[center][h2][b][color=20B2AA] Jandar Varan[/color][/b][/h2][color=20B2AA](in the role of Johan Rentrick)[/color][h3][color=20B2AA]Eldra, Shalador[/color][/h3][/center]
Jandar’s head snapped to the side, body stilling, eyes narrowing – Fatima had wandered off into a grimy side-street, drawn by something. The aristocrat stilled his ‘wife’, stopping her in her tracks as well, though it looked like she noticed the Queen’s reckless action already. Jandar was apprehensive, both because Fatima had strayed and because he, himself, had rather a bad premonition in regard to what could have possibly drawn the witch into the alleyway. Nothing for it though; he’d have to follow.
 
[color=20B2AA]“Forgive my cousin, beloved,”[/color] he sighed out loud, making it sound as if eccentricity like this was to be expected. Frankly, in Fatima’s case, that was closer to a truth than a lie. [color=20B2AA]“Her flights of fancy occasionally manifest in such oddities,”[/color] he claimed, tone mainly dismissive, only the slightest hint of his true exasperation bleeding through. [color=20B2AA]“I am afraid we must follow, though I would prefer you did not have to gaze at this [i]cesspool[/i],”[/color] he practically spit out the word, suffusing it with contempt, [color=20B2AA]“much less walk through it any longer,”[/color] he concluded. Jandar then gently led Dareen through the alley.

He strolled through the filthy narrow street, adopting a moue of distaste. Faking disgust was much better than the alternative, after all. As they progressed, a psychic scent made itself known, and it sent shivers up Jandar’s back. At this distance, he discerned only that there was a male with a darker jewel than his own ahead. Nonetheless, his step stuttered briefly, heart rate picking up, breaths becoming sharper and quicker. He had a sense that this unknown person might be as powerful as Xandar, if not–

Jandar shuddered, and urged Dareen to quicken their pace, though he took care that they were not hurrying unduly. Their pace was such that it was obvious they did not want to linger – nothing more. Subtly, the Warlord leaned down to ‘Ranina’, whispering in her ear. [color=20B2AA]“Be careful,”[/color] was all that he muttered. Worst case scenario, she could take up arms alongside him. Though Jandar was uncertain if Mikhail had followed them into this obscure pathway already, he dearly hoped he had. The unfolding situation would likely call for the Prince’s unique expertise.

The Warlord’s hurried movements brought him and his partner near the dilapidated bookshop shortly. The scent, which is what had presumably drawn Fatima in the first place, was getting stronger, thicker. Jandar’s hold on Dareen tightened, though he did not notice. Nor was he aware that the fingers of his other hand had dug into his own palm, drawing blood. He was still breathing too harshly, pale, wide-eyed, and panicked. Jandar only distantly noted this, and it was with a tremendous effort that he was able to force himself back into rationality.

He was on edge of a realization, figurative micrometers away from grasping a certain understanding, but while his mind whirred and spun, Jandar also [i]acted[/i]. His gaze strayed from Fatima, to the bookshop, and back, a cycle he repeated once more before he forced himself to remain fixed on his Queen. [color=20B2AA][i]“Cousin,”[/i][/color] he hissed with feeling, reproof and terror mixing into something akin to anger. Then again, maybe his utter dread was blatant - he couldn't rightly tell at the moment. Disentangling from Dareen, Jandar stepped in front of the Pruulish witch, partly to offer his body as a sort of cover to her, partly to get closer to the Queen. There was something…Some[i]one[/i]. World-shattering. Wordless. Wonderful? Terrorizing? Ahead. They were just ahead. He felt it. The Queen obviously felt it too. But [i]who wouldn't?[/i]