[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]In front of Ashkevron Residence, Askavi[/color][/h3]
[color=SlateBlue]Interacting with[/color] [@Slim Shady] [@eclecticwitch] [@13org] [@Zoey White] [@SilverPaw]
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Faeril was dead to the world as Xandar took her back to the only room he could, her workroom. The witch's wings were tight to her body and she offered nothing in way of protest which must have been a refreshing change for the Warlord Prince. Though those were not the thoughts of Gennar as he watched the Ebon Grey Warlord Prince exit the eyrie to sit on a low hanging branch. The words that Faeril spoke unnerved him but not the witch herself. Faeril would flare her wings and snarl and snap at any man or woman who offered her offense or slight, real or not, but it was to protect a far more delicate interior. One that had been badly scared by the last few centuries. The countless wounds of heart, mind and body she had healed from the victims of Hayll's taint. The loss that marred her and kept her at arms length from men of any sort. Which was not something they needed in the long run. As a witch of the Hourglass, she was hated and feared. No one would come to her for apprenticeship and even if they did she could not risk teaching them and revealing herself. So her craft would be passed to any daughter she might have. Her aunt had died childless and her mother had born her no siblings. The Craft that the Ashkevron practiced would live or die with Faeril.

Bellinar shifted uneasily as he nodded towards the two prisoners, [color=DarkKhaki]"I'll go keep an eye on them. We don't need any more close calls."[/color] Dripping blood from several wounds he shook his head as Gen moved to protest. [color=DarkKhaki]"Flesh wounds. Nothing I can't care for myself. Our Healer is out and we can't risk her right now.[/color] Denvar nodded in agreement as he perched on one of the large stones that served the gardens as a boundery marker and watched Fatiman and her small Court. Wiping off the bloody warblade with painstaking care.

With a sigh Gennar knew they were right and decided his own choice was best to stop the trouble that seemed to be brewing as the Dea Al Mon and Eyrien Warlord Prince squared off. While not a Warlord Prince himself, Gen had to admit that Mikhail had the balls as he challenged Xandar. Gen didn't like the man for his open hosility but he could understand it. Eyrien males weren't easy to get along with if you weren't dancing to the tune of some aristo game. Living as a rogue only shorted the temper and sharpened the edge. He had seen enough men like Xandar but none of the Reaper's caliber. [color=FireBrick]"Prince Mikhail. Prince Xandar."[/color] The Green Jeweled Warlord stated cautiously. Not wanting another fight so soon after this costly one. If these two started something it could damn well shatter whatever Faeril had in motion and that, Gen could not allow.

The hall that weaved through the eyrie from the kitchen and front parlor circled about the bathing chamber and around in an 'L' shape. The back hall that was sheltered under the mountain where the three brother's room were in a row. Narrow windows letting in dim light. Across from them, and deeper under the mountain, were three other rooms. One- the middle- was Faeril's workroom where the Healer-Black Widow currently slept. The one at the end of the hall- unbeknownst to Dareen- was the woman's bedroom. A more personal place and far darker which the Black Widow preferred. But the third door was seemly there and not there. Dust formed about the base of the door, the knob was dull with little use or cleaning. The wood itself was old and worn look. Uncared for. Forgotten. An odd thing as everything else in the eyrie was pristine and presentable. It was a small detail that would have gone unnoticed if someone was walking by but as she was facing it... It was painfully obvious. Though perhaps even stranger was the slight wear of the rug in front of the door.