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As this was by all accounts the most important information she’d hear for who-knew how long, Lilann listened with intent as Aleka and Cerric continued their song and dance. They were an interesting pair, as stark against one another as night and day. Part of her couldn’t help but wonder if that was intentional. Not that they had rehearsed these lines, or that they wore masks of a sort, but rather, had the good lord Mystralath placed them here on purpose? Like foils, in a play. 

The longer she listened, the more characters she saw enter and exit from the wings, the stronger the sense she felt that this place was a stage all its own. 

And just when things began to wind down, there came a hook. The stately woman returned, and called [i]Kyreth[/i] to the lord’s study. Lilann decided then that she’d have to reevaluate exactly how much she liked surprises. Her fingers twitched. Were she tall enough to keep her sword at her hip, she might have thumbed the pommel raw. 

[i]‘[color=skyblue]Don’t like this,[/color]’[/i] she wanted to say to him. [i]‘[color=skyblue]Makes my teeth itch. Don’t go.[/color]’[/i]

But she knew that wasn’t an option, not really. He couldn’t come this far and refuse a summons from the lord, not as he was. Though apparently, the elven woman seemed to think he wasn’t fit to accept it as he was, either. Lilann eyed her as she shed her cloak and offered it out. More itching, more twitching—why did this place set her off so much? She normally wasn’t this jumpy. 

It was Finnagund, she told herself. Being here, it was meddling with her.

Nevertheless, Kyreth seemed happy. Whether the woman had meant it as a slight, or her intentions were inexplicably genuine, Lilann supposed it didn’t matter. She gave him a wink, smiled reassuringly. 

“[color=skyblue]I’ve told stories about lords who didn’t dress this sharply,[/color]” she said. “[color=skyblue]Go wow the pants off our boss, hm?[/color]”

She held her smile until he was gone, then let it fight with the worry. It didn’t last long, the shadowy boy, Ermes, scuttled over to her right away. Despite being a fair few inches taller than she was, he somehow managed to [i]lurk[/i], like a peasant child searching for scraps in the shadows of a dinner party he’d not been invited to. 

He asked after [i]Lady M[/i], and she figured he meant the soldierly woman, Marta. Lilann had spotted the glance she’d gotten; had her attentions not been divided, she might have shot her back a smile just to see what would happen. 

Did she know her? Nothing came to mind, and Lilann was good with faces—better with names. It could have been that…well, she tried thinking back [i]further[/i] than she normally would. Before the cart, and the cold. To grassy roads. To char. Finnagund—

But her mind swiped at her, hissed like a cornered cat, and she retreated. No, you couldn’t turn a book any further back than its cover. 

“[color=skyblue]Look at me,[/color]” she said flatly. “[color=skyblue]I’m blue, and I wear a hat big enough to shade a giant’s eyes. At the risk of sounding arrogant, I’m a tad hard to ignore.[/color]”

It wasn’t a particularly good answer, but it was the only one she had for him. She didn’t know Marta. She didn’t know anyone in Finnagund. Lilann Storyborn was a stranger here, and that was that. 

She turned her attention to Ceolfric, eager to think about anything else. Agatha Hawthorne, a name she [i]did[/i] recognize. Yes, Aleka had been right to suggest she knew stories, all sorts of them. None of her own weaving, of course—it was startling less fun to meddle with legends she hadn’t helped grow herself—but it never hurt to listen and admire. 

“[color=skyblue][i]Without[/i] the embellishments?[/color]” she chuckled, good spirits returned. “[color=skyblue]Do you want to hear stories of battle? Torrid love affairs? I could tell you she wrestled a bear, once, or that she’s bedded every lord and lady in Othard. I could tell you she’s brought entire armies to a standstill all on her own, or that, in heretical rituals, she’s summoned fierce demons and made them kneel to do her bidding. All of these things I’ve heard, and all of them, I promise, are embellished, as everything is. Perhaps there are seeds of truth sown in there—I’m afraid you’d have to ask her to find out how many.[/color]”[hr][right][sub][@Scribe of Thoth][@Trainerblue192][/sub][/right]