[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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[center][h3][color=8519A2]Location: Winton[/color][/h3]
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The chair began creaking again as Mikhail and Fatima spoke. Gennar leaving them to it as his eyes were trained more on their surroundings. Smart boy, Olenna had to admit. The Eyriens as a whole were generally in tune with their surroundings more than their words. "You are an unusual one that is for sure." The Priestess noted, her weathered fingers linking together as she considered what had been placed before her. A strong, young, and pure Queen who was from Hayll? It seemed Witch had a twisted sense of humor. Her chapped and cracked lips twitched as she wondered how long it had been since she thought of the legend. Too long, she supposed. Yet Olenna could hardly chasten herself for it. This land was forgetting and it had been in her best interest to forget to. To let time wear away her mind and her ability to care. "Well, you don't ask for much." She chuckled and considered the Grey Jeweled Queen. "I will make a black candle and open the Dark Gate, but there is a price." [i]There was always a price for everything, the question was if this daring Queen would pay it.[/i] "You must take the Black Jeweled Warlord Prince with you. Yes, I know the rumors about his ill-temper. The monster people call him." She sneered the creaking of the chair stopping as she gave Fatima a serious look. "Monster or not, he saved a young Priestess from being broken for the amusement of some aristocratic Blood. He'll take the blame. And I don't think you want to throw your Court against that man on the killing field." The old Priestess sighed.

Denvar considered the Pruulish witch and shrugged absently. [color=Tan]"You can choose your friends and family. The world is what you make it."[/color] Taking a stout drink from his cup, the Warlord Prince refilled it and studied the ceiling. The soft sound of footfalls scuffling overhead as Faeril hovered about her workroom. There were several louder thumps and Denvar gave a chuckle. [color=Tan]"She can never [i]not[/i] work on something. But as to how we know each other... My brothers and I, we're half Eyrien. Other half is Hyallian, much to my brothers' disgust. Our father would have been better off if the Queen had given him over to Auntie to shave him. Alas, he was banished and our mother was protected by Lady Nivarian."[/color] Studying the liquor in the glass, Denvar's look was guilty as he sighed. [color=Tan]"She was always a bit... lost though. Broken somewhere inside. Auntie did her best to heal her, but you can't heal what doesn't want to be healed. Lady Nivarian tried to find out more about Mother's past... No luck. She lived in Hyall for years before having Gen. Had just enough sense to snatch Bellinar and myself up and sprint for the mountains when our father started bragging about having Warlord Princes for sons."[/color] There was a ugly snarl to Denvar's face as he set the drink to the side without taking another sip. [color=Tan]"Bastard."[/color]