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The Skaelan man before her was one that she had not expected to see again, at least not outside of Skael itself. Given her last encounter with him so long ago, the memory of Cherle d’Artoe was still strong—especially the visage of the man’s bloodied face, caved in by fist. She couldn’t help but snicker at the crooked appearance of his nose. She had actually followed through in sending the letter to snitch on him to his father. The man was an embarrassment and had reflected very poorly on Skael. Oddly enough she never received a reply. Typical.

She was also familiar with the other party in this encounter, although only in passing. She knew the Demet name as a matter of course being on the periphery of noble politics, but it was the sort of foreign policy thing that she didn’t care for or deal with much. It was already evident that the appropriate members of the team knew Wulfric and apparently how to deal with him, although Éliane found herself narrowing her eyes at Esben. 

“I resent that implication, Esben,” she replied, throwing up her hands in a shrug. Nonetheless, her voice was pitched just enough for others to hear, although not enough to address without making a fool of themselves—“In fact I was going to do absolutely nothing, because it would have been absolutely entertaining to see him regret start up a border conflict with the Edrenians…”

She recalled what she had thought when she had first encounter them. She stood by her assessment at the time. “Your estimation of his personal influence is overinflated, anyway. Nobody likes that family. I really don’t mind burning a few favors to have a second shot at his nose…”