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Hello! I'm LadyRunic! But you knew that...

I love most types of Role Play, but by far my favorites are those that are well thought out and worked with. Especially when you can find a group you can work well with. I love books- So many books. It's a running bet that I will become buried under a pile of said objects one day... I'm a tad busy, and when an Rp really catches my interest I'm inpatient for posts. It's like reading a good book and getting stuck on a cliff hanger.

You can generally expect posts regularly once a week if not more.

I've RP'd for the better part of fourteen years, so I can honestly say I have some experience and I've developed the understanding of what I expect of a partner in a one-on-one or a group. I'm also the sort who will speak up and point out something if it looks off or forms a problem to me. I spent most of a year once stuck in a Voice Chat Rp that was hell on Earth, so I'm straight forward when I need to say something. I expect this in return from my Rpers and DMs. I want to improve my writing and love constructive criticism.

Most Recent Posts

Mor'gann Arnhar

Location: Mandalore

It had been with a little bit of dumb luck and a fair bit more of educated guessing that Mor had found something that for better or worse resembled the bazaar of her home. A street that was given over to shops of all different sorts. Some had the scent of food and drink. Others were visited by the spaceships contraptions that helped to keep the ships together. Odd constructions she was hardly sure of, experience over the years had taught her to be wary of things that were not understood. Caution was the better part of valor and knowledge could only be gained if one was alive to gain it after all. Sniffing the air slightly, Mor'gann noted a fruity smell that was off enough to have to sidestep a large and eager looking man as he hurried through one of the metal doors. Noted a few less than scantily clad women within, Mor'gann continued on her curiosity sated and herself completely uninterested in the frolicking of fools.

The majority of the clamor was from the vendors. For every building given over to some practice or other, there were two handfuls of stalls with people hawking their wares right near the docks. For someone from the quite moon of Dxun, Mor'gann could feel the headache coming on. Yet she couldn't seem to see or hear enough. There were some of the strangest being selling apparently even more odd creatures that chittered or howled. Colors she had never seen and couldn't give a name to, metal twisted into tools that she could not even begin to guess their purpose. But she was not blind to the eyes that would watch her, nor was she letting her guard down as she was buffeted by the crowd. Oh, would that the market would be less crowded! As it was she was squeezing past a green and scaley man who was arguing with a pale man who had tails from his head. Their gestures wild and giving a bit of room about them as others stopped every so often to watch.

Finally breaking free of the crowd she found a man who had a stack of leathers and was working one into something or other. Mor'gann wasn't about to even try to guess. At least this was a chance to relieve herself of a few goods and gain perhaps something of more value to a pilot. This 'man' thankfully seemed to be mostly normal, til she got close enough to see the snout looking nose and the tusks. Thick grey hair and a beard to match, he looked as old as the shaman though in much better health. Setting her pack by her feet, she knocked on the pole that held up the overhang, a custom she well understood from her own planet. The strange creature looked up sharply, speaking in the language that was common among spacefarers. "Huh? What d'ya want?" The woman lifted the top of her back with a foot, revealing a few of the hides she had kept for her own trading outside from getting off Dxun. They were not the best, but they were decent enough she could get a pair of boots from them or a new tunic. "Hides... What from? They don't look in the best condition."

"Maalraas hides." Mor'gann stated in a cool voice. Her accent drawing out the 'l' and rolling the 'r'. A subtle thing. Had she not seen the tools first, she would have thought this... creature... as exactly that. A creature, but he was able to use the tools and speak. It startled and stunned the young woman, but she wasn't really in the place to argue.

"Maalraas? From Dxun?" He pronounced the moon as 'Dunx', causing Mor'gann to frown. Her lips thinning as she tried to work out the word. Giving it up to the strangeness of this entire place, she nodded sharply while reaching down and offering the top one over to the strange 'man'. Taking it the Ugnaught looked the leather over, whistling through his lips slightly. "Perhaps not a Maalraas in 'er prime, but one taken clean for the most part. Scales cleaned nicely. White too... Not often we see that." Mor'gann kept a politely neutral face as the creature seemed pleased with the leather. It had been from a younger Maalraas and it's pack. While she had been loath to kill the pack, her escape from Dxun had been the priority. Those moments when she had waited to strike she could recall well the legends of warriors who had tamed the beasts into loyal companions. Would that she had done the same, but there had never been the opportunity. To get a Maalraas pup she would have had to kill the pack and that would have left the pup exposed to the hardships of being an outcast of her village. Most likely her tormentors would find the pup while she tried to protect it and kill it. She had given up the dream as merely that.

Coming back to the present she raised a brow as the man commented with a bit of an apologetic note to his voice. Something she heard rarely outside of the farmers of Dxun when she had traded with them. "I can offer you Fourty-five credits for each skin if they are all as good as this." She considered the number. 'Fourty... five... Five and four'. It was more than what the traders would have given her at Dxun. Nodding she frowned as she picked up the remaining four, setting aside the last red one for her own use. Perhaps it was vanity but she enjoyed the leather of Maalraas. "One Hundred and Eighty then." The odd pink man nodded, turning about to rummage pulling out a small chest and piling a small stack of metal next to it. Each marked with a number and some being in different colors. It was odd to say the least. Mor'gann was used to the bartering of Dxun, this was far apart from that. Sighing, she patiently waited for the man to finish his business. Her yellow eyes scanning the market as she waited, her hides drapped over one hand. It had been some luck that she had found the man, and he was giving her a decent enough price. Now there was the question of what to do after she had the money?

That proved easy enough as hide and ingots were exchanged and Mor'gann set about wandering the market once more. The lure of food proving the temptation this time. Though which food would be passable. Some of the things looked less than palable, while others looked edible. The problem being communication as she had no idea what they were, and she sure as hell did not want to order a tastey bit of meat and get one of those twisted looking slugs. She had eaten her share of questionable things on Dxun, but she was drawing the line at slugs Mor'gann decided as she watched a four-handed, spindly-legged creature with fangs in its mouth slap a wriggling eel onto a board. Chopping it up before slipping it into a flat wrap of what looked like a type of plant before handing it to the buyer. While watching her side twinged from the slice she had gained from her assassination of the guards of the relic. Rubbing it absently, she shoved that to the side as well. It was a minor wound, one that would heal with time. Which apparently she had plenty of. She just needed to decide on some supper.

Arc I - Terreille in Trouble

In the ruined town of Sharon, Shalador

Counter of Days: 5 days

The Black Widow merely gave an annoyed huff as she began to weave the spell. Craft was a delicate thing that required one's concentration. The Black Widow's specialty all the more so as the line between sanity and madness was so very fragile. Yet small little distracts kept popping up. Minor annoyances that ruffled the Eyrien woman's infamous temper. A heart of ice or a heart of iron. Cold and uncaring as her patients sometimes called her to be. Yet now something was nibbling at that heart and making her cool and unflappable personality shift. Finally, she collapsed the web and tossed it into the forgotten fireplace. A ball of witchfyre following to burn the spell into nothing more than ash. Turning a cold gaze on where the Eyrien Warlord Prince had been sitting. "What did you mean it did not end well?! That 'last time' was merely a fluke after a night spent healing a madman and your own injuries. I can well take care of myself."

Elsewhere in Eldra ,Shalador

As the door opened the shopkeeper looked up, fear flickering across his face at the sight of a well dressed Aristo woman. Few of that sort ever visited his shop. When they did, they usually sent a servant rather than come themselves or were expected to be waited on rather than browse the shelves themselves. This one, however, had gone straight to the shelves giving him no time to attempt to slip out form behind the counter to assist her or to warn his other client. Let along try to hide the wall of those books that would surely cost him his other hand and most likely everything attached. Scrambling in an attempt anyways, the old man bowed stiffly as he raised his voice a bit louder than necessary in the dead quiet of the shop. "Is there anything I can help you with, Lady=? Would you rather sit while I fetched the books that might interest such a woman as yourself?"

The books were clean, though the shelve themselves were old and worn. A slight coating of dust covering what didn't hold a book. The chairs where a client might sit and read were clean by the standards of those who were not Aristo. Comfortable as well, but any Lady of 'respectable' status would turn up her nose at them. Webs hung in the corners and the candles in the holders were old. As if they should have been replaced or used but hadn't. It wasn't exactly uncommon among the lower class if they were cutting costs. A sad fact if a town was being squeezed far too tight by the local Queen. Catching the pitched and the warning of the shopkeeper's voice, Saetan looked up. He was a tall man, but dark. Blending into the shadows as he listened, reading the psychic scent that was alluring to him and disgusting at the same time.

There was a Queen in the store.

Oh, he hated them. Dispised that twisted caste that was destroying the Blood and all they stood for. Yet there was a subtle sweetness to this psychic scent, one that he couldn't stray from. So he waited and listened. Absently using his Craft to close the secret panel and hide the books that could damn the shopkeeper and his family. Perhaps it was that he was curious, but he felt a spell woven into that scent. One that was free of the rot that Dorothea spread. Who would be so bold to try to spell him?

Meanwhile, in the alleyway, the dark scent still swirled. A few people wandered past the trio, keeping to themselves and hurrying along. Not paying too much attention to the faces around them. Especially not the well-dressed couple despite how they acted. Most tried to press themselves into the wall. One was a smaller figure, no more than a child. A lad by the looks of it. Who hesitated as they turned the corner, spying Jandar and Dareen in their disguises. Slipping away the lad moved with haste as though he had seen enough, or perhaps too much.

Arc I - Terreille in Trouble

In the ruined town of Sharon, Shalador

Counter of Days: 5 days

The Eyrien Black Widow looked about ready to spit nails at the Warlord Prince as he patted her head like she was an excitable child. To the dead-man-walking, or sitting rather, it was all too amusing. A wheezing chuckle eased through his throat as the two exchanged words. "Not much of a tale. I was a tailor's assistant in the town. A decent fellow- now half a century dead. Not like I am, he's dead and gone. A Whisper in the Darkness." There was a wistfulness to the tone of the demon dead. "We were making a dress for the bitch's daughter. Lady Marthea was displeased with the dress her daughter had foisted upon us to make. Who were we to say no?" Xandar would well know the tales of those who refused a Queen's relative. The punishment from them was often just a smidge below what the Queen themselves could dole out. Daughters were especially cruel and if that daughter was of the same caste as her mother? Then woe betide the wretch who defied the family!

Nodding slightly to himself the demon dead sneered. "'Course they didn't want to lose the tailor quite yet. There was a exquisite bit of entertainment that was going on they might be invited to. They would have to look their best." A scoff came from Faeril as she bared her teeth in anger. An icy chill that was filling the basement of a witch's rage, something the Shalador man did not notice. "So they dragged me to their 'rat pit' and gathered up all those pesky Shaladorians who thought rebelling might be a good idea. Got the traders as well to spread the word in part. In part to turn it into a bit of a festival." Struggling with the emotions of his death, the Shalador demon dead fell silent for long minutes. "Found the tailor dead a month later. They fed him to the rats. I've wanted that bitch Marthea dead since my death, but couldn't get close to her. The guards and the town were... repulsed by me. Diseased they thought. Thought I was too, til I drank the blood of some poor guard only trying to carry out his job so his family could eat. Knew what I was then, and I envied that my master never joined me."

Elsewhere in Eldra ,Shalador

The alley was narrow and dirty, something that would turn away even the most curious of the aristocratic class. If they even knew it was there. The traffic seemed to be those too broken to care that the subdued scent of a Queen wafered through the narrow space as Fatima wandered over cobblestone and brick lanes. Broken beams looked to have blocked some areas, but there was a sense about them that power had moved them off the side where they were stacked neatly. A man's footprints tracked deeper into the dim alley as it curved and twisted deeper into the city of Eldra. The sense of power growing strong and persistent enough that now any who followed Fatima could sense it. A subtle and delicate warning of danger and a seducing lure of sweetness that could not be replicated. It was dark and heavy on the air. Dareen would feel the intimidating presence of someone who far our ranked her Yellow Jewel. Even Mikhail and Jandar with their Grey and Red respectively would know this power to be darker than their own. Yet it was a subtle and twisting spell that urged Fatima to follow this wild and dark track. A spell wove in the dark of the night in a desperate bid for a future not drenched in blood and malformed by the greed of what the Blood were becoming.

"We don't have any by him sadly. The Queens' never approved of Halmer's works and opinion-" The weary-looking older man who ran the bookstore- and in part black market- with his young daughter and her son informed the well-dressed man. Tugging his white beard the man frowned as he and Saetan SaDiablo stared at the shelves that took up the back of the shop, and could be hidden by a screen which would look like a solid wall. A small alcove giving room for a person to hide as well. The Black Jeweled Warlord Prince had stopped by the shop a time or two before, and the shopkeeper was eager to help this valued customer try to find something to his liking. Never questioning that despite the fact it was going to be in close proximity to the Queens that the book would be safe. It was well known among certain circles that the most powerful man who supposed served Dorothea was under no such notion to his own mind. Though it was not something one brought up in the course of a conversation with the well-rumored man.

"The purges. Yes, I am well aware. Though I had hoped that some of his works had survived." There was bitter disappointment in Saetan's tone that he couldn't quite mask. He had hoped that some small rebellion might take his mind off of Laska and her little games. A book was certainly a way to do that and not look overly conspicious. "I think I shall look for a bit more, if you wish to take care of other things."

The propieter of the shop didn't need another dismissal to leave the Black Jeweled Hyallian alone with the books as he moved back to the counter. The rear wall being hidden by more shelves of equally and far less valuable of books, the windows letting in dim and dusty light. In the long term, it was a small sacrifice to keep the Queens away from his livelihood. With a forlorn look at the faded and peeling 'Ambrose & Sons: Books and Basics' that was half ways gone form the window. A legacy that had been destroyed with his father and brother. He had escaped with a lame hand and a family that had been shattered and shellshocked. Their mother had never recovered, and if she did he hadn't seen her since she had been dragged off to the rat pit. Shaking away the old memories form his head the man went back to his book to tally out the total of purchases so far.

Arc I - Terreille in Trouble

In the ruined town of Sharon, Shalador

Counter of Days: 5 days

The entire basement was a mass of dust and ash from the fires that claimed the town above and darker than pitch. Unlike other places worn by time, this dark depression was closed against the light of sun and moon. The rustling of the odd viper rat or other vermin filled the darkness. The ladder that had led down had groaned dangerously under Xandar's weight. A rung going as far as breaking part of the way down. The floor was a mixture of stone and dirt, an unfinished basement or one that had been torn up by the desperate or those smuggling things into or out of town nearby. The footprints scattered about were fresh to the trained eye. Crates and sacks of goods were scattered along the long narrow room giving places for someone to have ducked behind them.

There was a scuffling behind Xandar as Faeril fought her way down the ladder. Her dress snagging on one of the nails that was coming out of the wood. "Why in the name of Hell are you going down here?!" Hissed the Black Widow quietly, and with no small amount of irritation. She had helped the others and seen them off to the nearby town, while Xandar had wrested the table free of the ground which it was nailed to. Thus, being an obstruction to the Warlord Prince. The brothers three had wanted to protest her going down a dark and mysterious hole, but there had been a unanimous decision that so long as Xandar wasn't screaming in pain or Faeril wasn't calling the wrath of Mother Dark then everything was most likely fine. Beyond the witch's complaints, Xandar would hear the hitching of breath and the soft scuffle of feet on the stone floor.

Elsewhere in Eldra ,Shalador

The town of Eldra was elegant in comparison to its neighbor, but there was a bitter chill to the air that had nothing to do with the weather. It was the chill of unwelcome and fear. The psychic scent that was a subtle hint to others of the Blood. There seemed to be a small bit of town that was almost quarantined off from the rest, the sight of those bare fingers with no Jewel gave the reason clear enough. Landens who had been forced to move nearby in order for the local Queen to maintain order. It was far less well maintained than the rest of the town and the people quickly moved out of the way of Fatima and her escort and out of sight. The guards who were keeping the unofficial border looked over the newcomers. Saying nothing but their gazes were variations of interest and wary subtle anger. Newcomers were always a questionable thing after all. Were they spies? Here for the Queen's pleasure? And would that pleasure bring the guards to haul some poor sod forward who had 'insulted' the Queen's guest? They kept their eyes forward, but they did mark the two woman and the Aristo man who passed through and into Eldra.

The streets themselves were kept clean, but the windows to the shops were slightly grimy with dust that hadn't been bothered to be wiped off during the day. It looked to Fatima, Darleen and Mikhail like many other places they had seen in Terreille. People hurried about along the street and tried to avoid looking at these visitors to their 'fair' town. The odd blooms of witchblood sprouting through the cracks in the flagstones. The popular tavern in the town had a few rougher looking men out front, bottles in hand as they talked conspiritorial with themselves. Looking about hesitantly.

"I told you, I saw him go down towards Darla's Red Moon House." Swore one of the men while the others heatedly contested this so-called 'fact'.

"Walst, if that was true then the Queen wouldn't be letting him leave the Manor. Aside, best not talk like that. You know the rumors." There were several other comments both approving and denying. Suggesting that perhaps the individual they spoke of was not so innocent as one would assume.

The street they were following led up past the tavern and several shops for a variety of tailors, a baker, a general store could be seen along with a decrypted looking bookstore and an equally old looking shop that looked like it catered with jewelry. Mikhail could well catch that the group was being followed by the eyes of several people. Namely by one weedy looking man who was far better dressed as he scuttled towards the tavern. The whispering group falling silent as he passed and watched the man pass with disgust obvious on their face as he sneered in return at them. A mutual dislike.

Darleen could very well note that the guards and fighters in town were sub=par. Not the best at their jobs. Typical of towns like this the real fighters would have been snatched up by more powerful Queens or would be kept close to the Queen. Her loyal guards. Yet the undercurrent of nerves in the town led Darleen to pick up on something else. Many of the men in front of the tavern had the balance of people who were expecting or ready to start trouble.

Fatima would sense the strange, unnerving pull that was a lure to her, but there was also a dark power that was just a hint. A thread that wove through the town. Something powerful had been about the streets and recently. It was a pull that could draw one up and through the thin crowds towards the side streets where even less fortunate shops would be. Through crooked and twisting trails into a small antique shop where books were sold. Not books that would acceptable to the local Queens but those that spoke of far more pure times to specific customers.
Mor'gann Arnhar

Location: Mandalore

She had not agreed to this.

Those were the only thoughts on the matter that Mor'gann Arnhar, the traitor of her former tribe, could cohesively form on the matter without losing her temper and the limited grasp on the Basic language that she had. What she had paid for in the choice hides she had collected and preserved over the years was passage to Taris aboard the smuggler's ship. Not passage to this place. "Not Taris." Came the cool voice as she blocked the smuggler's way. A hand straying to the thick knives on her belt and one decrepit saber hilt. "Paid passage Taris." She wasn't the most impressive figure, but the smuggler was wise enough to back up a step. He had traded with her people a handful of times before and she had offered him an extremely cheap deal for hides that would have been only cost him a tad more in useless gear. The only thing was that he would have a passenger for a time.

The smuggler for his part frowned, "What you paid for was transport to another planet. I was heading to Taris, now I aint." Annoyed by the young warrior, he was loath to get in a fight with the young woman. The tribe on Dxun were hunters and in a closed space, he didn't want to get in a tangle when his blaster could damage his own ship. The rust bucket was falling apart as it was, not that the barbarian woman knew that. "My buyer for your hides said to meet them here on Mandalore. So I don't have a reason to go to Taris unless it's to get drunk. There's no business that would take me that way right now."

The yellow eyes that unnerved the smuggler stared at him for several long moments as Mor'gann worked through the Basic language that worked through the nonsensical words. So he wasn't going to Taris, because he got a better trade here. For her hides. She disliked that especially. Oh, Mor'gann well knew that the smuggler was going to get a far higher price than what he paid for them. It had never bothered her before she had left Dxun, but the rules of survival were changing. The money would be useful, especially if she needed off the planet again. "No Taris? Hides price go up."

"No. I took you off that planet. I'm not paying more for those hides." The smuggler argued. There was no reason for him to lose such a large profit just because some primitive woman couldn't accept how the galaxy worked. "Now let me by." He shoved passed the woman and down the ramp to where he had docked. There were hides to unload and he was trying to pass as an honest merchant of sorts.

Mor'gann felt her arm be knocked aside as the smuggler pilot made his exit. Oh, the bastard had cheated her and now she was to be let on this forsaken planet. Taris, she had heard was a city and surely in a city of many people, she would have found a way to survive. In Mandalore, an unknown place, she was not so sure. She had questioned the smuggler at length beforehand on the planet and it was all very alien to the young shaman. "No." She disagreed, plucking a spare piece of piping that was meant to repair the ship, testing its heft for a moment before whirling and slamming it into the back of the smuggler's head. He shouted as he gripped his throbbing head, and Mor'gann swept the make-shift staff under his feet. Sending him tumbling down the ramp as she followed in a more conservative fashion. "My apologies, but if you insist on leaving me on an unknown planet, then I require back what I paid you for information. Do try to forget about me. It's for our best interests." She chatted amicably in her native tongue to the unconscious body while she checked the wound and found it not life-threatening. At most, the man would wake with a throbbing headache and nauseous. Killing he wouldn't have done her any good. He had gotten her off of Dxun, and that was something Mor was grateful for. Quickly, she plucked a decently sized pouch from the man finding it fulled of enough what she recognized as a currency. Though it was something she wasn't used to seeing. The traders who were new to Dxun often offered them such things and found themselves rejected. The tribe didn't see much use, when they need things.

Sighing, the young woman dragged the man back up the ramp, setting him just beside a pile of the hides she had sold him for her freedom from the rotten planet where she was born. Rubbing the back of her neck and feeling the bone pin that held her dark hair out of her face. She should not have done that and Mor was cursing herself a fool. But she had paid him for information that she felt justly cheated out of. So it was fair, in a sense. Thinking better of sticking around too much longer, the Dxun native scooped up the pack she had and strapped the rough staff to it as well. It would have been better if she had taken some of the hides, but he had gotten her off of Dxun. Taking the hides would just be wrong as he had provided that service at least. As it was she was sticking out like a maalraas's red skin in the middle of a sunny glade. "Oh, joy. I go from a home where everything wants to kill me, to a place where people cannot speak straight and cut horrid bargains. This is going to be wonderful. Just splendid." Muttered Mor'gann with annoyance, as she drew the hood of the drexli leather cloak up over her pale face.

Arc I - Terreille in Trouble

In the ruined town of Sharon, Shalador

Interacting with @Slim Shady @13org @Silverpaw [@Zoey White] @eclecticwitch
Counter of Days: 5 days

Gen had helped Jandar find a bucket. Fishing one out of the carriage as well as calling forth his own waterskin and surrendering it for the Dhemlan's frivolous pursuit. It was a very sensible thing to do, and the Warlord had to admit that Jandar did pull off the part of the Aristo with natural ease. Giving a soft chuckle as Dareen asked if Jandar would lay down his life for Fatima, the Eyrien warrior smirked slightly. "Lass, Fatima is the first Queen in centuries that I've seen been so selfless and uncaring of her station. And I'm not sure that's for the best." Though the first part of Gen's statement was praise there was a worried undertone to the rest of it. Fatima's excitable eagerness was indeed refreshing but there was more to being a Queen than raw power and eager joyfulness. The Lady would need to interact with the Aristo and other Queens who would do their utmost to undermind the young woman. The Courts, even at times of peace, could be vicious. Rumors and rivals cutting under the Queen needed to be taken into a firm and cautious hand. Faeril's mother had ruled for a time and she had sent away a good few upstarts when the young woman had tried to tempt away Nivarian's men. "If you are going to go as a man, though." Gen mused in thought as he studied Dareen. "What about her psychic scent? She'd be made quite easily that way and questions could be few or many. There are plenty of reasons for a woman to dress and take work as a man in hopes she wouldn't be noticed. But there are those who would target her because of that. Gen pointed out, reasonably. As Mikhail joined the group, the Warlord stepped to the side to let the Dea Al Mon through. Respectfully letting those actually going on the little foray to speak upon the matter. They were competent folk after all.

Meanwhile, Faeril waved the Grey Jeweled Queen's question away. "Perhaps, but it would be far from my best work. I'm still uncomfortably..." There was a tense and pointed glare at Xandar as the large Warlord Prince commented on her own choice of clothing. "My clothing is perfectly fine!" She hissed after the brute. "As if you had any fashion sense to speak of! Your clothing consists of what is ripped and torn and what is patched and what has yet to see battle." The Widow retorted with annoyance, distracted from what Fatima had asked. Though not their potential guest, as she shooed Fatima back to the group. "Go work out your details and I'll see what I can whip up out of Xandar's skin." Xandar would notice the 'creature' slip behind the wall within the ruined house. Several viper rats that had not been in the nest when he set it ablaze skittering as the mysterious being disturbed them from their hiding place. If he would to look, this wall blocked off what might have been a kitchen at one point. A place that had been warded against fire, and thus protecting it from the flames that had seemed to have taken the rest of the house. A small trapdoor stood open under a table that looked study enough, even if one of the legs seemed eaten through by the vermin.
For anyone who pokes their head in here. I'm keeping a log of all my characters and their various prototypes. Differentiate between the masses, so to speak. Also, note to self. Write up and store Bloods Jewels characters here.

Table of Contents:

Arc I - Terreille in Trouble

In the ruined town of Sharon, Shalador

Interacting with @Slim Shady @13org @Silverpaw @Zoey White @eclecticwitch
Counter of Days: 5 days

Denvar and Bellinar were both amused by the interaction between Jandar and the Grey Jeweled Queen. Discussing bets on who would be coming out on top while the crate they were supposed to be loading back into the carriage lay in the dust forgotten for the time being. It was the older brother, Bellinar, who noticed Mikhail approached as Jandar went on a speech about Fatima protecting herself. Giving a friendly nod to the Dea Al Mon, the Warlord Prince nudged his brother with a shoulder to alert Denvar to their third companion to the group. "That's more of a question for Gen, but you'd probably go keep an eye on the Queen." The man gave a cocky grin. "Jandar is going to have his hands full." Whatever else the Eyrien was about to say was cut off as Xandar spoke up, urging the assassin to do the same. Denvar nodded, chiming in himself. "We got four warriors around Faeril, and the Dhemlan is more of an Aristo sort. They are more squeamish about bloodshed." It was a grossly general statement but it did have a ring of truth to it. Those who were Aristo in Blood society did know how to fight, but against folk who were trained warriors like the brothers three, the Reaper, or the Dea Al Mon it would not be whose blood was bluest who won. "Besides, we can't exactly go into town without every male there acting like we're declaring war." Some of the Eyrien queens liked to let loose their fighters to raid weaker villagers as a display of power, and it was as from a peaceful ribbing.

Gen had caught up to Faeril and the two were finishing a heated if brief argument before the Warlord stomped back. If looks could kill, Faeril would have been one of the demon-dead there and then. "I swear the next time she falls asleep, she's staying that way until we get out of Terreille." Swore the oldest of the brothers. [cplor=FireBrick]"Oh, look at me. I can light a tongue of witchfyre, so of course I'm fine! No need to worries."[/color] Snarled Gen in a false voice that mocked Faeril's own.

"What, did she bite you?" Crooned Bellinar with mocking care as Gen glared at him dangerously. "You know how she is, brother. Give her space. It didn't help that we let that oversized bastard haul her about. Or are you jealous that you've lost his affections to her?" The younger brother barely dodged to the side as Gen took a swinging punch at him. Ignoring the two as the brawl broke out, Denvar shoved the crate into the Coach. Shaking his head at the others to indicate it was nothing to be concerned about. Merely a family squabble that would blow itself in time.

As Xandar followed after Faeril and Sent the thought to her, the Black Widow jolted slightly. Her icy eyes glowering at him as she gave Xandar an annoyed look. "I do mind, but I doubt you'd leave if I ask. In my best interest. Pah!" It was a harsh wording and edged in the bristles of her thoughts, but there was really no heat behind it. Just a mild annoyance from having three such males already hovering and now adding another. "I had almost forgotten Sending. It's been rather dangerous in my predicament to use it. Lest a fallen sister of the Hourglass were to catch my thoughts in her web." The rough edge of the woman's temper sighed and disappeared like smoke on the wind. "I sensed something, but I was not sure it was him. Whatever lies in that town Fatima must choose to face it or not on her own. It is not in our- my power to intervene when the web draws her forth." There was hesitation in the thought as if Faeril was worried she had said too much. Black Widows saw things in their webs and could testily tease an answer out about the future. But they were fierce in their lack of explanation. For revealing too much was a risk to deny the choice that could turn everything rightly or wrongly. Pausing she glanced about her, not seeing the shifting shadow that slunk further away into the darkness of the house as they drew near, but no further. A raspy breathing Xandar could hear and the stink of old blood that floated from the shadows. "What company?" Hissed Faeril out loud, her head snapping about as she sought to sight this hidden intruder.

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