[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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[h3][color=SlateBlue]Winton[/color][/h3]
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Jandar would find the town as it had been, the streets held that unkept look of town that wasn't at it's most prosperous. The people hurrying about didn't give the Dhemlan another look. He was just another refugee of so many fleeing west to escape the dark, twisted power in the east. Something that was so common these days as people sought passage to Chaillot, or the even less known passage to Kaeleer, to avoid and start anew. The air of important business stopped the Warlord from being stopped as he moved about the seaside town. The owners of the stalls he stopped at showing him their wares and rarely offering idle chatter as they normally would have. They were not uncourteous, but rather maintained a distance between themselves and the customer. As though they weren't sure to classify him as one of the 'blue-blooded' Aristocrates or as someone more base born. Yet even as he moved about, Jandar could hear the whispers and snippets of conversations floating about the town.

"The Queens to the East are growing more greedy and want more of our crops and the haul we get from the sea. They'll pay out the nose for it you know." A witch minding a stall of woven baskets and making still more of them was conversing casually with a man who was rearranging his wares as though in boredom.

"They will only pay if they can't take it, and that gold can go to buying them more than mere food." Came the pessimistic counter from a weary voice. "Which will mean war. Their harvests are failing because their Queens don't give back to the land."

"And ours does?" The woman hissed back in more of an undertone. "Lady Alice only wishes to look pretty and play the darling of the town. If we need to tighten our belts-"

The burly man gave the witch a sharp look. "Careful, Lorrie. That's near enough to treason. Lady Alice gives back to the sea and we get our harvest. May not be as much as we'd like but we're not starving. If she wants to play the darling to keep the First Circle loyal to her, then I'll let her. Where's the harm?" The woman, Lorrie, looked utterly disgusted but offered no protest as two men walked by. They were handsome fellows and wore swords as openly as their Jewels. A Sapphire and Opal respectively. Guards, Jandar would recognize. Guards on patrol about the town. Though they were ready for trouble, they seemed easy with the people. They felt nearly 'clean' in comparison to the men who had attacked Faeril at her eyrie only less than half a month ago. They were just about matching heights with sun-kissed hair and one giving Jandar a look over with sparkling blue eyes. It was a humored look, but the steel behind it promised trouble if Jandar started it. But neither stopped as they continued on their patrol path, not finding the man much a threat.

It was scant seconds later, when a far smaller form nearly collided with the Warlord. Her arms had been laden with packages that went skittering over the flagstoned marketplace as the elderly witch gave Jandar an apologetic look. "I'm sorry, boy. Should have been watching where I was going especially at this time of day." Dressed in a homely gown that was worn and patched and a headcloth that held back a mass of hair that was half fizz, and another half tangles, the woman looked like some demented Black Widow out of the stories parents would tell their children. The only thing she was missing was the warts. For her nose was a hooked beak and her back was bent with the weight of years. A Summer-sky Jewel rested on her pendent chain, a lighter Jewel. But there was a twinge of pride in the woman that didn't belong to her Jewel. Not seeming to notice the others that swerved about her, the old woman bent to collect the eight or so boxes that had gone scattering about.

The tiny woman kept herself out of the business of her husband and it was something Gerald was thankful for. If she knew something it would put her at risk, as if she was not already with him living with her. If the Queen found out he had once been a rogue, things could go rough for the younger man. Let alone the witch who harbored him, no matter if she was his wife or not. The fact she was would probably make things worse on her. Running a hand over his face, the memories that haunted him on those bad nights coming back as Xandar talked making him look haggard. "A boy-? That you want to see if we can take in?" He considered what his one-time leader was asking of him. Lauran was rather fond of children though they both hesitated at conceiving another one after the failed pregnancy. An unfortunately common thing if the witch worked her Craft or the child just didn't form right. It was something that even the largest of families could admit a close brush with at least. "Lauran, my wife, wouldn't mind, but-" He seemed to search for the right words and found none. "It's not exactly free of strife and there is danger even here Prince Xandar. The Queen is decent enough, but I wouldn't trust any Queen after what we've seen." There was bitterness there and it was understandable. How many good men, friends, had they both seen killed? Tortured? Taken and disappeared in the dark of the night or the middle of the day? And when those men turned back up how many were alive and whole? Yet there was a debt owed and Gerald could hardly refuse his commander. "But- If you think it's best, we could take him on. One more mouth won't hurt us, so long as he's clever enough to not bring trouble down on us all." He wasn't comfortable with it, that was obvious, but inviting an unknown into your home during these times was a dangerous risk. One that Gerald worried about.

Faeril had watched Fatima and Thom lower the keg, the Queen disappearing back down the rickety stairs while the boy looked eagerly between the two. Wanting some chore to aid them, the Black Widow thought with an amused smile. As Mikhail offered to join her downstairs, the witch sighed and inclined her dark head. [color=SlateBlue]"I shall join the others with you, but first..."[/color] She made a slight motion, the keg's tap opening as it filled a cup Faeril had [b]called[/b] into being from that place where the Blood could store things. Scattering a few herbs from a delicate bag she [b]vanished[/b], the witch of the Hourglass Coven let a delicate tongue of witchfire brew the mixture together. [color=SlateBlue]"It will help the headaches, and ease the heart."[/color] She advised, all too aware of the boy hovering in the doorway and eagerly listening to every word like the youth did when they were trying to not be obvious about it. The Dea Al Mon's words coming back to her. Yes, he was right. The boy was bright and clever. Smarter than most children his age, but she could understand why. Left alone, especially in these troubled times? It was grow up quickly or die. Which he was [i]not[/i] going to do. The train of thought had caused the witchfire to flare around the goblet. Dismissing the flames, she carefully floated the warmed glass over to Mikhail. 

[color=SlateBlue]"Boy, why don't you help me down the stairs? I still am feeling a bit off-balance, shall we say?"[/color] It was hardly a request, and it was never one that Faeril would normally make as she swept by Mikhail with a firm look in his direction. Her stride making clear note that she did not, in fact, need the aid. But still, Thom offered his arm with the awkward courtesy of someone learning the proper manners and aided the Black Widow down the stairs. Reaching the bottom, she shooed the boy back up the stairs to harry Mikhail with a flip of a wing. Watching him race up the stair with an odd fondness in her eyes.

A fondness which was noted by Gen. His hand laying his cards on the table as he watched his longtime friend. [color=FireBrick]"Fold."[/color] He muttered, defeat in his voice. Though if it was about the game or what he had hoped was not, he couldn't say. Muttering a Eyrien curse, that he didn't try to hide, he arched a disapproving brow as Faeril glanced in his direction with a challenging fire in those eyes. One he could do without seeing, Gen thought bitterly. She just had to grow attached to the boy. Children were a weak spot of Faeril's and he had been aware she had taken the boy, figuratively, under her wing. But this? Running a hand over his fave he picked up his stein of beer and downed it in a few hearty gulps. [color=FireBrick]"No."[/color] His voice was a ponderous boulder dropped in the middle of the table.

[color=SlateBlue]"I did not ask you anything, Gennar."[/color] The Black Widow responded coldly as she gave Fatima and Dareen a respectful nod. [color=SlateBlue]"In fact, I said nothing at all."[/color] Gen merely gave her a disapproving look.