[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 the ruined town of Sharon, Shalador[/color][/h3]
[color=SlateBlue]Counter of Days:[/color] 5 days
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The entire basement was a mass of dust and ash from the fires that claimed the town above and darker than pitch. Unlike other places worn by time, this dark depression was closed against the light of sun and moon. The rustling of the odd viper rat or other vermin filled the darkness. The ladder that had led down had groaned dangerously under Xandar's weight. A rung going as far as breaking part of the way down. The floor was a mixture of stone and dirt, an unfinished basement or one that had been torn up by the desperate or those smuggling things into or out of town nearby. The footprints scattered about were fresh to the trained eye. Crates and sacks of goods were scattered along the long narrow room giving places for someone to have ducked behind them.

There was a scuffling behind Xandar as Faeril fought her way down the ladder. Her dress snagging on one of the nails that was coming out of the wood. [color=SlateBlue]"Why in the name of Hell are you going down here?!"[/color] Hissed the Black Widow quietly, and with no small amount of irritation. She had helped the others and seen them off to the nearby town, while Xandar had wrested the table free of the ground which it was nailed to. Thus, being an obstruction to the Warlord Prince. The brothers three had wanted to protest her going down a dark and mysterious hole, but there had been a unanimous decision that so long as Xandar wasn't screaming in pain or Faeril wasn't calling the wrath of Mother Dark then everything was most likely fine. Beyond the witch's complaints, Xandar would hear the hitching of breath and the soft scuffle of feet on the stone floor. 

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[h3][color=Gold]Elsewhere in Eldra ,Shalador[/color][/h3]
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The town of Eldra was elegant in comparison to its neighbor, but there was a bitter chill to the air that had nothing to do with the weather. It was the chill of unwelcome and fear. The psychic scent that was a subtle hint to others of the Blood. There seemed to be a small bit of town that was almost quarantined off from the rest, the sight of those bare fingers with no Jewel gave the reason clear enough. Landens who had been forced to move nearby in order for the local Queen to maintain order. It was far less well maintained than the rest of the town and the people quickly moved out of the way of Fatima and her escort and out of sight. The guards who were keeping the unofficial border looked over the newcomers. Saying nothing but their gazes were variations of interest and wary subtle anger. Newcomers were always a questionable thing after all. Were they spies? Here for the Queen's pleasure? And would that pleasure bring the guards to haul some poor sod forward who had 'insulted' the Queen's guest? They kept their eyes forward, but they did mark the two woman and the Aristo man who passed through and into Eldra.

The streets themselves were kept clean, but the windows to the shops were slightly grimy with dust that hadn't been bothered to be wiped off during the day. It looked to Fatima, Darleen and Mikhail like many other places they had seen in Terreille. People hurried about along the street and tried to avoid looking at these visitors to their 'fair' town. The odd blooms of witchblood sprouting through the cracks in the flagstones. The popular tavern in the town had a few rougher looking men out front, bottles in hand as they talked conspiritorial with themselves. Looking about hesitantly.

"I told you, I saw him go down towards Darla's Red Moon House." Swore one of the men while the others heatedly contested this so-called 'fact'.

"Walst, if that was true then the Queen wouldn't be letting him leave the Manor. Aside, best not talk like that. You know the rumors." There were several other comments both approving and denying. Suggesting that perhaps the individual they spoke of was not so innocent as one would assume.

The street they were following led up past the tavern and several shops for a variety of tailors, a baker, a general store could be seen along with a decrypted looking bookstore and an equally old looking shop that looked like it catered with jewelry. Mikhail could well catch that the group was being followed by the eyes of several people. Namely by one weedy looking man who was far better dressed as he scuttled towards the tavern. The whispering group falling silent as he passed and watched the man pass with disgust obvious on their face as he sneered in return at them. A mutual dislike.

Darleen could very well note that the guards and fighters in town were sub=par. Not the best at their jobs. Typical of towns like this the real fighters would have been snatched up by more powerful Queens or would be kept close to the Queen. Her loyal guards. Yet the undercurrent of nerves in the town led Darleen to pick up on something else. Many of the men in front of the tavern had the balance of people who were expecting or ready to start trouble.

Fatima would sense the strange, unnerving pull that was a lure to her, but there was also a dark power that was just a hint. A thread that wove through the town. Something powerful had been about the streets and recently. It was a pull that could draw one up and through the thin crowds towards the side streets where even less fortunate shops would be. Through crooked and twisting trails into a small antique shop where books were sold. Not books that would acceptable to the local Queens but those that spoke of far more pure times to specific customers.