[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=8519A2]Location: Winton[/color][/h3]
[/center]

[color=Gold]"The Band of Compliance has no latch. As soon as it is broken, Dorothea will know."[/color] Saetan's voice was cold as he stood stiffly. Wounded from his punishment at the hands of a Queen and insulted. Angered by the drop in the temperature. The air becoming chilly as the windows fogged and the candles dimmed. [color=Gold]"The centuries have kept many alive who would otherwise be dead and I am loath to let the human hounds that Dorothea keeps as her personal army loose on the people of Dhemlan. Death would be a kindness, but a genocide? It would be a wrenching thing for a people so long-lived to watch their entire nation, culture, crumble away into nothing."[/color] For one of the Dhemlan people, Saetan felt a keen disappointment in Jandar's demand that his inaction had brought nothing to the Dhemlan people. Saetan wished he had something more he could offer besides the small, petty businesses that helped the Dhemlan people, the underhanded way he stole Dorothea's entertainment away from her. How he pranced and preened and distracted the Queens from looking too closely at Dhemlan. He yearned to escape and break free of Dorothea. To rip the woman to pieces along with the rest of her petty little puppets.

[color=Gold]"I shall find some place where I can rest."[/color] It was Gen who spoke then, his wings rustling. [color=FireBrick]"Take my bed. I'll stay on watch."[/color] The Eyrien offered, the Black Jeweled Warlord Prince inclining his head in acceptance of that offer.

Bellinar was weaving through the streets as he headed towards the edge of the town. A seedy tavern where a rough group of men hovered about the door. They stiffened at the approach of an Eyrien Warlord Prince, having fought such men before and knowing the bloodlust in them. [color=Tan]"I'm here to see your boss."[/color]

"He's inside. You followed?" One man a Challiot fellow with a long face and a squashed nose answered around a cigarette sticking out the side of his mouth.

[color=Tan]"No."[/color] The answer was short and tempered with rage at the insult as he stepped through the door. If Mikhail hung about the entry he would hear the whispers of [i]'fool', 'traitor',[/i] and [i]'winged bat'[/i]. The slurs against the Eyrien man an evil whisper as they seemed keen on some prize. Mercenaries. Thugs. If the Dea Al Mon followed Bellinar within the seedy in it would be a sight. The interior was large enough, but benches had been repaired several times, tables were nailed down, the floor was littered with signs of previous fights that had broken out. A man sat in a corner as more of the group of thugs spread out through the tavern, talking loudly and boasting about the Black Widows and outlaws they had rounded up. Bellinar seemed to ignore them as he approached the man. [color=Tan]"We have a problem. The Widow I protect is surrounded by even more powerful people. My price went up."[/color] The Eyrien looked furious, frustrated as he thumped his first on the table.

Faeril sighed and departed Fatima's rooms. The herbs she needed were grown in the tavern keeper's small garden and she figured she would leave a small offering of marks for the fresh herbs. They were always better to work with. Plus, it would give her a bit of breathing room from a inn full of sharp tempers and problems. Gardens always had a calming effect. [i]'Just like weaving, but I only get to do it half of the year.'[/i] Faeril thought absently as she stooped to gather up the herbs. Gen and Denvar must be within watching the Black. Meaning Bellinar was being polite and watching from a distance most likely. If not? It wasn't like she couldn't defend herself. Pulling her sleeves up she looked about for a small towel as she spotted a weed that was going to strangle one of the necessary herbs. A shed lay in the shadows of the stables, approaching it carefully she felt for the latch and sighed. The woman, the innkeeper, really needed to lock up her belongings better. In a town going through trouble... Looting would start if Alice turned out to be as cruel as she was thought to be.