Hidden 5 yrs ago Post by eclecticwitch
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eclecticwitch The Effervescent

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Location: Outside the Eyrie




She was relieved that Faeril did not fight her. It made the work she had to do easier. Fatima knelt next to the Widow and breathed deeply, slowly. Each raise and fall a redirection of her power. Each fill of her lung a swelling and each release of breath settled it into place through her limbs. She opened her eyes and set to work straight away. Her hands moved like liquid water over and through the Eyrien Widow's skin. She looked for sore muscles and bruises to mend. She too found the cut on the finger and the rip in her wing. These she fixed as well, but Mikhail distracted her.

Fatima had to pull away lest she accidentally hurt the woman. This left things mostly healed but she was a firm believer in the body's ability to do its own healing. Her whole stature went rigid and she did not move as the man chastised her in much the same way she had the Widow. Her cheeks flushed with her anger and she looked down at her hands which lay palm up in her lap. She was silent for a long while and Faeril imparted a truth that Fatima had already known. This man who so whole heartedly was interested in her safety and then denied his hand in it (all in the same breath) was one of her own. She especially didn't like the way he had spoken out against Xandar with such vehemence. Xandar had said, in not quite so many words, that he was a part of her circle. This man had yet to offer such a thing. Mikhail was both hers and not hers, in a different way than Jandar. No, she would not allow an outlier to speak so reproachfully of someone under her protection.

She was not at all surprised when Faeril fainted. She caught the woman before she fell entirely to the ground and Xandar soon came to whisk her away. She said nothing to him. She did not even look at the Eyrien male. She could not. She was afraid she might vomit or cry if she did. All this time Fatima had been silent. Brewing. At last she stood, covered in blood and streaked with dirt. Still she held her chin high and looked up at the man who dare tell her what to do when he had yet to make himself in anyway a part of her circle. Something caught the corner of her eye.

Jandar. Relief swept through her and she though her knees might buckle beneath her weight. 'Do. not. fall.' she growled to herself. She returned her attention to Mikhail.

"It would do you well to watch your tongue, friend," she said in a voice that was overly calm. Each syllable was measured and the hint of frost pricked the air. "As it stands, Xandar is one of mine. He lay under the wings of my protection." She held the leash for an insurmountably violent man. He was a Warlord Prince. And he was hers. She wasn't going to let someone speak so ill of him, even if she was quite upset with him herself. "If my protection is not one of your jobs then you are under some odd delusion that your word holds weight here." She paused, cocking her head to the side. "Which is to say, the merit of the man you hold in such deep detestation has more worth to me than your own. Think on that before you deliver such words of admonishment unto a person. I believe you a man to be of the sort to think before you act. Perhaps that is a habit you should have taken here." Cold, white gold eyes, which had been eerily unblinking, turned from Mikhail to the body in repose at her feet.

"If you wish to discuss this further, please come to see me later. I am afraid I am far to tired to handle a battle of wits with any modicum of decorum at this present moment." She let her gaze drift lazily to him before it went back to Jandar. Good. He was alive. He was well. She would inspect him more closely for wounds later. She knelt on the grass with as much grace as her protesting body could muster next to the body of the man she had known for all of her long life. She gently swept hair from his oddly pale face. His cheeks were usually so ruddy with drink. She began to tear at her tunic pulling the bottom half of it away. She carefully wrapped it around his mangled neck as if it were a scarf. It hid the disgusting bruises and tearing skin there. With care she gently clasped his hand and lifted it to her face, placing her cheek against the back of the cold hand. She closed her eyes a moment and sighed. Careful, ever so very careful, she placed his hands over his chest, one over the other. She touched his face and fussed over his clothes to make sure not a thing was out of place.

At long last her attention returned to Jandar. She crawled the few steps away he sat to sit on her knees before him. She did not trust herself to stand. Her body trembled as it tried to contain the tidal wave of emotion that threatened to spill from her. Normally it was Jassen who would see her in these moments of weakness. But he wasn't here anymore was he? "Are you hurt?" she asked quietly, feeling guilty she had not asked sooner. Her fingers shakily touched the backs of his palms before a hand reached out to touch his cheek. "I am sorry I am such a mess," she said with a slight laugh that threatened to turn into a sob. She choked it back and offered merely a thin, watery smile.
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Hidden 5 yrs ago Post by 13org
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13org Stay fresh!

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Ashkevron Residence, Askavi, just outside.





Even though Mikhail's mood wasn't exactly good, the words Faeril had to tell him would make it even worse. While he knew he had a contract with Faeril herself, the second she revealed that Fatima was in fact... a Queen and she expected him to be a part of her court, Mikhail's expression changed for the worse. That explained the strange pull he felt towards the woman but that fact also made Mikhail very worried. He ended up involved with the very things he always avoided... Queens and political struggles. As Faeril revealed that most of the things happening were in fact, part of her plans, the tension on Mikhail's expression was almost tangible. Not only his current situation was already bad, but despite Faeril saying that he could walk away, he was already too deeply involved for that to be an option, not only that, but Faeril's words, especially after she mentioned the consequences that would happen if he didn't stay also made him think.
Before he could reply to her though, Faeril's exhaustion finally caught up with her, making her fall asleep immediately after her last words.

Meanwhile, Mikhail caught a glimpse of Xandar going through the bodies and quickly grabbing something, putting into his pocket. A very suspicious action from someone Mikhail had absolutely no trust in. His cold eyes were analyzing every movement the man made as he came towards where the group was, quickly taking Faeril from Fatima's arms and saying he would take her to rest before disappearing inside the Eyrie.

Mikhail's mind was already a mess, with many questions appearing as he tried to think about many situations and possible outcomes even before Xandar took such a suspicious action, but to make things even worse, Fatima apparently wasn't done with her emotional outburst, as she growled to Mikhail after Xandar took Faeril away. This time, as she spoke with him, Mikhail wasn't kind and understanding as he was before. The expression in his face was no less than disturbingly cold. In his eyes, there was no anger, no hostility... Instead they were simply cold, the eyes of a cold, calculating man as he thought about countless possibilities and situations. There was no time for emotions. His situation was already way worse than he already liked, having to deal with queens and political struggles, things he always avoided.

"I don't have friends, Fatima. I've survived this long only because I'm careful with what and when I do or say anything. I always think before acting. The risks involved, the consequences of my actions and possible situations I might face. Things neither you nor Faeril seem to be capable of." Mikhail started, in a cold monotone voice.

"It is exactly because I think before acting that I adverted both of you. You both made extremely dangerous mistakes. Luckily, things went well for you, but seeing how things are progressing, things will get even more dangerous. And when they do, if you make these same mistakes again, things might not end as well as they did now." he said, in a rather ominous warning.

"Xandar is a liability to my own objectives. He is an unwanted and unpredictable element that needs to be dealt with, lest my objectives be put in risk due to his actions." he continued, despite Fatima's words, stating that she didn't want to discuss that matter at the moment.

"You are unable to protect yourself, 'queen'. In fact, you must be severely delusional if you think that Xandar's actions are the best and most effective way to protect those around him. I have absolutely no obligation in protecting you. The only one I care about is Faeril and only due to her being the only one able to heal my condition. If you think your life matters for me, you are severely wrong. Even though I might feel the pull due to my instincts, I am no beast. Ignoring it is but an easy task for someone who endured a broken and shattered mind for so long as I did." Mikhail finished. The odd combination of his emotionless eyes, the cold tone on his voice and the cutting words he said were a glimpse of just how much on edge Mikhail was with the entire situation.

Now that he knew that the only reason he tried to protect Fatima was due to the pull he felt for her, he was even more against doing anything for the woman again. He knew just how crafty and manipulative queens could be and he hated himself for not knowing that he was acting according to the pull he felt towards her, like a pathetic puppet, dancing to the sound and movement of the strings... That said, even though he still had to keep Faeril alive. At least until she completed his treatment and their contract was complete. Still, after what happened, he wasn't sure if he could trust even Faeril anymore. There was absolutely no proof nor nothing holding her back to simply manipulating Mikhail's own memories and mind and making him into her puppet without him knowing...

"Worry not, 'queen'. I promise you, you wont hear my voice again. This was the last time I did or said anything to warn, help or save you. After all, just as you said, my words holds no weight here, does it?" Mikhail said, finally turning around and heading towards the garden, specifically towards the tree where Xandar was on, resting in one of it's branches.

"You have something... something you got from one of the corpses. Show me." Mikhail asked, looking to Xandar with a cold, serious tone... Even though Xandar wore a jewel a shade blacker than his, Mikhail was an assassin. He didn't have to fight him... He had only to kill him if he proved to be too much of a threat to his own plans...
Hidden 5 yrs ago 5 yrs ago Post by Zoey Boey
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Zoey Boey better than the alternative

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Dareen Kahina

above the base of the steps


Dareen tsked her tongue against her teeth. Yeah, he could kill her if he wanted too. Dareen decided to hold her tongue. It was frustrating though- usually those who posessed physical power believed that strength alone is what makes them righteous. Might makes right, the loser is evil and the winner is good kind of thing. A moral philosophy that seemed to prove itself correct time and time again. Her commander held these beliefs strongly aswell. But the Pruulish witch chose to believe there was more to life than just that. What it was, she couldn't tell.

It mattered not, for even though Xandar broke her nose Fatima seemed to want to protect Xandar, or have him be his subordinate. Ah, Dareen thought. Her initial reading was a little closer than she thought. Fatima was a queen. The caste system was truly a wonderful thing, was it not? It seemed Dareen's ribbing Xandar on Fatima's behalf was of no help or use to anyone and Dareen didn't want to piss of Xandar for no reason- dumb brute that he was. And Queen's were, well, queens. They spend their entire lives getting what they want. An upbringing like that makes it hard to maintain empathy, Dareen believed. Struggle is what bonds us all together.

Mikhail and Fatima were going at it in their boring monotone voices, and Dareen found it hard not to tune out. Faeril also mentioned a prophecy or something? The archer's thoughts we Dareen eyed the man she barely helped earlier, with the bow and arrow. He had given her a little wave, which was fun. It seemed he knew Fatima, and was carrying that corpse from earlier. It seemed he was another one of those Queen worshippers. It seemed the only people here to operate outside of this damn hierarchy were Mikhail and herself, and Mikhail was as unreadable as his hair was white. He had stuck up for her, but it seems as if the Dea Al Mon was a steadfast loner and isolationist.

"Well, whatever." Dareen complained to herself. Everyone was probably going back to the Eyrie. Shouldering her bow and re-quivering the arrow between her fingers, Dareen slowly made her way back up the steps. Whatever happened next, she would be here. Despite their various dysfunctionalities, these were the only people she had ever met that seemed displeased with the current structure of society. Leave, and Dareen would never see them again. Back to wandering. Something like this was what she was looking for- it wouldn't be easy but it was all she had. She could never face her commander again.

Dareen came to a stop outside the Eyrie. Xandar was chucking all the corpses off a cliff and had tied up some of the thugs that had attacked them earlier. Two of 'em. Faeril was probably somewhere inside. Dareen wasn't that tired. Her heart rate hadn't even increased that much- she was far away from the second fight and it was hardly one of the more stressful fights she's ever been in. That first skirmish was looking pretty grim before Xandar jumped in and murdered the shit out of everyone. No wonder he felt like he could get away with anything- he practically could. There was a hypothetical scenario where Xandar is humbled and learns his lesson, but unfortunately by the time Xandar is defeated Dareen is probably long dead. Unfortunate.

Dareen wanted to get out of the rain, so she walked inside, closing the door behind her. She took a moment to familiarize herself with the Eyrie. She ended up wandering back towards the room she had stayed in. Leaning against the wall outside the door of the bedroom, she paused and waited for whatever happens next.

Hidden 5 yrs ago Post by LadyRunic
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LadyRunic The Laughing Raven

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Arc I - Terreille in Trouble




In front of Ashkevron Residence, Askavi

Interacting with @Slim Shady @eclecticwitch @13org @Zoey White @SilverPaw




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, "I'll go keep an eye on them. We don't need any more close calls." Dripping blood from several wounds he shook his head as Gen moved to protest. "Flesh wounds. Nothing I can't care for myself. Our Healer is out and we can't risk her right now. 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. "Prince Mikhail. Prince Xandar." 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.
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Hidden 5 yrs ago 4 yrs ago Post by Zoey Boey
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Zoey Boey better than the alternative

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Dareen Kahina

within the eyrie


Dareen had situated herself in the hallway, her eyes looking past the walls and into her own thoughts. Back against the wall, her right index finger began tracing up and down the right side of her tunic, following the pattern on her skin through the fabric. Mikhail was far more verbally hostile towards Xandar than she was from what she gathered before she went inside. The ex-mercenary had to remember her place. As much as it pained her, Xandar could probably kill her and no one would be too sad. Mikhail could afford to be more hostile- afterall he was almost as powerful as Xandar going by jewels alone. Jewels. If only the universe granted power to those who deserved it, rather than those who got lucky. In either case, Dareen would still probably have a yellow, she thought truthfully to herself.

There was a moment of silence. Her eyes eventually fell on the third door. Dusty. Abandoned. Surely not Faeril's bedroom? She imagined one of the two rooms across from her were where Faeril slept/ was sleeping, but the third door looked like it came out of a separate house. Curious indeed. What could it be? A storage room? If it was a guest room, surely Dareen would have been asked to sleep in there, yes? The bedroom she slept in last night was probably Bellinar's. Since she had nothing better to do, she continued to pontificate on the nature of the dusty door across from her. Perhaps it was infested with something. Maybe it was the room of a dead or excommunicated relative. A fourth brother? A sister? An ex-lover of one of those who lived here, perhaps? The history of this Eyrie could be very complicated for all she knew. As her eyes traced the outside, she noticed the wear and tear on the rug. A regular detective, wasn't she? How long was she going to study this damn door for?

As long as she pleased, that was the answer. At least until Mikhail and Xandar became locked in their inevitable battle to the death, or Faeril wakes from her slumber and kills Dareen with a scornful glare. The slight wear could signify the door opened up into the hallway and the rug was damaged because of that. However, all the other doors in the hallway opened inwards. Mystery! She chuckled shortly. It was just a door. If they wanted her out, they would have said so, or locked the door. There was no one around to ask, she was the only one down this corridor at the moment. Looking for something to do, she wrapped her hand around the dull door knob and twisted, pushing her hand inward to investigate what was on the other side of the door.
Hidden 5 yrs ago 5 yrs ago Post by eclecticwitch
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eclecticwitch The Effervescent

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Ahh, the Queen chastising that prick of a Prince was truly glorious. Really, what had the Dea Al Mon been taught that he believed he could chastise her so harshly? True, she’d put herself at harm’s risk, and Jandar himself certainly intended to discuss proper battlefield protocol with her at a later point in time, but that Dea Al Mon in all his supposed rationality couldn’t seem to grasp the simple fact that this was not the right time for advice, nor had he taken the correct approach (that is, one that would yield the desired results), never mind that he was a stranger. Jandar was mentally shaking his head, but on the outside, he was tranquil, ignoring everything but Fatima. After a lengthy tirade in which he proclaimed he would not serve Fatima (the hasty fool) and implying he intended to remove Xandar (mad idiot), the Prince left in what to Jandar seemed an almost childish fit, sulky and resentful.

After that little distraction, Fatima turned to him and sat herself in front of him, within his arms’ reach. “Only a shallow wound, nothing that won’t heal on its own, not to worry,” Jandar answered with a vague gesture to his left side. The Queen put her hands briefly over his, then laid a gentle hand on his cheek, and apologized. Jandar blinked at her once, then clasped her remaining hand in between two of his own, keeping a firm grasp on her. “You are doing very well,” he commented. Truthfully, he’d been expecting much worse – but perhaps, now that they were alone, she would take a turn for the worse? Those doubtful thoughts were the last thing she needed to hear, however, so the Warlord simply put on his best neutral expression – because he didn’t know how to make a properly comforting one – and raised an arm to the palm with which she was still cupping his cheek, patted it once, then coaxed her hand off his face, guiding it to his lap, with her other one. He squeezed both of her hands once, lightly, then offered her an awkward hug. “Come on,” he said, extending his arms loosely around her, not yet touching, but simply offering.

Fatima closed her eyes as Mikhail's words struck her like swords. She felt like her heart was breaking. Even more, if it were possible. Each sentence caused a flinch from her whole body. She opened her eyes and looked down at her hands wrapped in Jandar's. She was glad to hear that he was not horribly hurt. She wasn't sure she could take it if he were. He was being kind to her but she could hardly understand what was going on. Mikhail's words seeped under her skin. They crawled through her veins like a vile poison and suckered themselves into her stomach. It burned hot inside of her and spread as fire through her nerves. Another mistake in a line of many.

She resisted at first, the hug. She had to be strong and she was afraid that if she let herself be held now she would melt down into sobs. But her body could not deny the warmth of contact. When she was feeling bad, when her mother had been especially volatile, Jassen had been one of the ones to hold her when she was little. Her body was weak. Her heart was weak. She leaned against his chest, resting her face against his shirt. Her hands snaked around his middle and she hugged him tightly. She was shuddering. She would not cry. She would not cry. Something hot spilled over her cheeks and she worried it was blood. She leaned back, hands moving up to her face. Not blood. Tears. No no no no. She looked up at Jandar, the pain and horror of the situation stitched over her face. "Jandar," she said in a shaky, whispered sob.

When Fatima acquiesced to the physical contact, Jandar held her lightly, stroking her upper back. She’d held back for a moment – perhaps because she didn’t quite trust him yet. But that was alright. If his presence could stabilize her than that was fine. “It’s alright,” he told her, echoing his own thoughts. The Queen didn’t hold him for long, though. Sooner than he’d expected, she wrenched herself free of him, and looked up at him. She was terrified. She was suffering. But she was still trying to hold back. Why? Why did she seem astonished at her own tears? What was she attempting to convey to him when she called his name so?

Jandar knew that warriors like himself were trained never to show outbursts of emotions, because it was a weakness an enemy could and would exploit. Was it the same for Queens? Did Fatima want help controlling her feelings? He thought hard, laying a hand on her shoulder as a reassurance while he tried to find a solution. Well, whenever he was in pain, he converted all that wretchedness to anger, tightly controlling it and focusing it on a goal. However, mourning was different, was it not? The Queen was mourning the loss of a loved servant. She may even be pained due to that idiot of a Prince rejecting her so harshly. There was no goal here she could focus her sorrow on. So, instead of trying to hold back, failing and getting overwhelmed, possibly risking being broken more easily whenever the next tragedy hit, wasn’t it better if she just…“Let it go,” Jandar said, with a surprising amount of confidence given his own uncertainty.

“You can cry now,” he asserted in a murmur. “Cry as hard as you can now, and when you have no tears left to give, the pain will be lesser. And you will be stronger. Because if you choose a moment to be weak, you can be strong the rest of the time,” Jandar suggested, not entirely certain where this advice and assurance was coming from. No, actually, he had a fairly good guess. His mother. His experience with being comforted, years and centuries ago, when he’d been but a little boy, young enough to be allowed to cry on occasion. And it had been his mother who’d soothed him, who’d offered a small but incredibly wise piece of advice on courage and strength. It wasn’t about never feeling afraid or never being weak. No, it was about knowing how to deal with it, how to face and overcome their own shortcomings. And as far as he was concerned, it was acceptable – nay, expected – for a female to cry. “Just let it go,” he repeated, giving her shoulder a tender squeeze, then rose his hand even higher, slowly, until he was able to lay it on her head. “I will watch over you,” Jandar assured her, petting her hair lightly, and offered her a small smile.

As he spoke his words with such care and kindness, the tears continued to spill from her eyes. She made no sound just looked up at him, shock evident on her face. The hand on her hair was what undid her. "I can't," she whispered. But obviously she could. Her face contorted as a screaming sob released itself from her chest. She burried her face in her hands. The sounds of her grief echoed through the Eyrie exterior.

Fatima leaned against Jandar again, pressing against him. She moved her arms around his back and held on. Her hands fiercely gripped the back of his shirt as she let go, just as he has suggested. Her body shook with each wretched sob that broke into the air. She hardly noticed the pain from her broken nose or the blood which renewed itself. Fatima could hardly breathe and between each desperate wail was a gasping plea for air. She knew that she was being very un-Queenly right now. If her mother could see her what chastisement she would receive. She was a horrible, ugly mess in her supreme agony. A man who had been her father figure was gone and now she was alone with strangers in a strange, strange land with an even stranger destiny before them.

Jandar hugged Fatima to himself once again, though his grasp this time was firmer than it had been the first time, the gesture no longer as awkward. As the Queen cried her heart out, the Warlord remained vigilant, listening to her sorrow and waiting it out, though he slowly stroked her hair and upper back, a repetitive but calming motion. It took long, long minutes for Fatima's sobs to calm, and even then, he still felt her shudder in his arms, and his shirt was getting soaked with her tears, snot, and blood. Jandar frankly didn't care. He could stay there, kneeling at his Lady's side for another hour - or longer - if he needed to. But he didn't think he would. As time passed, Fatima eventually calmed, and Jandar could feel her breath steadying. He slowly moved away; not far, just a few inches, so he could see her face. He laid his left hand on her right arm, then used the right sleeve of his shirt to wipe her face as best he could. "You'll need to get that healed by Faeril when she's available again," he commented, a hint of a smile playing about his lips. Looking her in the eyes, concern replacing the brief moment of humour, he asked: "Do you feel any better now?"

When she was finally done being a blubbering idiot, she lay for a moment in Jandar's arms. She was catching her breath, each inhale of air a shuddering struggle. As he leaned back from her so to did she from him. Fatima was ashamed at what her face must look like. Eyes all swollen and bloodshot, making the white gold of her eyes seem paler. Her face covered in various fluids. She must have looked a might more frightening than one of the demon dead.

She expressed her outrage as Jandar wiped at her face ever so gently with his shirt, by struggling to pull away. She made little noises of derision. "No," she said in a shaking voice that was rasped at the edges due to her little meltdown. "You're going to get dirty!" And then she spied the right proper mess she had created on his shirt. She cried out in embarrassment. "Ah! No! I'm so sorry Jandar!" Her voice was becoming a croak due to her shredded vocal cords. She placed a hand against his chest and pulled backward. With her hand came the muck and fluids. It left his shirt cleaner than it had been. She dashed the ick away. "I'll give it a proper clean later. You may not know this but I am also a healer in my own right. Quite a good one too! Let me see your cut and I will tend to the brothers as well." She was feeling quite a bit better now. Calmer and much more in control of her feelings. She would give a kingdom for the raging headache to leave her though.

"Don't be silly, Fatima, this is nothing," Jandar smirked at her, but it was well-intentioned. He remembered how frantically she'd cleaned that spilled drink in the bar downstairs (how long ago that seemed!), so perhaps she really was overly sensitive about such things. "I can clean my own shirt, and believe me when I say this is a very minor stain compared to what one can suffer in combat." He shook his head lightly, still in disbelief at how worried the Queen was about such an insignificant matter. He was just glad she'd let him put her at ease and help her.

"Oh, I did not realize you had such a skill," he replied, looking at her curiously, unfastening his leather vest. The long-sleeved undershirt that had suffered the brunt of Fatima's tears and such followed. Jandar crossed his legs under him, getting into a more comfortable sitting position. "After you fix me, perhaps you could do something about that nose of yours, hm? Or would a mirror be needed for that?" he was both genuinely wondering if she could heal herself and teasing her that she should.

The Warlord then looked on at her. Though Jassen's corpse was still laying there, not yet buried, the overall mood was now much better. Jandar judged that now was the proper time to at least alert Fatima regarding their situation. She'd probably sensed the unrest, but they'd have to properly think on it and discuss it, though the latter would most likely be left until Faeril was awake and coherent enough to participate. "My Lady, I don't intend to be impertinent, but I feel I should caution you on our situation nonetheless. We will likely discus this in depth with Faeril, however, I do suspect we may travel or otherwise co-operate with each other for at least a short amount of time. Personally, I more than welcome the Black Widow, however the Dea Al Mon Prince is...Well. You've heard him; he'll likely go after Xandar at one point or another. And such division from the inside when we face opposition from the outside, frankly, is a folly we cannot afford. I doubt a man such as himself will let himself be convinced to act in any way differently than how he'd proclaimed he would. Regardless, if you could think of a solution to our dilemma, that would be...good. I hate to put such a burden on yourself, but you, as a Queen, have perhaps the best chance to resolve this, regardless of that Prince's opinion. Perhaps in conjunction with a word or two from the Black Widow," Jandar pursued his lips in thought, pondering if there was anything else after that bit of monologue.

There was, he realized. He sighed. "I don't wish to admit it, but if we will be facing more situations in which your safety will be compromised as much as it had been today, it would not be unwise for you to learn at least the basics of self-defense, stealth, and perhaps some other combat-related abilities."
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Hidden 4 yrs ago Post by Slim Shady
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Xandar Markov


Location: Ashkevron residence, front yard in a tree


Xandar lie quietly on the branch, looking up at the afternoon skies as the clouds shifted in their patterns in random. It was almost, calming, and he smoked his cigarette and drew in the long breaths of smoke before releasing them into the air. This was one of the few things he did to have any sort of inner peace, normally he was so worried about doing something or having to be productive and involved. There were the few moments that he would just relax, not a care or thought in the world, and just take in the time he had for what it was.

As he heard the voices in the distance he closed his eyes and tried to block out the mess, but the words were getting louder and he knew exactly who was saying them. Cold, judging, venomous words of an uncaring man to his Queen, he took one of the thinner branches next to him in his hand and snapped it, crushing it and letting the leaves fall to the ground. It was alright, she was a big girl, she could handle herself. He was trying to behave himself and let the dust settle, but those words did not sit well with him. But, he was determined to keep his cool.

He heard quick footsteps approaching his direction, and he knew exactly who it was, but he rested calmly on the tree in the same position he was. He was about to say something snarky but he remembered what Faeril and his Queen said. Fighting with Mikhail would only bring worse, and if he truly wanted to do what was best for the people he cared about, he would be civil. So he looked tired, calm, and gave off a much weaker persona than normal as he slumped down from his branch and landed softly on the grass.

"Mikhail, I'm in no mood or shape to fight, if that was what you were looking for. I know there's been arguments, and we've had our differences. I don't expect you to like me, and I know you want me long gone, I understand. We both have our interests, and we may be at odds, but our goals are similar. We are indebted to one of them there, Faeril and Fatima, and they both have the same goal. To cure this land of the wicked rule of Queens that have done us wrong. Both of us. All of us. So we all need each other if we ever hope to get that done. I don't expect to be friends, but I'm willing to at least be civil. If you won't do it for me, for Fatima, at least do it for Faeril."

Xandar talked in a slow, almost sad and tired manner, like a man after a long day of work who just wanted to fall into bed. He reached into his jacket pocket, taking out the note he had found on the body. He pressed it into Mikhail's hand as he passed him, standing beside him for a moment while he spoke.

"There was a note on one of the guards with this location, as well as the presence of Faeril and I. This what a planned attack, of course, but they do have an informant that we don't know the identity of. I feel as though Faeril trusts everybody here enough that it wasn't any of us, but I don't think we'll be safe here for much longer. That's all I know. Feel free to bother those two with interrogation if you so wish. But, if you'll excuse me, I am going to try and comfort my Queen. I hope you think about what I said and we can come to some sort of compromise, for the better of the group."

With this last word Xandar clasped the man's shoulder, and then slowly made his way towards the rest of the group in the front yard. If he was on his own, left to his own thoughts, that might have ended more violently. But he knew that he would have to behave and control himself if he was to be any use to his Queen. He's been a rogue for a while, a violent, rude, warlord prince with no bounds and no restraints and he had been long removed from court life. It was easier to have a hard exterior to protect himself, to trust nobody. But, with people in his life he actually cared about, ones that he could trust that weren't those awful Queens... maybe he could open up a bit more.

"Hey, is everyone alright? I've put Faeril to bed and rounded up those two survivors. I think we're safe for now, but I don't know for how much longer. Somebody gave them the tip that we were here, and if we stay here, it's not going to end well. This is the exact reason I have moved place to place for many years, being hunted by Queens and courts. We can talk about who did what and work out those details later, but if we want to keep our heads, we're going to have to leave. To where I'm not sure, but we're going to have to go into hiding again before we make our next move."

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Ashkevron Residence, Askavi, just outside.





Mikhail was honestly surprised with Xandar's speech as he approached the man but he simply kept silent as he heard him. The second he passed the note towards him, explaining what it had written in it, it became clear that he was correct. All that situation, everything that happened was too much of a coincidence and that note made everything clear. It was a planned attack, they knew that Faeril was out, sent a distraction to keep them busy while the others went after Faeril herself. Silently cursing himself for not taking his instincts more seriously, Mikhail's eyes were almost burning the note as he read it.

"Fighting against you would be counterproductive." he said in a cold, calculating tone as he looked back to Xandar without changing his expression.

"While we do have similar goals, your hostile, volatile and violent behavior put mine into risk. Eliminating you would be a waste of my time and effort. While it would eliminate a rogue, potentially dangerous variable in my plans, it wouldn't help to handle the current situation and it would exhaust valuable resources and energy." Mikhail continued, his voice was cold, but far from a threat.

"I don't need you to like me or to respect me. I need you to think before you act or say anything. As long as we stay out of each other's path and do not obstruct each other's goals, we should be fine." Mikhail finished as Xandar was about to leave.

As he put his hand on Mikhail's shoulder though, Mikhail's muscles tensed up for a moment as he had to control his reflexes. It was still far too early for him to act so friendly towards Mikhail. Not only that but touching Mikhail when he is in a state of alert was honestly, a dangerous thing to do due to his reflexes as an assassin.

Truth be told, Mikhail was a bit relieved by what Xandar said. Not having to worry about him would make things much better for himself. That said... Having read the note Xandar found, he knew that they would have a really hard time facing the queen who was after Faeril. She was cunning, had vast power and knew how to use it. It would be problematic to deal with her, even more knowing that the group was far from organized. Still... Mikhail still had a few plans in mind... But for them to work, he would need time and planning.

With the entire conversation finished, Mikhail slowly walked towards the Eyrien warriors who were still alive. He knew that it would be highly unlikely that they had any information other than what he already knew, but it was still worth the try.

As he walked, anyone who looked at his face would realize that, unlike before, his expression was completely devoid of any emotion. It was cold and empty, his mind filled with thoughts. He was sure that the queen wouldn't give up with just that. That planned attack was more than enough proof for Mikhail to know that she knew how to plan and wasn't the crude type just to use raw force.
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Arc I - Terreille in Trouble




In front of Ashkevron Residence, Askavi

Interacting with @Slim Shady @eclecticwitch @13org @Zoey White @SilverPaw



Gennar watched as his prescene was ignored by both Dea Al Mon Prince and Eyrien Warlord Prince, and thanked the Darkness that Xandar had his head out of his ass. The man was a great asset, especially for dealing with and protecting Faeril, but he was simply not likable. A rude, argumentative personality that was sadly common among the darker Jeweled Warlord Princes of his race. Trailing after both men, the Green jeweled Warlord hoped that was well, or as well as they could be as Fatima's wailing broke the clouded day. It wasn't easy losing a man and it seemed a lesson the tiny Queen was learning.

Bellinar was hovering over the prisoners, shooting worried looks towards Fatima. His brother, Denvar, perched on a stone looking out for more danger and politely ignoring Fatima's screams. Both men understood loss and both knew best to let the Dhemlan deal with the Queen. Yet as Xandar approached, Denvar didn't leave his post eyeing the Reaper with a wary look as he bowed his head in acknowledgment. But it was Gen in his gruff voice who spoke up at the news the Ebon-Grey brought. "Whatever we do we can't stay here any longer." The Warlord agreed though he looked very worried at that thought. "I think Faeril would have an idea or two, Lady, but leaving will happen. Especially if there is a traitor in the town. We'll have to pack as much as we can. Faeril will be loath to leave this place." The Warlord admitted, giving his brother both a look as they seemed to nod between them and go into the house to start just that. "We can put the prisoners in the Bellinar's room until then. If anyone wants to help... Well there's plenty of stuff that would be better off not in the hands of Lady Melian."

In front of Ashkevron Residence, Askavi

Interacting with @Zoey White

The door swung inwards with a slight squeal of protest from hinges that sorely needed oiled. The wood caught and stood firm as it snagged on an interior rug that was thick with dust before some more pushing would move the rug as well as the door. But within, the first thing that Dareen would notice would be the fact this room was smaller, though not by much than Bellinars and most likely due to Faeril's workroom. Such a room for a Healer would need to be large for dealing whatever the patient needed, especially if it was in house care. But the second thing would be the elegant window that leaked in thin light from between the dusty curtains. They were thick things, made to keep light out but the years had left them motheaten and their edges worn from time. The rest of the furniture in the room seemed to be a collection of spare trunks of stuff shoved in here for storage, spare chairs and cushions or the old memento that had been hidden rather than tossed out.

But those were placed about as if to disguise the truth of the room. Rugs were everywhere across the floor and thick with dust that hid their coloration from the observer. The walls were some color that was pale but certainly not white as was common about the Eyrie. The stone was often laid bare, but not in this room. Plaster covered the stone and the ceiling was spare of any hanging lanterns that could be lit with the Craft. There weren't even any shelves set into the wall. Rather there was a floor to ceiling wardrobe that was covered in cobwebs hiding the design that was carved into the wooden paneling. Other bits and bobs of furniture about the room was equally questionable. Small chests that really could hold nothing of any real size. Shelves that were rounded and the tops were covered with plush little creatures and the odd book. But it was the one piece of furniture that filled the center of the room. Gently rocked back and forth by an unseen hand...

A cradle, the top canopied by thin gauze veils and gently cloaked in dust.
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Hidden 4 yrs ago 4 yrs ago Post by Zoey Boey
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Dareen Kahina

within the eyrie


Dareen didn't know what she was expecting. A forgotten guest bedroom? A broom closet? For one thing, she had expecting it to be locked. But it opened easily, and her head leaned in naturally to get a glimpse of the inside. Taking a step inward, she pushed the door open and followed the light's rays to the center of the room.The glint of bored curiosity in her eyes quickly morphed into shame as the truth of the room settled in her gut like a rock. "Oops..." She whispered under her breath.

Looking upon the empty cradle, her cheeks quickly flushed red. She wasn't supposed to be in here. No one was. Maybe she was overthinking it. Perhaps this room did not imply what Dareen knew it did. Much like the Black Widow had peered in Dareen's mind and saw her darkest secrets, Dareen now felt as if she had peered into the mind of Faeril and saw things that noone was meant to see. This room was a dark recess. Retracting her foot over the threshold, Dareen gently shut the door. Why could she never let well enough alone, she wondered? It almost felt like self-sabotage at this point. Should she tell Faeril? Perhaps if she was some kind of moral crusader, but if Faeril never found out about this everyone would be happier. Best pretend like this never happened.

Swiping away at the bottom of her tunic with her hands as if she could simply shake loose the secret of the eyrie, Dareen quietly made her way out of the hallway. Briefly, she paused by Faeril's bedroom. The door was open, and Faeril slept somewhere within. The mercenary...had a lot to make up to the Healer. The debt had only increased. Whatever was going to happen, it wasn't going to happen now. Dareen probably couldn't wake up Faeril if she wanted too.

Perhaps she should stay in the hallway, afterall. Faeril might need something when she wakes up, and currently none of the others were inside the eyrie. In order to seem detatched, Dareen went back to the spot she had before. A door down from where Faeril was, outside of Dareen's own guest bedroom. In order to seem busy, she unlooped the quiver from around her shoulder and began counting arrows. Eleven. Eleven arrows left. That distraction did not last long. Might as well count them again. Quietly, the mercenary slid down the wall, moving her knees to her chest. Holding her palm out, a small, well worn sketchbook appeared in her hand from the ether. It was one of the only things she kept vanished. Tucked into the spine was a bundle of charcoal sticks- not nearly as permanent as an ink and quill but suitable for her purposes.

Delicately holding a charcoal stick between her left index finger and thumb, undid the tight bindings of the book and flipped through their well-maintained pages. Sketches of all kinds rest within, most smudged or fading on one way or another. Faces, the human figure, landscapes, animals, objects of interest, buildings, maps. Pruulish words floated between them all, not sentences or dates but rather exclamations or brief proclamations. There was no rhyme or reason to it. Indeed, Dareen had found an unmarked patch of paper next between two older sketches. What to draw? This was meant to be a distraction, but perhaps putting some of her feelings to the page would help take her mind off some things.

A well-dressed woman began to manifest herself within the dark lines of charcoal. Long hair, slender and tall, with wings held close to her back. The faces were always simple and undetailed. Still, Dareen managed to capture some of the elegance and sharpness to the woman's face. She was looking at something in her right hand- something that wasn't there. Dareen would figure it out when she came to it. Soon, the woman was complete. Anyone who knew Faeril could probably tell it was her. Tapping the writing utensil on the corner of the page, Dareen decided on what to draw. There was a toy, now, in Faeril's right hand. Floppy bunny ears, a round body, and four stubby limbs. Staring at the completed illustration for a moment, Dareen slipped the charcoal stick back into the spine of the book and began flipping idly through the pages. The sound of crinkling parchment could barely be heard over the silence of the hallway.



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Jandar Varan
In front of Ashkevron Residence, Askavi

When their conversation was done, Jandar let Fatima heal him, then summoned his traveling backpack, stashed his dirtied shirt, and pulled out a fresh one. After redressing and vanishing the backpack, he stood gracefully and offered Fatima a hand to pick her up, perhaps even escort her to the house if she still needed a bit of support.

Then, the Eyrien Warlord Prince ambled towards him, looking somewhat worn out from the battle. “Mm, with how convenient that attack was, a traitor was to be expected. There were three enemies waiting on top of the stairs we’ve just ascended, and from the looks of it, there had been a simultaneous attack on the house that the rest of you fended off. If there had been less of us…” Jandar trailed off. There was no need to complete the sentence; the well-prepared attackers had been routed only because the circumstances hadn’t been quite as they’d expected. “I certainly agree that we should leave as soon as is possible. Perhaps the Black Widow will have a suggestion as to the where,” he commented.

The Warlord nodded politely in the direction of the Eyrien brother who had spoken. “Perhaps a simple exchange of names would not go amiss,” he noted in an amused tone. After all, he still did not know the names of all of those whom he had fought alongside. “My name is Jandar Varan. And yourself? And, if I am not mistaken, those two are your brothers?” he gestured at the two remaining Eyriens, who were already on their way to Faeril’s residence.
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Ashkevron Residence, Askavi, just outside.





Interrupting his thoughts, Gennar's voice drew Mikhail's attention as he spoke after he heard what Xandar had to say. Even though he wasn't talking directly to him, Mikhail couldn't ignore the fact that they indeed had to start packing their things. Their position was already known there and it would be the best for them to find a new hideout, at least for now.
When Gennar mentioned taking the prisoners to Bellinar's room, Mikhail turned to him and the rest of the group.

"Let me take care of them. They still might have some information to tell us. No matter how small it may be." he finished, approaching Gennar.

"I only ask you to not let anyone enter the room without knocking first. Especially Fatima, do not let her enter at all. In fact, It would be best for her to remain oblivious of what will happen inside it. That said, I will try to not kill them as I know that Faeril might be able to take information out of them that I wouldn't be able to by using her techniques. I know she is exhausted, but if she is feeling better after resting..." Mikhail said, in a lower voice to him. Being clear of what he was planning to do with the prisoners.

"My only possessions are that which I'm able to carry with myself, so I am ready to go whenever you all are. Traitor or not, I would recommend us to not stay longer than the necessary here. It is a fact that our enemies do have a worrying amount of information regarding our movements. By staying here we are exactly where they want us to be." Mikhail finished.

"I'm Mikhail, by the way. Just Mikhail." he said, turning to the unknown ally who had presented himself as Jandar Varan. If he was going to 'work' with him, or at least close to him, he needed to know Mikhail's name.
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eclecticwitch The Effervescent

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Location: Outside the Eyrie




She nodded in response to Jandar's mention of the two men who were to be her allies. The tension between them was bitter and thick. She sighed as she touched the wound at Jandar's side. Her fingers sank slowly into - through - his skin and began the process of knitting together the rent flesh. She did not speak during this, her concentration fully on Jandar. When she felt the wound was now stable and would not come apart at the tiniest provocation, she removed her hands and paid attention to her nose whilst her companion took care of changing his clothing.

There was a sickening crack as she held her broken sniffer between her hands and forced it back into place. Fatima winced and allowed herself one small whimper before holding a single hand over her nose. She closed her eyes and let her instincts take over, flowing through her as she mended cartilage and bone. Within a few moments, her nose was good as new and it only took as long as Jandar needed to change his clothes. She summoned one of her handkerchiefs and wiped the blood from her face as well as she could. Her nose was still tender so she was extra careful around it.

She allowed Jandar to help her up, giving his hand a firm squeeze once she was on her feet. She removed herself from his grasp and turned to Xandar and the brothers as they approached. Despite the redness and swelling the crying had done to her eyes she still managed to hold some air of regality. A smile found its way to her lips as she greeted them in turn. "Thank you all," she said, her voice still harsh from her sobs. The smile grew to a wry smirk as she considered both Xandar and Jandar's words. "I've found that, if you are wanting to run away and avoid capture, it is best not to know where you are going yourself." She was serious though her tone offered a bit of playfulness. "I believe the two of us are already packed, having just arrived." She gestured between Jandar and herself. Her eyes then fell on Jassen. Her breath hitched and she had to close her eyes to keep the tears from falling anew. When she opened them again, she allowed herself to speak.

"If there would be anyone kind enough to help me, I wish to burn my loyal companion and carry his ashes with me. He should be buried at home. Not out here among strangers." Hey eyes flicked between the men. She planned to use witch's fire, naturally. However, wood would be required to encase the body and allow proper heat to disintegrate flesh. "As for the other dead," her eyes moved toward the literal killing field. The other bodies were gone. Someone had already taken care of the situation. She frowned as this would not have the effect on those that came for them that she desired. No time to think on that now. Jassen first. "Never mind," she mumbled.
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Xandar Markov


Location: Ashkevron residence, front yard


It seemed everything had calmed down a bit, and though there was much internal conflict within himself, Xandar kept that to himself. He would have to found an outlet for his anger that wasn't the people around him. Normally he would not feel any kind of restraint and happily berate the others around him for his own amusement, but the urge he felt for his Queen held him in check. After all, controlled rage was much more deadly than a wild one.

After much of the group carried on their conversation, the warlord prince was spacing out a bit, thinking to himself about the future ahead. There was a lot of uncertainty surrounding the group, and Xandar couldn't trust half of them much farther than he could throw them. And he could throw them pretty far if he wanted to. But, he trusted Faeril and Fatima to an extent, and by extension that meant he had to be okay with who they trusted. Although it was almost nice, being a part of something bigger and having a purpose. All these years he fought as a rogue for his cause, for his beliefs, for his people... but in the end it just felt selfish. He had put many lives at stake fighting for a cause that was good but also lost. He might have been able to save their lives, maybe just waited. But he knew that wasn't his style or nature, but now that he had a Queen who stood for the values he stood for, he had confidence that his movement might have some strength to it now. Maybe soon others would think more of him after hearing his name.

He seemed to snap back into attention when Fatima mentioned something about dead bodies, and he looked over his shoulder at the cliff where he had chucked the bodies off of. He gave a low whistle, rubbing his neck. "Yeah... about that. They're not necessarily gone just, well, relocated. And don't look quite right anymore if we're being honest here. But if you insist I can bring them back here, along with some firewood for the ceremony. I'd much rather that than go through that house."

The Ebon-Grey vanished his clothes, wearing nothing more than a loincloth as he summoned a large ax into his right hand, hefting it as he let the wight of it rest on his broad shoulder. The man stifled a yawn, running a hand through his long hair and brushing it out of his face. He had been meaning to cut it shorter, but he hadn't really had the time as of late. It seemed there was a lot of cutting to be done tonight.

"I shouldn't be gone long. Unless there is anything else you need of me I'll be making my descent to the forest below."
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LadyRunic The Laughing Raven

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Arc I - Terreille in Trouble




In front of Ashkevron Residence, Askavi

Interacting with @Slim Shady @eclecticwitch @13org @Zoey White @SilverPaw



"Gennar." He returned the courtsey, jerking his head in his brothers' general direction. "My brothers, Bellinar and Denvar." It was a short answer, but they were running low on time, taking note that Fatima would be busy with the remains of her former companion the Warlord gave a short nod to Mikhail. He could appreciate what the assassin was offering. While Faeril would have been a better option, the Black Widow was out of commission by her own actions. Something he was going to explain to her was a bad idea. "There's a better place than Bellinar's room..." Muttered the Warlord. "Just... help me strip it of everything before you begin." The words were softly spoken but at most only Jean would be close enough to make them out. Picking up one of the Eyriens, he left the other for the Dea Al Mon. Figuring the Grey Jeweled Prince would rather carry his own weight so to speak. Leading the man, he walked towards Faeril's work room, and thankfully found the witch within dead within. Though Dareen proved more of a question, giving the Pruul witch a stern look as he pushed the door open and hauled the two warriors into the room. Gen raise a finger to his lips. If she wanted to, for all he cared, the witch would have no trouble following them as Gen shoved open the hidden door and made his way as quietly as possible down the steep steps to a second door, as heavy as the first.

"Don't mention this room to anyone. Faeril is... It her other work room." His golden eyes held who ever was following him. "Been in her family for years and these won't be the last, nor the first, to... suffer down here." There words were halting and stilted as he lit the small hidden room with witchfire. The dim glow revealing a long stone table with channels in that Mikhail would know was for a liquid. Cabinets lined the wall much like the room above but this one was filled with books and the tools of the Black Widow's craft. Dropping the cringing, and now awake though his partner was far in the realm of dreams yet, eyrie on the cold stone floor. Gen shut the door behind the group before dragging out a large and heavy-looking chest. Old power was woven about it and within it he began to stack the precious journals and books. Some falling apart, others looking like several hands had written in them as their covers were partly torn. "You can start once we get these away from their stink."

Bellinar grinned imprudently at Xandar. "Can't wait to show off to the Ladies, can you? Thankfully Faeril's asleep else hopefully she'd have the sense to..." It was a clear just but an elbow from Denvar rammed into his brother's stomach and an irritated and forlorn sigh told anyone with half a thought that it was an old one.

"Go get wood, Bellinar, or make yourself useful and may the Darknesss be merciful don't tell Faeril that. Not after this. She's liable to rip your wings off and beat you with them." Shaking his head at his brother's stupidity he walked to the house and began pulling things out of the kitchen that they would probably need.
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Dareen Kahina

within the eyrie


Dareen had startled a little bit when Gennar and Mikhail entered the room, having gotten absorbed in her drawings. Quickly she tucked the charcoal utensil back into the book's spine and vanished it back into the little pocket of non-existance from which it came. Dareen responded to Gennar's stern look with an apologetic compression of her lips and raising of her eyebrows. But her gaze quickly shifted to the two unconscious survivors that were being carried into the house with them. Prisoners? Perhaps an interrogation or mind-search was under way. Faeril, however, was unconscious. How did the golden-eyed eyrien intend for the resting Black Widow to pry into the thoughts of these two people?

Curious, Dareen stood to her feet and pushed herself away from the wall quietly, following the two men inside. Dareen grimaced sympathetically as Gennar revealed his true intentions. "A torture dungeon. No home is complete without one." Dareen quietly remarked facetiously.

Warily, she eyed the prisoners. Most likely those two's day was about to get even worse. If Gennar or Mikhail asked, she would do what she could to help. Generally, only the weak willed gave into traditional torture. Though it did depend on the victim's motivation. Mercenaries and selfish people will break faster, perhaps even before the torturing starts, if they see no reason for them to suffer on someone else's behalf. True believers, on the other hand, whether they be fighting for a cause, their family, or friends, will rarely ever break. Usually they become spiteful and resilient. Dareen knew this because she had seen it first hand. Participated in it. Someone like the brothers would suffer infinite traumas before giving up someone like Faeril. Fortunately, Dareen hazarded a guess that these two thugs didn't feel that way about anyone. Perhaps they may be too afraid of their leaders to buckle, though, dreading that if they are captured by those who sent them here they would suffer an even worse fate. Guess they'd just have to find out.

When Gennar asked for help, Dareen thought she may as well make herself useful. An extra set of hands would make the work quicker. These books were old- very old. They smelled like it, and read like it too. A decent portion of the material was written in Eyrien, a language she recognized but couldn't speak or read. However some of it was in Common, and she did catch glimpses of the content within. One book was open and her eyes scanned over the dusty words. Inside were descriptions of horrific spells that could rip a witch's magic away and leave her to suffer in madness. Or spells to help mend a broken mind. "Yeesh," she commented, placing the book in the trunk with the others. Most of what she could read was more mundane, like cookbooks and recipes. A few journals going by the titles. Some of these tomes were so old and so beaten up that Dareen wondered what the point of keeping them was at all. Though it was none of her business, so she kneeled down to a nearby pile and began sifting through it once again. Finishing up quickly was important, but she did have to be careful around these old books. Some of them could fall apart if she looked at them wrong. She wondered if any of the mind-destroying technique would be used on the two men. Briefly, she reflected on the fact that they very well could have been used on her if Faeril wasn't a merciful person. Unfortunately for these two, they showed up on Faeril's door step to kill her, while Dareen was brought here by coincidence. Perhaps they weren't privy to the same mercy that she was.


Hidden 4 yrs ago 4 yrs ago Post by 13org
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Outside of the Ashkevron Residence, Askavi -> Within the Eyrie, Faeril's secret work room





Silently hearing Gennar's words, Mikhail nodded as he told them there was a better room for what he was planning to do than Belinar's own room. Not only it would be more discreet... But honestly, he didn't want to make things worse for him. Faeril still haven't noticed the mess he made on the entrance of her house when he killed some of the warriors using his wires...

Unceremoniously getting the unconscious body of the other warrior and putting it on his shoulder almost as if it was a mere sack of meat, Mikhail followed Gennar inside heading towards Faeril's work room. Once they got inside, much to his and Gennar's surprise, they found not only Faeril resting, which was something they already expected to find, but they also found Dareen standing outside, in the hall to Faeril's room. Meeting the Pruul witch's eyes with a stern look, Gennar simply made a gesture with his hands telling her to stay silent as he went to a second door. Upon entering the secret room, it was immediately clear that it was much more suited for the type of works Mikhail had in mind than the previous one. Obviously, it would be wise to maintain the existence of that room a secret from the rest. What did surprise him more though was when Gennar mentioned that the room was in fact, Faeril's other work room. A single glance around the room was enough for Mikhail to realize that the Black Widow was much more than just what she wanted others to believe.

Dropping the Eyrien warrior he was carrying a few meters away from where Gennar dropped his, who fortunately, was already awake, Mikhail started helping Gennar to store the many, old journals and books away in the big chest. While he did so, he took a quick glance to Dareen as she helped Gennar to store the journals, stopping for a brief moment to read one of them. While Mikhail wasn't particularly interested in their contents, her reaction after taking a glance at them quickly indicated him that those most definitely weren't books about healing.

"You don't need to stay here if you don't want to." Mikhail said to Dareen, soon after. He knew that watching or doing that sort of stuff wasn't for everyone and he didn't want to force Dareen to stay there if she didn't want to. Even though she didn't seem to be that shocked when she entered the room, Mikhail still wanted to give her a choice.

"Good, one of them is awake. I'll start with him first. The other will probably wake up too once I start." Mikhail said as he finished helping Gennar, finally turning to the already awake Eyrien warrior.

Kneeling besides him, Mikhail unsheathed one of the curved daggers he carried with him, stabbing the Eyrien in the thigh and them twisting the dagger. A quick stab, avoiding any dangerous veins, it's purpose wasn't to wound, but just to inflict pain. The searing pain would be enough to fully wake the still groggy Eyrien and tell him that Mikhail wasn't playing around.

"Shall we start?" Mikhail asked, pulling the dagger with a quick snap of his wrist and cleaning the blade on the Eyrien's clothes as he looked at him with a cold, penetrating expression.
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Hidden 4 yrs ago Post by SilverPaw
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Jandar Varan
In front of Ashkevron Residence, Askavi

Gennar, Bellinar, Denvar… Jandar memorized the names he was given promptly, matching the appearance of each brother with each name as he gazed at one by one in turn for a few seconds. He turned, almost startled, when the Dea Al Mon introduced himself, and nodded cautiously in confirmation of the Prince’s introduction. Given that only minutes before, the man had ranted and raved how he would be only Faeril’s ally and not Fatima’s or her court’s, this practically placid introduction of his was slightly odd, but perhaps Mikahil truly was so professional that he could act as if nothing had happened. Jandar supposed he could reciprocate, but he’d still keep a cautious eye on this somewhat questionably ally of theirs.

In the mean-time, he observed peacefully with a slightly quirked eyebrow as Mikhail and Gennar carried the still living but unconscious assailants into Faeril’s house with what in Jandar’s mind was a very obvious goal in mind – information extraction. He didn’t mind, though he did wonder if Fatima caught on. However, if the Queen said nothing about it, Jandar certainly didn’t intend to alert her to the goings-on. “My horse, Teo, is still stabled by the inn downstairs,” the Warlord commented when Fatima mentioned that the two of them were all packed to go. He kept a sharp gaze trained on the Queen as she faltered lightly at the sight of her companion’s corpse, but as she was able to recollect herself swiftly, he did not intervene.

Fatima asked for help with gathering wood, but Jandar did not have a hatchet or ax on him, so he left that work to Bellinar and Xandar. The latter had stripped completely, and Jandar noticed the Eyrien’s recently healed wound. He frowned mildly, thinking that the added strain of woodcutting in addition to the fierce combat they’ve just been through might not serve the Eyrien well, but the Warlord held his tongue. For one, he was not a Healer, and for another, the Warlord Prince was likely quite aware of his own capabilities and limitations; insinuation otherwise would be an insult. The two Eyriens would have to be manpower enough for the wood. As for the house work, all the others had gone there, so it was bound to be crowded already. Moreover, Fatima would probably stay right there, by the old man’s corpse. The Warlord did not believe there would be any danger so soon again, but he certainly wasn’t going to risk anything and leave the Queen by herself. “I shall stay by your side,” he asserted, giving Fatima a calm and sure gaze, not with the intent to patronize or pity her, but simply matter-of-factly.
Hidden 4 yrs ago Post by eclecticwitch
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Location: Outside the Eyrie




While she did not fully hear Mikhail's request to keep her away from the room where torture was to take place she understood the undertones of the whispers. She could not wrap her mind around how this many could forsake and then try to protect her is sequenced breaths. Especially since she needed no protections. It was quite presumptuous for him to assume that she would not be familiar with such things. He was quite the puzzle and one she, fortunately, did not have to figure out for now. Her attention was completely caught by Xandar as he removed his clothes without shame. A light flush touched her cheeks and she smirked. She was not ungrateful for the sight and it caused her to giggle a little. A small reprieve from her anguish.

She left the others to do as they liked. Her new goal was to prepare the funeral pyre. Jandar offered to stay with her to which she smiled her thanks and lightly touched his upper arm. Without another word she went into the nearby trees and began to pick up dried sticks for which to use as kindling. She would first gather as much as she could and then start the platform. Perhaps Xandar would have some logs cut for her by then. Fatima also began the process of pulling rocks she found suitable and lay them in a rectangle shape - help contain the flames.
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