Nilfgaard... For the [i]average[/i] Temerian crossing the Yaruga to the south would have been a quite dangerous endeavour these war-torn days, but Tyrvariél knew that he was anything but average. He had been pretty much of an outcast for the whole of his life, but this probably was one of those rare occasions when this might actually work to his advantage. He did not wear any kind of headgear or bandana so to blatantly expose his pointed ears to every soldier and Scoia'tael who'd happen to cross his path. He certainly did not want to be mistaken for one of the former by the latter and have to pay for this with a fight. Also rumors had it that the ruler of these lands had more belevolent intentions for his kind. Wasting those would have been a folly, too.

Tyrvariél felt a little afraid, maybe even a little more afraid than those who would have to fight any monsters. Unlike those he did not have the task of throwing himself into one live or death situation after the other, but what he most likely also would not have was the respect of the party or anyone to share his true thoughts with. There weren't that many Aen Seidhe around in the first place, but with the bias caused by a high ranking human being in charge of this party he had no reason to expect more than one elf among its members -- himself. Everything else would have been a surprise.

A surprise he could see early on wouldn't come true. There were some trees and quite a lot of bushes around, but a campfire and its smoke gave easy directions. Even before Tyrvariél reached the campsite his eyeballs had already detected plenty of those around. All humans, most importantly the bastard son who seemed to wait for everyone to arrive. Better not to challenge his patience too hard...

He gave his horse a gentle nudge for the final bunch of yards, but the steed was somewhat exhausted and, quite obviously, very heavily laden for such a long journey. Acquiring such a proud and much more capable beast like the one that had just been called 'Charlie' was an issue even if one had the coin. The last breeder Tyrvariél had tried it with had been some ignorant snot from a village near Toussant, the man's last mumbles before closing the door having been something like 'lack of knightliness and overall relevance!'. Well that guy had become pretty irrelevant for the elf's memory, too! Overall one could argue that Tyrvariél had become a very profound eradicator of memories when it came to those he didn't like or care about. Efficiency came with training one could say, even if it wasn't voluntary.

Not being cared about however wasn't anything anyone of those present at the campsite would have to worry about for the moment. For the Aen Seidhe they currently all were mysteries he, somehow, would have to deal with for an undetermined amount of time. It felt only natural for him to start gathering information about them immediately, even if that meant focusing in on the not so nondescript rear of the woman that was Avery. Was she a sorceress ? Well if she was then, at least from Tyrvariél's humble and magically uneducated point of view, she had already missed the most powerful act of magic any human could hope to achieve: Giving birth to such a nice set of shapes.

But who was he to get stuck on stuff like this ? At least one of the anonymous crowd around Balidvar had started to stare at his stare and it felt disturbing. How many of those men had the bastard brought with him ? Tyrvariél guessed roughly a dozen, but for the moment he decided to ingore them. There were more interesting individuals around.  The witcher, for example. Or rather... one of the [i]two[/i] witchers that seemed to be around here, easily identifiable by the exquisite pairs of swords they carried around. One was a hulking man, but Tyrvariél had come a little too late to find out about his Skellige accent. He sat close to his more slender, slightly taller 'colleague' if one even wanted to use that term, apparently trying to get some kind of conversation started with the other who was more focused on his weapon right now. Something told him that it might be the better option to leave them alone at the moment. Witchers could be unpredictable, even though he had only faced one or two of them as customers so far.

The next who came into the elf's view was Nadia. She looked like a fighter, but with a touch of her own and that was not the her more dark complexion or her height. Were it the many, but only light scars here arms were littered with that triggered the imagination of a whirlwind so fast and ferocious that her enemies simply couldn't do more than that to her ? He didn't know enough about the Naizairi region to identify them as as the markings they truly were, but even with that knowledge she still would have had that certain aura.

Having run out of people that immediately caught his attention Tyrvariél was forced to turn his focus back to himself. How long had he stood on the spot right now, just turning his head while the richely adorned edges of his armor had been looking as if burning in the upcoming sunlight ? He didn't know, but it definitely felt too long and embarrassing. Also he'd have to turn his attention to the remainder of the camp, including the tents, mules and supplies. He wouldn't be able to do his job properly without equipment and not all of that had been suitable for transport by himself.