[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]
[hr][hr]
[center][h3][color=SlateBlue]In the ruined town of Sharon, Shalador[/color][/h3]
[color=SlateBlue]Counter of Days:[/color] 5 days
[/center]
[hr]
The Black Widow merely gave an annoyed huff as she began to weave the spell. Craft was a delicate thing that required one's concentration. The Black Widow's specialty all the more so as the line between sanity and madness was so very fragile. Yet small little distracts kept popping up. Minor annoyances that ruffled the Eyrien woman's infamous temper. A heart of ice or a heart of iron. Cold and uncaring as her patients sometimes called her to be. Yet now something was nibbling at that heart and making her cool and unflappable personality shift. Finally, she collapsed the web and tossed it into the forgotten fireplace. A ball of witchfyre following to burn the spell into nothing more than ash. Turning a cold gaze on where the Eyrien Warlord Prince had been sitting. [color=SlateBlue]"What did you mean it did not end well?! That 'last time' was merely a fluke after a night spent healing a madman and your own injuries. I can well take care of myself."[/color]

[hr][hr]
[center]
[h3][color=Gold]Elsewhere in Eldra ,Shalador[/color][/h3]
[/center]
[hr]
As the door opened the shopkeeper looked up, fear flickering across his face at the sight of a well dressed Aristo woman. Few of that sort ever visited his shop. When they did, they usually sent a servant rather than come themselves or were expected to be waited on rather than browse the shelves themselves. This one, however, had gone straight to the shelves giving him no time to attempt to slip out form behind the counter to assist her or to warn his other client. Let along try to hide the wall of those books that would surely cost him his other hand and most likely everything attached. Scrambling in an attempt anyways, the old man bowed stiffly as he raised his voice a bit louder than necessary in the dead quiet of the shop. [color=C71585]"Is there anything I can help you with, Lady=? Would you rather sit while I fetched the books that might interest such a woman as yourself?"[/color]

The books were clean, though the shelve themselves were old and worn. A slight coating of dust covering what didn't hold a book. The chairs where a client might sit and read were clean by the standards of those who were not Aristo. Comfortable as well, but any Lady of '[i]respectable[/i]' status would turn up her nose at them. Webs hung in the corners and the candles in the holders were old. As if they should have been replaced or used but hadn't. It wasn't exactly uncommon among the lower class if they were cutting costs. A sad fact if a town was being squeezed far too tight by the local Queen. Catching the pitched and the warning of the shopkeeper's voice, Saetan looked up. He was a tall man, but dark. Blending into the shadows as he listened, reading the psychic scent that was alluring to him and disgusting at the same time.

There was a Queen in the store.

Oh, he hated them. Dispised that twisted caste that was destroying the Blood and all they stood for. Yet there was a subtle sweetness to this psychic scent, one that he couldn't stray from. So he waited and listened. Absently using his Craft to close the secret panel and hide the books that could damn the shopkeeper and his family. Perhaps it was that he was curious, but he felt a spell woven into that scent. One that was free of the rot that Dorothea spread. Who would be so bold to try to spell him?

Meanwhile, in the alleyway, the dark scent still swirled. A few people wandered past the trio, keeping to themselves and hurrying along. Not paying too much attention to the faces around them. Especially not the well-dressed couple despite how they acted. Most tried to press themselves into the wall. One was a smaller figure, no more than a child. A lad by the looks of it. Who hesitated as they turned the corner, spying Jandar and Dareen in their disguises. Slipping away the lad moved with haste as though he had seen enough, or perhaps too much.