[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 - Front Palor, Ashkevron Residence in Aren, Askavi[/color][/h3]
[color=SlateBlue]Interacting with[/color] [@Slim Shady] [@13org] [@Zoey White]
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Faeril's mouth drew to a thin line as she sneered at Doreen. [color=SlateBlue]"What of taking up a trade for yourself? Tailoring? Keeping a shop? There were other options you were apparently too blind to see."[/color] The air about Faeril turned frigid as she contemplated what to do with the witch. [color=SlateBlue]"And so naive that selling yourself into servitude would only get you the mines? Rather you'd be some Red Moon's worker."[/color] Her voice was as harsh as a lash as she stripped away the naivety of the girl by naming the large establishments where the Blood could find good food, and company, as well as anything else that may give them some comfort in distressing times. Watching the hourglass symbol, Faeril felt torn. [color=SlateBlue]"Murder is not against the law of the Blood."[/color] She murmured, as Xandar snored in the chair. It was a hard truth but it was a fact the Blood lived with. Though a price could be asked for the life taken.

Yet, the Black Widow hesitated. Could she ask for the blood price when her own web strands were tugging at this woman? A piece of the puzzle she had drawn to herself. Smoothing nonexistent wrinkles from her gown in irritation. No, she needed this killer. Despite her own issues with the murdering of her sisters, Faeril felt the keen need for survival. Killing the Pruulish witch could have unforeseen consequences and the Eyrien would leave those in the hands of what was coming. [color=SlateBlue]"You will remain in this house and I swear on my Jewels if you so much as leave for a second or attempt harm on any within my home, I will leave you a ruin. I will twist your mind till you know madness and leave you rambling in the streets as Draega."[/color] 

Gen and his brother slipped from the room, to avoid being involved and wanting to set up a room far from Faeril for the poor woman. They had felt the lash of her tongue before and while both didn't think Doreen was lying, they didn't see the point of declaring against Faeril. Specially if the woman had been with a bunch of mercenaries that killed Black Widows.

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

The witch was in shock, to say the least. Which was to be expected after killing a man. Taking the offered hand, the Opal Jeweled witch stumbled down the steps shakily. "I didn't mean to-" She whispered in shock pausing as she reached the spot where the body had been. The blood leaving a faint trace of color on the dark wooden floor. It would disappear with time, but did they have time? If the body was found and she was proven for murder... Would she be killed or tossed to the chattel yard as a 'mercy'? Gripping Jean's hand ever tighter the witch stared absently at the blood tears flowing down her face. "I didn't= I only meant to stagger him. I didn't hit him that hard."

"He should have caught himself." Whispered the witch as a figure flittered at the edge of the corner beneath the landing just down the next flight of double back stairs. A small figure looking a bit ragged as it peered up at the commotion. As the witch led Jean down the stairs to the second landing and through a beaten up door which led into a small and cramped corridor, the man would hear quick light steps of someone scampering out of sight. This small hall had doors going off of it, some were open as they passed by. All were silent as the grave. It was easy to tell this was the servant's quarters. Slipping into a room only large enough for a tightly fitted bed, dresser, desk and stool the witch stared blankly at the wall whispering that she hadn't meant for that to happen.

Elsewhere, slipping up the stairs Fatima would see a scrawny boyish figure duck into a more elegant doorway and a whispering and frightened voice coming from above. The roar of the party downstairs slightly muffled enough as the rain drummed from a floor or two above. Listening to the voices the Queen would hear a door open and close above her and then footsteps walk away deeper into the layout as the floor creaked.