[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]Winton[/color][/h3]
[/center]
[hr]
The seaside town of Winton was a small and vibrant spot that was the crossing between the mainland and the island Territory of Chaillot, a large island territory known for its quiet life. Winton was the stop several made if they didn't bypass it entirely, to continue onto Chaillot. Any trouble that followed Fatima and her fledging group hadn't found its way to the winding cobbled streets or the old houses of the village that looked as though they had stood there for a century. Gossip was thick and fast in such a place, but it seemed that few people visited Winton, preferring the larger town of the Provincial Queen or the Territory of Chaillot. In fact, the only sign at all of the corruption that was plaguing those in power throughout the Realm had been Dunny's insistent refusal that this place was 'good' in any measure of the word. Even Thom with all his cajoling and assurances could not convince the dusty Sceltie that he would be fine. In fact, the small Sceltie had seemed to only make up his mind that going within this town was feasible if he was walking on [i]his[/i] Queen's heels. It had endeared the Hyallian woman to a pleasant, grandmotherly looking woman who ran an inn close to the edge of town which Denvar had found and discreetly arranged rooms for their group, though none of them would be able to luxuriate in privacy. The small inn was clean if a bit small, of weathered and worn stone on the outside and soft paneling wood within. The sort of thing for someone passing through and not expecting to stay for a while, which was true enough for the group.

As they had arrived at Winton, Fatima would notice the dry looking earth. The way people hurried about slightly as though to remain out of the public's eyes, the streets that were not swept as though to discourage people from dallying about in them. Shops and stalls that were open kept a close eye on people who came to look at wares that were of decent make but from a few exchange that Fatima could note often had the seller producing something from beneath the stall that looked of far better make. These people were not browbeaten, but there was a wariness to them. One which their aged hostess had seemed impartial to when she had gleefully informed her guests of where their rooms were. In truth, it looked rather similar to Fatima's village back in Hyall save for the incessant noise of the gulls above and the view of the endless blue sea. 

A group of well dressed young woman cavorting around a center woman with pale blonde hair and bright blue eyes who was laughing gaily with them as they sat in the low-wall garden of a restaurant as the group has passed would also attract the eye. Their dresses were perhaps a bit out of date, but the fabric and cut were of masterful work. Their jewelry was intricate and varied through the group, with the blonde in a gown of delicate magenta wearing pearls that were a delicate touch to her fine doll-like features. From her there was an utter draw of [i]Queen[/i], in in the sense to pull people to serve her but that is what she in fact was. So it was a slight relief to Thom that the Eyriens in the group had agreed to approach from another direction and had done so sooner. Not wanting to draw attention necessarily to Fatima. As the blond woman looked up sharply, her blue eyes flashed with something like a challenge and slight fear as she seemed to search for the Queen she too sensed before something one of her companions said forced her to return her attentions to the Aristo women about her. The two men with the group were a fair bit older, and looked uttered bored and entrapped as they charmed and played the gentlemen to the ladies about them.

That narrow call had been something of a worry, but Faeril was in a far more worrisome mood. It had been a solid week of careful travel and scouting to see if the village was safe to approach. Even with riding the Winds, there was a risk that while landing on a landing web it could force a confrontation that would not do their little group any good, and landing outside of a landing web would be nothing short of dangerous. Something that her boys were against risking for the Queen they were pinning their hopes on and their good friend. Faeril herself had other reasons to be against the danger... She had regained enough of her strength to no longer need constant rest or supervision. Not that anyone really listened to her on the latter. While she could not perform the more powerful Craft spells she knew, she could do the basic things without tiring herself out to foolish levels and it had given her enough strength to work on healing Mikhail a bit more. Which is why the two of them, three if you counted the boy, were in her room that she shared with Fatima. Where her boys and Fatima's men could keep watch over them. 

Plucking her hands from the tangled web of her Craft, she looked at her runner and conscripted errand boy and raised a skeptical brow. He had been set upon her as a watcher by her three 'brothers', and for once Faeril had not argued. [color=SlateBlue]"Why don't you go beg some ale from the innkeeper for the Prince, boy?"[/color] She had never called the boy by his name but the young, androgenous mix-blood looked utterly delighted by the thought of helping and was out the door before she could add anything to her order. Giving a sharp huff of satisfied amusement, Faeril wiped away the sweat from her brow with a cloth. [color=SlateBlue]"Now if only the rest of you can jump like that."[/color] She scolded the male. This was the first chance for any healing of his poorly damaged mind she had been able to do since that first time in her eyrie. The web she had first used to work on him in her lap was a bit more complex than it had been and the strands that had gathered those so fragile and broken pieces now cradled them while the Black Widow carefully fitted them together. Sorting the shape the chalice of the man's mind while she gathered the strength to more strongly stitch them together. The fleeting memory of those images she had seen, that face that had brought joy and loss. A critical need to protect that wonderful woman, and the pain that had come of it. She had pieced together the softer memories. The pieces that were larger and would be harder to fight. The honest joy of a family, a clan, in the thick forest of which the Dea Al Mon called home. The time spent training under instructors and the praise and encouragement that had been given by that all-important woman. The fact that this mysterious woman had always been there and was always to be there. The Black Widow had felt the jagged sense of loss awoken by the small web that secretly siphoned a bit of Mikhail's strength away to make her own soft stitches hold and strengthen their grip. It tore at the Healer within her and her own aching loss that the boy reminded her so much of. Wiping her eyes slightly at the burning sensation in them, she set about rolling up the web. It would do her no good to push herself to the breaking point again, now more than ever. [color=SlateBlue]"It will not be an easy thing, this healing. With our pace, I can make sure it will be a clean heal then erase them to a far better degree."[/color] There was still a vibrant growl at the sister of the Hourglass who had done such sloppy work upon the assassin. Abysmal she would call it at best. Negligence. [color=SlateBlue]"But nothing to do with the mind comes easily, especially..."[/color] With such a botched spell cast in the first place! Shaking her head, she gave Mikhail a reassuring smile that seemed far too understanding. Mikhail would see a deep sorrow in those cold blue eyes, and a certain decision that seemed to have been made without the woman being aware she had made it when she looked back up as the young pale haired lad hesitated in the door with large hesitant eyes.

[color=CadetBlue]"Innkeep says it'll be two silver marks for a small keg-"[/color] The lad started nervously, looking a bit bashful at having to return empty-handed. Only to be met with skeptical and slightly bemused look for the cold woman.

[color=SlateBlue]"And if you had waited a second, I would have given you these."[/color] A slender hand gestured, [b]calling in[/b] five silver marks, which floated over to the startled and slightly shocked lad. [color=SlateBlue]"Now go on, boy."[/color] The woman chided as Thom darted off pounding down the stairs to the main floor a second time like the demon-dead were on his heels and past the three brothers who were enthralled in a game of cards- poker, to be precise- which they had invited the rest of their company too.

On the other side of the town, on the outskirts, a small house sat wedged between its neighbors. The large Eyrien that graced the front door had drawn strange looks from the neighbors, but they were not the sort to ask questions. The building itself showed the signs of tired times, having knocked on the door Xandar now was face to face with a tiny female who was perhaps a quarter of his height and looking up at the massive Eyrien in a mixture of terror and awe. "Yes?" Though small, her voice spoke of a maturity that wasn't readily apparent. Lauran was indeed in her majority but her size had left her at a severe disadvantage with people assuming otherwise. So place a massive warrior from a race known for violence on the doorstep of her and her husband's house and things were bound to be a bit tense. "How can I help you-?" Her mousy brown hair and matching eyes were behind a pair of round spectacles as she narrowed her gaze up at the large man in suspicion as she blocked the way into her domain with a stubbornness that did not belong to an Opal Jeweled witch.