her wings spreading slightly to make herself appear larger, he was a dangerous adversary after all, as she examined him with the sharp sense of a Healer. Oh, he needed a Healing alright and there was no one better than her. Tapping her fingers against the wooden arm of the chair she tilted her head in thought. [color=SlateBlue]"I ask because while there are rumors, rumors are not always true."[/color] Her glacier eyes studied the Ebon-Grey for a moment before she nodded absently and flicked her fingers in a come hither gesture. Faeril would still check, make sure he was true in his words, but Randalvar didn't just send people her way on luck and chance. If the man had known the old tavern owner's son, then it was would stand to reason that the Warlord had sent him. [color=SlateBlue]"Very well, let us speak in private."[/color]

No sooner were the words out of her mouth before both Gen and Denvar were in the doorway and bristling with indignation at the thought of their friend, female at that!, going off with the Ebon-Grey Warlord Prince who went by the name 'The Reaper'. [color=FireBrick]"You cannot be serious. Faeril, at least allow one of us with you!"[/color]

[color=Tan]"Or at least have that talk in the dining room."[/color] Denvar rumbled, his memberous wings spreading as he eyed up Xandar. Tiger-Eye against the Ebon-Grey was as good a suicide but the Warlord Prince would fight hard to protect his friend and brother from this potential threat.

Faeril let the arguement and bristling of her adoptive family continue on before raising a single hand and locking the two with a stern look. Speaking in the tongue native to her race the woman pointed out with cool and dispassionate logic. [color=SlateBlue]"I will see if he speaks true and if he does not then that wound will be the least of his worries. If he speaks true..."[/color] There was a meaning full look between the three Eyriens before Faeril stood and pointed with a certain sharpness at Dareen. [color=SlateBlue]"She will remain there until she dries out or I return to question her."[/color] Walking with swift strides towards the door the woman glanced over her shoulder with a raised brow. [color=SlateBlue]"I know Eyrien men often go without nary a stitch during the summer, but my supplies are in my workroom."[/color] Not waiting to see if he followed or not, Faeril swept from the room and down the halls to the room she had been in just earlier with Mikhail.

[color=8519A2]Root's Teeth, Dhemlan Terreille[/color]
[@SilverPaw] [@eclecticwitch]

The Winds turned rough and unstable as Jassen navigated the Opal threads and tethers. It was not a straight line to the small village of Aven though the village boasted a landing web. The lighter the Jewel the longer it took to navigate the Winds which was both a blessing and a curse. The psychic roads of the Blood could be turbulent during a storm if the storm was a very bad one and this one? It was bad enough that Jassen was forced to drop into a nearby landing web in Dhemlan. Studying the grey building as rain lashed the walls and windows, the Warlord winced as he saw the reason the Court had kept Fatima away from the particular part of Dhemlan. The mud swamped corrals and sheds were stake and a cruel reminder to what might await them if Fatima's true nature was revealed and another Hyallian Queen from the Hundred Families took exception. The ruling aristo of their caste was a cruel one.

Jandar would note that the cruel looking group of males were hanging about and seemed to have other thoughts on their mind than him as they eyed the Opal witch that had advised him. The woman looked harried and no small bit worried as she slipped through a door that lead to the stairs up to the rooms. The Warlord would easily pick out their words as they passed him intent on the same path the witch had taken.

"Oh, she's a lovely one. Won't it be fun?" One of the males chuckled as he jabbed at their apparent leader who had smiled at Jandar.

With a speculative look at the stairs. "It's always 'fun'. A bit of a challenge doesn't hurt."

"A bit of challenge is troublesome. I want a profit not a squawking harpy." A third grumbled as the door closed behind them.

It was shortly after this that the door to the inn opened and a drunk looking man appeared. His cheeks were too red to be sober and he looked a bit greasy. The woman held close under his arm as though he was trying to avoid her being notice was unmistakably a Queen to Jandar's senses, perhaps a little something more. Though his read on what her jewel of rank was a little bit confusing most likely thanks to the drunk who was hastily trying to bargain for a room. Which most likely didn't exist, but damn if the innkeeper didn't look like he was trying to convince Fatima that his bed was the best in the house and he most assuredly didn't mind giving it up!