[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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[color=8519A2]Winged Boar, Aven, Askavi Terreille[/color]
[@eclecticwitch]
It was dawn the next day, and the sun was well over the horizon when Jassen opened the creaking door into the interior of the Winged Boar. As ever the place had a unique charm that the Eyrien race had honed over the centuries. Posts chipped from various minor, or the odd major, bar fight bore a cleaver wedged into the wood from where some young strapping youth had annoyed old Randalvar past the point of wisdom the night prior. Passed out about the tables were the odd Warlord or Prince who were either too drunk to find their way home or too poor in manners or coin to tempt for a roof over their head. These were those who were fleeing the harsh treatments of Queens and many bore disfigurements they were careful to hide. They were Eyriens warriors, and they did not need pity.

Nor was what Randalvar offer them pity. In return for a place to rest their head and a warm meal in their bellies and sour ale to dull the ache of pride and heart, the males passed on news and advice. They kept their silence and moved on without a word when morning roused them. Even now, one who appeared almost as grizzled as the old barkeep staggered up and out the door past the Queen and her two male escorts. Her golden eyes narrowing at the woman, but he kept his tongue from saying anything. Not that he could since he had not the tongue to speak with.

That morning Jandar, Fatima and Jassen would have found it quite easy to slip from the inn with the crowd of people eager to do the same. Jandar would have noted a smaller, ragged figure watching him among the mass of people rushing to reach their destination, the rare few loitering about the inn for pleasure. The storm had been a nasty one, and had turned the roads to a soup of mud and brought the odd tree down. Several men were already out in the predawn clearing away the roads for the more mundane travel. While most preferred the [b]Winds[/b], there was the odd folk who would take the roads for their own reasons. The thief lad had slipped away before another look could be taken of their appearance.

Jassen had been less than thrilled with the new addition to their small group. His job was to protect Fatima, and failing that, to protect his own skin and that of the Court. The hard truth but one none the less. Jandar's appearance made that difficult especially with how odd the man was. The Dhemlan people of Terreille were nervous and often destitute due to the cruelty of Hyall. This man tried to mimic that, but it was a mimic. Jassen hadn't been born yesterday and had spent years watching for such signs to keep his Queen and now Fatima safe. Gazing about the inn, he grumbled to himself. "This is walking into a den of viper rats, Lady." Which he wasn't wrong about. The Eyrien race was a dangerous warrior race and they were not the easiest to deal with on a good day. Hungover and with a potential enemy Queen in their midst? It would be trouble.

Randalvar thumped out of the back room, his arms across his chest as he gripped a long bladed stick, an Eyrien weapon. His eyes narrowed at the new comers as he braced for a potential fight, his wings arching behind him. The membrane punched with small holes and a variety of scars. "What brought a Dhemlan, a Hyall guard and Hyall [i]'Lady'[/i]," He spat the word 'Lady' for what it was. A potential enemy Queen and he was not in the mood for games with the Court politics. Not with two trapezing fools coming through after one deadly looking youth. Was he running a tavern or an inn?! "And don't waste my time." He snarled as Jassen stepped forward with an equal temper rising. "I'd put you on yer back, lad. Only you wouldn't be getting up from it."

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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]9;45 am in the Morning
Location - Ashkevron Residence in Aren, Askavi[/color][/h3]
[color=SlateBlue]Interacting with[/color] [@Slim Shady] [@13org] [@Zoey White]
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Dareen had been given a room between the brothers two. In truth, it was their own brother Belinar's room but the Warlord=Prince was currently out and they planned to scrub it down before the twin of Denvar returned. It was not so much for the security of their Black Widow and Healer, so much as to stop Dareen from doing anything stupid or Faeril from doing anything stupid to Dareen. The Pruulish witch would be judged, Faeril had decreed, but not by her. So would it be, til Faeril forgot her own wordings when her temper took her. Gen and Denvar sought to make sure such a thing would have a reason to happen. Xandar had been dumped into the Healer's workroom with its great bed and various shelves of potions and tools for Faeril's trade. Mikhail had been granted Gen's own room, the Warlord grinning and pointing out with a too reasonable tone that he was probably the only male in the building who would get a bed with a woman in it.

Nevermind, that the woman and he would be sleeping and nothing else. Despite his slight jest, Gen was more keen on the more masculine of the two sides of a coin. Which was well enough according to Faeril, as she rose earlier than the others. Gen's snores rasping about the room while she prepared for the day. A quick breakfast of bread and cheese, and mindful to leave a platter out for those who would rise well before her two guardians, the Healer slipped from the kitchen to her own place of thought. Yawning and sitting absently on a bench in the garden where she grew herbs for the healing and breaking of minds and bodies, Faeril studied the fog that had most burnt off of Aven. The eyrie had been built into a spear of the cliff that effectively separated the front garden from the back and limited the back. Several trees grew offering shade about the winding paths where wormwood and nettle, among other herbs, grew offering their shade.

It was comfortable enough, wrapped in a shawl of knitted wool and a dress that would not be ruined form a bit of grubbing about in the dirt as was evident by the stains of brown earth damp from the night's rain on her keens and in the nail bed of her hand. Brushing away the annoyance with a half-hearted attempt. Faeril considered their situation and found it aggravating. Mikhail and Xandar were drawn into her web and she could well see the reason why! Though she still felt the weariness of stretching herself too thin for too long Faeril would have pushed herself further if it was necessary to confirm so. That both had been so willing was worrying as well, but she wasn't of the mind to complain quite yet. Patting down the braid of black hair that hung over her shoulder the Eyrien woman sighed. It was Doreen, the Pruulish witch, she couldn't place. More than that, the woman was a killer of her, Faeril's own, caste! If she could just place what to do with the woman, place what she was supposed to do with everything that was falling into her lap then maybe she could figure out something! Closing her eyes against the headache that was forming, Faeril unintentionally drifted off.