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Current To everyone waiting on replies. They most likely will be out tomorrow or Saterday. I need to get a part for my computer!
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I summon the mega golden chicken. Now make me omelets.
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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 fantasy. Magic, medieval, dragons, elves, modern day or otherwise. I can do Sci-fi and others but fantasy is my best. I also like music (except rap and most pop songs), gaming, drawing, animals, and 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 a Rp really catches my interest I'm inpatient for posts. It's like reading a good book and getting stuck on a cliff hanger.

I also have a yearly anime convention I go to and it's literally my x-mas. So you can generally expect posts regularly once a day if probably more, but that's the one weekend I'm not available in the slightest unless I manage to restore my narcoleptic laptop. Which, let's face it, isn't happening any time soon. While I may get my hands on a computer and post, it's possible, I most likely wont. It's the Con and all hail the con. Yeah... I'm too excited typing this up.

I have no idea what you put in these things.

I've RP'd for years, so I can honestly say I have some experience and I've developed the itching fingers again- if you know what I mean-! Oh, I hope you know what I mean...

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Most Recent Posts

Athanasia Theroux

Location Camp Half-Blood

Giving a victorious smile to Arthur, the pale girl slipped from the seat across from him. Noticing a rather bushy haired girl moving to the table for the child of Zeus. No doubt her brother would follow, he said he would and if anything they were partners. Partners according to Ash meant keeping your word to one another. It was trust and well-placed trust at that. Approaching the table she perched in a seat next to Andy with a grin. "Hope you don't mind? You seemed lonely!" Her voice only loud enough to be clearly heard by both girls and Arthur if he were to follow. Her attention switching to the older bushy haired Alannah. "Athanasia. Ash for short. A pleasure to meet you!" She grinned, turning her head quickly to Chiron when the centaur began speaking with a quirked brow.

This place had an armory? Ash's brows shot up slightly as she frowned at the word. Armory... Armory? She remembered her mother mentioning something like it in connection to warriors. "What's in the armory?" She turned her gaze back to Alannah with a slight frown. "And what did he mean, no killing? People get killed playing Capture the Flag?" It was a sobering and very serious thought when you had nearly been a cyclops's breakfast that morning. Though Ash had played various versions of Capture the Flag and King of the Hill this didn't seem quite the same with a camp full of the children of one godly parent.

Arc I - Terreille in Trouble

Faeril Ashkevron

Residence in Aren, Askavi

Interacting with @Slim Shady @13org @Zoey White

"You look as though you just woke up to seeing Faeril in one of her rages." Drawled an Eyrien as the front door opened and closed for the second time that morning, long minutes after Xandar had flown from the front garden. The man looked very similar to Denvar if it weren't for his shaven head and an old burn scar wrapping across his side. His jacket and shirt hung over one of the armchairs, drenched in what was hopefully water and absently soaking into the once pristine furniture. Crashing down on the couch next to Dareen the Eyrien raised a brow and grinned in a smile that was far from comforting. "So what is a little Pruulish witch doing sitting on my sister's couch like her execution is nigh? I can promise you it most likely isn't. Fae's bark is worse than her bite." He mimed telling the small witch a 'secret'. "The bite is poisonous." Laughing at his own joke the Eyrien Warlord Prince, summoned a small chest and began to unloading it of books which he sorted into different piles. His Tiger-Eyed Jewel swinging absently.

Faeril who had been dozing woke with a start when the bench beneath her groaned as a Warlord Prince of a different Jewel sat down upon it. Her icy eyes glowering at the giant. "Smokes? Cigars you mean?" Rustling her wings the Healer roused and peered over her shoulder back at the kitchen where the larder she had brought out was indeed empty. There was food in the pantry but with the number of mouths to feed, it wouldn't hurt going down to Aren. While she wasn't one for stopping by the shops, Randalvar always kept a fair larder he could just hand off her 'brothers' for a bit of extra coin. "You should be resting and not flying about." She noted with a disapproving look even as she raised a hand to silence the Grey Jeweled male. "You are an Eyrien warrior. I already know the answer, just as I know if you call me 'Mistress of this fair home' so early again, I will enjoy reexamining your wound." Giving Xandar a pointed look, she yawned behind a hand before pushing herself to her feet. [color=SlateBlue]"I have need to speak to Randalvar, so I might as go with you to show you. Lest you fly into a mountain admiring yourself."[/colro] She snipped spreading her wings with a weary slowness as she walked through the garden to the fence boarding the edge of the cliff. "There is a store just down the street from the Winged Boar. You can find smokes there, and despite his temper, Randalvar would give you a meal that tastes better than Gen's coffee." Directed the Black Widow as she cast a downstroke with her wings that drove her into the air. Giving a nod to Mikhail who seemed to be touring her more functional gardens, the witch swooped about the eyrie before riding the eddies of wind in an easy glide towards the small village of Aren.

It was a mere fifteen minutes by air, and with a little extra speed granted by favorable winds. Lighting lightly on the ground, she dusted her gown free of the debris of the air to hide the slight stumble and gestured with a pointed finger towards a sign that read 'General Store'. "They won't have anything of real quality, though you might want to stock up." There was a queer note in her voice as she mentioned stocking up. Xandar would be fairly certain that either Faeril had plans or had seen something. Just as he would notice the jewel the witch was wearing was the Blood Opal and not the Red. Turning towards the tavern, Faeril paused to shift her wings. She would need to rest soon, but it was not the time for that. Not yet.

Winged Boar, Aven, Askavi Terreille
@eclecticwitch @SilverPaw
While Jassen was slow to back down as he harrumphed and took a step back, letting the Queen he served access to the grizzled old warrior, he was keenly aware of the rest of the Eyriens stirring and eyes watching. Randalvar on the other hand, gave the Queen an annoyed look though there was a glimmer of interest in his golden eyes at Fatima's earlier words. "Our land? You aren't an Eyrien, lass. Best remember that." He advised the woman with a deep chuckle. "Terreille isn't one land no more. It's scattered and broken."

"For the Queen's pleasure." Mocked one of the prior night's patrons.

Snorting at the quip, the old Eyrien shrugged his shoulders. "You want a tapestry? Go make some Landens make a gift of it. You want a story, demand one from some poor male." Eyeing Jassen and Jean with a weathered gaze as he considered the threat the two posed. "Though if you are looking for an interesting story to tell. Go to the eyrie high up the side of the mountain." Readjusting his grip on his bladed stick, Randalvar considered if the Black Widow would gut him for this intrusion. But if they could snip away a Queen who was trying to hide being a Queen? Was the risk worth it? If it wasn't, she would come back with no memory of the Ashkevron residence. Or not come back at all. "And go alone, unless you want to coat this mountain in blood." He rumbled deeply, the patrons about him rousing slightly. Jassen glared and moved to step in front of Fatima again.

"We'll keep the lads entertained." Noted one of the patrons with a bit of amusement and sadistic glee.

Arc I - Terreille in Trouble

Winged Boar, Aven, Askavi Terreille
It was dawn the next day, and the sun was well over the horizon when Jassen opened the creaking door into the interior of the Winged Boar. As ever the place had a unique charm that the Eyrien race had honed over the centuries. Posts chipped from various minor, or the odd major, bar fight bore a cleaver wedged into the wood from where some young strapping youth had annoyed old Randalvar past the point of wisdom the night prior. Passed out about the tables were the odd Warlord or Prince who were either too drunk to find their way home or too poor in manners or coin to tempt for a roof over their head. These were those who were fleeing the harsh treatments of Queens and many bore disfigurements they were careful to hide. They were Eyriens warriors, and they did not need pity.

Nor was what Randalvar offer them pity. In return for a place to rest their head and a warm meal in their bellies and sour ale to dull the ache of pride and heart, the males passed on news and advice. They kept their silence and moved on without a word when morning roused them. Even now, one who appeared almost as grizzled as the old barkeep staggered up and out the door past the Queen and her two male escorts. Her golden eyes narrowing at the woman, but he kept his tongue from saying anything. Not that he could since he had not the tongue to speak with.

That morning Jandar, Fatima and Jassen would have found it quite easy to slip from the inn with the crowd of people eager to do the same. Jandar would have noted a smaller, ragged figure watching him among the mass of people rushing to reach their destination, the rare few loitering about the inn for pleasure. The storm had been a nasty one, and had turned the roads to a soup of mud and brought the odd tree down. Several men were already out in the predawn clearing away the roads for the more mundane travel. While most preferred the Winds, there was the odd folk who would take the roads for their own reasons. The thief lad had slipped away before another look could be taken of their appearance.

Jassen had been less than thrilled with the new addition to their small group. His job was to protect Fatima, and failing that, to protect his own skin and that of the Court. The hard truth but one none the less. Jandar's appearance made that difficult especially with how odd the man was. The Dhemlan people of Terreille were nervous and often destitute due to the cruelty of Hyall. This man tried to mimic that, but it was a mimic. Jassen hadn't been born yesterday and had spent years watching for such signs to keep his Queen and now Fatima safe. Gazing about the inn, he grumbled to himself. "This is walking into a den of viper rats, Lady." Which he wasn't wrong about. The Eyrien race was a dangerous warrior race and they were not the easiest to deal with on a good day. Hungover and with a potential enemy Queen in their midst? It would be trouble.

Randalvar thumped out of the back room, his arms across his chest as he gripped a long bladed stick, an Eyrien weapon. His eyes narrowed at the new comers as he braced for a potential fight, his wings arching behind him. The membrane punched with small holes and a variety of scars. "What brought a Dhemlan, a Hyall guard and Hyall 'Lady'," He spat the word 'Lady' for what it was. A potential enemy Queen and he was not in the mood for games with the Court politics. Not with two trapezing fools coming through after one deadly looking youth. Was he running a tavern or an inn?! "And don't waste my time." He snarled as Jassen stepped forward with an equal temper rising. "I'd put you on yer back, lad. Only you wouldn't be getting up from it."

Faeril Ashkevron

9;45 am in the Morning
Location - Ashkevron Residence in Aren, Askavi

Interacting with @Slim Shady @13org @Zoey White

Dareen had been given a room between the brothers two. In truth, it was their own brother Belinar's room but the Warlord=Prince was currently out and they planned to scrub it down before the twin of Denvar returned. It was not so much for the security of their Black Widow and Healer, so much as to stop Dareen from doing anything stupid or Faeril from doing anything stupid to Dareen. The Pruulish witch would be judged, Faeril had decreed, but not by her. So would it be, til Faeril forgot her own wordings when her temper took her. Gen and Denvar sought to make sure such a thing would have a reason to happen. Xandar had been dumped into the Healer's workroom with its great bed and various shelves of potions and tools for Faeril's trade. Mikhail had been granted Gen's own room, the Warlord grinning and pointing out with a too reasonable tone that he was probably the only male in the building who would get a bed with a woman in it.

Nevermind, that the woman and he would be sleeping and nothing else. Despite his slight jest, Gen was more keen on the more masculine of the two sides of a coin. Which was well enough according to Faeril, as she rose earlier than the others. Gen's snores rasping about the room while she prepared for the day. A quick breakfast of bread and cheese, and mindful to leave a platter out for those who would rise well before her two guardians, the Healer slipped from the kitchen to her own place of thought. Yawning and sitting absently on a bench in the garden where she grew herbs for the healing and breaking of minds and bodies, Faeril studied the fog that had most burnt off of Aven. The eyrie had been built into a spear of the cliff that effectively separated the front garden from the back and limited the back. Several trees grew offering shade about the winding paths where wormwood and nettle, among other herbs, grew offering their shade.

It was comfortable enough, wrapped in a shawl of knitted wool and a dress that would not be ruined form a bit of grubbing about in the dirt as was evident by the stains of brown earth damp from the night's rain on her keens and in the nail bed of her hand. Brushing away the annoyance with a half-hearted attempt. Faeril considered their situation and found it aggravating. Mikhail and Xandar were drawn into her web and she could well see the reason why! Though she still felt the weariness of stretching herself too thin for too long Faeril would have pushed herself further if it was necessary to confirm so. That both had been so willing was worrying as well, but she wasn't of the mind to complain quite yet. Patting down the braid of black hair that hung over her shoulder the Eyrien woman sighed. It was Doreen, the Pruulish witch, she couldn't place. More than that, the woman was a killer of her, Faeril's own, caste! If she could just place what to do with the woman, place what she was supposed to do with everything that was falling into her lap then maybe she could figure out something! Closing her eyes against the headache that was forming, Faeril unintentionally drifted off.
Jandar Varan & Fatima Damiana
Root's Teeth, Dhemlan Terreille

Fatima quickly threw a sight shield over herself, careful to move slowly enough that she could concentrate on keeping the shield up. She had to be careful not to run into anyone as well keep her footsteps quiet. As she made her way up the stairs she seemed to do okay, noticing first a young boy duck under cover and then hearing a door shut. She approached the door and listened to the quiet murmurs on the other side, in case it was the young woman she was intending to rescue.

Jandar led the witch down the stairs by the hand, without a care for how hard she was gripping his palm, her shock obvious. “I know,” he soothed in a low, rumbling tone, speaking as if to calm a small, crying child. “Listen, lass, you can blame me. If someone finds out. Even if no-one does. You can think of me as the murderer,” he whispered directly into her ear, his words quiet enough than no-one else was likely to intercept them. And he knew there was at least one other person around, as he caught the sounds of someone’s quick steps. If whoever it was heard the witch talking about killing someone… This is bad. He pursued his lips, knowing he couldn’t follow that figure right now, absentmindedly stroking a thumb down the backside of the Opal witch’s palm as she took stumbling steps towards the servant’s quarters.

They soon entered a cramped room, wherein the witch still stood in a daze, looking at a wall, murmuring to herself. Jandar tugged at her hand slightly, maneuvering her to sit on the bed, while he took the single stool. “Now focus, please,” Jandar stressed, his voice still a tad deeper than it would be naturally, while the stress he was under caused for his fake-accent speech patterns slip just a bit. The Warlord inhaled deeply, reminding himself that even if the Opal witch was out of it, he had to stay on his toes. Be cautious, all the time, regardless of circumstances. Jandar cleared his throat, both to get the witch’s attention and to keep himself together. “’Aven’t ‘eard your name yet, wi'chling. Tell me ‘at firs', then I’ll say my piece.” That said, he glanced at the door, and was just preparing to draw on his Blood Opal jewel once again to both lock it and put an aural shield around it.

The witch looks confused for a second before whispering. "Saera. Don't have a family name, most don't here." Jean would know her words for truth mostly. Save for the fact she did have a family name, one she was not ill intent on sharing. Fatima wouldn't be able to make this out, thought the witch gave a small sob that would be within earshot. "Mother Night. This is a nightmare."

She heard the sob. She heard the word nightmare and her blood began to boil. Men could be such loutful pigs. Despite her anger, Fatima was beginning to realize she had planned this out very poorly. She had but a simple dagger on her person which she knew very little of how to use properly. She prayed to the darkness that it would be enough to just brandish it.

Taking a deep breath, she gripped the dagger tightly and threw the door open just enough to not let it bang against the wall. She dropped her sight shield and held the dagger out as she entered the room. Fatima was careful, her balance measured to defend against a larger foe. There were the weepy witch and the young man who sat on a stool before her. She was clothed. The man was clothed. Something was not right here, and Fatima began to feel it was she who was currently in the wrong.

Wavering she lowered the knife, cocking her head to the side. The man and she locked eyes and something deep within her felt that pull of possession. This man was hers. For a moment she was shocked, and terror spread through her veins. She just couldn’t form a court. Not now. No no no. Now was not the time. Fatima moved, quickly closed the door as she fought down her fear.

Jandar heard the commotion milliseconds before the intruder entered. He was tense, just standing up from his stool, when his eyes locked with her. It was the Queen from before, the one he’d noticed entering the inn with a drunkard and chatting with the Innkeep. But far more than that, far more importantly than even the dagger she was pointing at them was the pull. He could feel it clearly, now that his attention was focused on her and hers on him. The Warlord was able to discern the feeling of belonging clearly, and it sent his heart racing, half in fear, half in excitement. He momentarily didn’t know whether to thank Mother Night he was still under contractual obligation to Queen Morqen or bemoan that fact. He shook his head to clear it – that had been only the pull speaking. Jandar knew he could not trust a Queen from Terreile unquestioningly the same way he might be able to trust a Queen from Kaeleer. No, he had to give this some thought, perhaps prod the unknown Queen as to her reasons for hiding and galivanting across the land besides the drunkard…This line of thought of his was entirely interrupted by his Queen darting back outside as if a horde of demon dead were hot on her heels.

Jandar hissed reflexively at the offense, honestly both enraged and (though he’d never admit it) hurt at the woman’s act. How can she- She just refused me without even- His thoughts were a jumbled mess, the Warlord torn between letting this opportunity go, let it be, live the rest of his life with the knowledge he’d met the one he was supposed to serve without knowing who exactly it was, beyond that it was ‘a Queen from Terreile’, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t, even if it were far better to do so for the sake of his own sanity. But he couldn’t let his Queen go, even if he weren’t officially hers, he couldn’t let her leave in fear – for he was certain he saw the terror he felt mimicked in her gaze, the widening of her gaze and the paling of her face a dead giveaway – he couldn’t let her leave if there was a chance she was in some sort of danger.

Jandar moved with purpose, appearing composed despite how very much this revelation had left his emotions and thoughts in a tumultuous mess. He said nothing to Saera, for though he vaguely registered he should, the Warlord wasn’t of a mind to actually do so. Besides, he intended to return soon. His Queen couldn’t have gone far yet, and he simply had to…Well, he wasn’t sure what he had to do yet, beyond follow her. As he opened the door leading to and out of Saera’s room, he saw immediately that the Queen had gone nowhere, apparently standing outside the room he’d left in a daze. Jandar joined her in the hall, closing the door softly, and standing in front of it, so that if Saera wanted to leave, she’d run into them both.

“Please wait,” Jandar called out to the Queen desperately. With practiced paranoia, he surveyed the hall, checking for unwanted eavesdroppers. Then he turned an imploring gaze to the Queen. “Listen, I-” he cleared his throat to calm his nerves, and lowered his voice as a precaution. “I’m under contract to serve another, but after…I would like to…” he swallowed a stubbornly persisting lump in his throat. “I don’t know your reasons for leaving and- r-refusing,” he whispered, the intense fear giving an overall halting tone to his speech, the slight stutter leaving him with an intense feeling of shame. He rolled both of his shoulder back in a futile attempt to get rid of the tension, combing his hair back with his right palm in frustration. “From what little I have seen, you don’t seem to hold any of the depravity the rest of this Realm does,” the world Realm was spat out as if it were the worst of the curses, and Jandar was obviously referring to Terreille, though it was unclear if this last sentence was something he’d uttered intentionally – something he’d meant for the Queen to hear – or just him thinking out loud.

Properly embittered by how he’d lost his usual cool, Jandar locked gazes with the Queen again, the ire, vexation, and anguish rather clear in the lines of his frown that he let her see for just that one single moment before smoothing it over with diplomatic blankness. “Please, just let me know your name or how and where to seek you out when I- when we are both ready,” he didn’t clarify what they would need to be ready for, since it was quite self-evident Jandar was referring to him officially entering her service as a Queen. The last sentence he uttered as he appealed the Queen was utterly weary, and though he now projected calm, it was the calm of wanting to get this all over with.

The witch nods absently to Jean. Looking stunned and pale as Fatima came bursting into the room. From the door Jean would hear slight, soft footsteps of someone hovering about the door.

She heard the door open and close behind her and so she spun at him, dagger in hand again. Her eyes were wide with her fear and caution, and she looked around the hall to ensure that there were no others about that might cause trouble. She wished Jassen was there. Fatima looked at the stranger again and began to calm as he spoke. Lowering the knife she watched him. She felt the pull again, no way to mistake it, and wanted in some way to offer comfort or assurances, but she knew not how. Her heart was breaking with his words and she knew not what to say. For perhaps the first time in her life Fatima was stunned to silence.

Flipping the dagger back into its sheath at her waist, she pulled her arms around herself. What should she say to him? Would it really hurt to have just one of her own in the Court she currently held, the Court which had been her mother’s? She reached up, brushing wild curls back from her face and began, “I… You aren’t trying to hurt that girl, are you? Break her?” She asked the question though doubted that if that were his intention, he would tell her honestly. But if he were truly one of hers, he couldn’t be the sort of man who did such things. She couldn’t feel a call to another person with evil in their hearts… right?

She chewed her lower lip, considering the man before her. “That girl is in trouble, isn’t she?” Fatima was not giving him a direct answer yet. She couldn’t. The connection was something that had been ingrained upon her that she should be terrified of. She had no time to properly swallow the truth. Let it be for now. Let it be. She looked up and down the hallway once more before taking his much larger hand in her small ones. “I am Fatima and I am going to help you and her.” Her whispered voice was earnest, and her brows furrowed with a serious the young woman rarely showed. “We can sort out those other things later.”

Jandar watched Fatima in a similar manner to how she observed him, though he never drew his own knife or gave any indication that he’d defend himself against her. He blinked at her question, startled. “No, of course not. I found someone else trying to break her and intervened. Then…Well, it’s best we go in there before discussing the rest,” he indicated Saera’s room with his head. He nodded at Fatima’s assumption that the servant was in trouble, and let her take his hand as he curiously watched on. Jandar smiled slightly as she introduced herself, glad that she seemed like the right sort – if a bit reckless to be so ready to help a stranger in unknown matters.

“Jandar, but call me Jean for now,” he whispered back an introduction. Now that Fatima had confirmed she was willing to take him into service after his duty to Queen Morqen was done, he was genuinely tranquil, and his mind turned to sorting out the most immediate issue – Saera, Gendry’s corpse, and Erkyn’s pouch. Not to mention whoever those other footsteps belonged to and what they might have heard. The Warlord opened the door to the Opal witch’s room, raising a judging brow at Saera, who was blatantly eavesdropping. “You’re not actually a spy, are you?” he muttered doubtfully to the serving girl, holding the door open for Fatima to precede him. He entered behind her, closed and locked the door, then drew on the power of his Blood opal and cast the aural shield around the room as he’d intended before Fatima interrupted. The trio was now alone and more-or-less secure, so Jandar turned to address Saera.

“How much have you heard?” he questioned, giving her the opportunity to answer before continuing. “Let me both tell you a story,” he began, not bothering to put on an act for Saera’s sake anymore – she had more than enough dirt on him already, so to speak, and he was considering whether it would be less trouble to…simply take the girl with him when he left – instead letting his natural smooth, rich, and crisp cadence take over as he spoke. “I came into this bar, seeking to find the best trading opportunities in this Hell-forsaken land,” that last part was a lie, but Jandar wasn’t prepared to reveal everything to Saera. As for Fatima…as she’d said, there would be time later.

“I happened to see someone suspicious going into the stables while I was eating, then followed them, only to find a young thief with this exact pouch,” he said, all of it true this time. He Summoned the leather satchel, holding it up for both to see. “I admit, I was curious to examine the documents inside before returning it to the owner, but haven’t had the opportunity to do so. While I was heading to my room, I saw Saera there getting accosted by a Lord Erkyn, the owner of the pouch. I realized it was a more important item than I’d initially thought, and, well,” he shrugged unrepentantly. “I thought I might as well try and see what’s inside for myself as well as get good money after pretending to search for it. Of course, since one of Erkyn’s men went with us,” he nodded at Saera, “The matter wasn’t exactly simple. In the end, poor Gendry ended up dead, and his corpse is still cooling in the attic. Before taking care of that or returning the pouch, however, I do suggest we see what might be so precious that is worth threatening the whole inn over,” he concluded, shaking the pouch-full of documents enticingly. Truthfully, he had done that whole dramatic retelling bit entirely for Saera, while emphasizing the document’s importance was more-so Fatima might be more likely to approve reading them.

Saera looked about nervously after Jean's reveal. Her hands twisting on her skirts. "I will not tell anyone, but might I leave? I have family over in Pruul, they can see I get far away from here fast and disappear."

Jandar glanced lazily at Saera. "I suppose that might be best. I could cast a temporary sight shield on you to ensure you don't get discovered," he offered. He was slightly concerned the witch might get the urge to pass on what she already knew, but her leaving at this point was still safer than leaving after she'd learn what was in the pouch.

He seemed a good sort of person which calmed her nerves. Holding the door open for her and everything! She stepped into the room and stood to the side so as to take up as little room as possible, not that she would take up much.

Fatima listened to his story with bright wonder. Murder. Scandal. She would very much like to learn what was hidden in that letter that would be so important. She had to keep herself calm and interested in what he was saying though, rather than like a mischievous child ready to raid the candy dish.

She looked between Saera and Jandar, wondering if it was a good idea to let her just leave in the middle of everything. Where did her allegiances lay? Just because she had been about to be broken did not make her a good person. Fatima would have wanted to save her from such a fate regardless, but she had some doubts that were mostly over shadowed by the desire to look into other people’s things. “Should she perhaps be escorted?” she mused aloud.

"Perhaps, however, whichever of us does it, we'll have to be careful. Specifically, none of Lord Erkyn's men should see me...or her. They might ask after the pouch if they do," Jandar explained.

"I thank you kindly, Lady. Lord. Though I can quickly slip out of here without Erkyn being the wiser. This is not the first time he has stopped by the inn." Her face was troubled slightly as she admitted. In truth Erkyn stopped by the inn at least once every other year, and the man hated it. Saera revealed this though she had admitted to not knowing why.

"Very well," Jandar acquiesced, the only sign of reluctance his glance at Fatima to see whether she'd agree as well or not.

“If you feel you will be safe,” Fatima chimed in agreement. She would not force an escort on the girl but she was a small bit nervous that she might relay to the wrong ears about how she met a Queen at the inn. If all went well she would not be back here for a very long time anyway so perhaps it did not matter so much. Her attention was back on the bag of correspondence.

“I very well can’t let you look at those,” she said with a small frown which then turned to a playful smile as she added, “On your own.” When Jandar and Fatima were by themselves, locked into privacy, and under an aural shield, Jandar opened the pouch, revealing the documents by spreading them over the nearby table. He scanned them, searching any that were written in Dhemlian or Common, as those would be the only he could read.

"I have until sunrise to return the pouch and the documents to Erkyn before I'm in danger," he muttered to Fatima as he carefully handled the documents. She nodded her understanding.

Her heart dropped to her stomach with each paper she opened. Words and phrases were used that implied some very dark things. One of which was the shaving of a male from Kaeleer. Her face paled as she read it and found she could not bring herself to finish that particular letter. This felt a lot less innocently mischievous and a lot more horribly devious. It seemed Jandar had the same sorts of feelings at the written words before them.

Jandar snarled aggressively at the tidbits of information about how Terreille, or rather Dorothea and her underlings specifically, were playing Kaeleer, using their people, playing with both Realms…What was more, the document implied Saetan SaDiablo was there, somewhere, with some kind of connection to Dorothea. What did the self-proclaimed queen have over him? The letter implied their relationship was nowhere near cordial, of course not. A man such as him would never co-operate freely with the likes of her, but…What exactly is going on? Jandar paced furiously as he thought. He slammed a fist into the nearby wall, centering on the slight pain, calming his breath and racing heart.

She lifted her eyes from the stacks of letters and watched Jandar walk back and forth in the room. She jumped slightly when he hit the wall. “Careful, you’ll wear a hole in the floor,” Fatima said in a soothing but light tone. “Did you hurt your hand?” she asked with real concern as she noted the dent in the wall. He had much more pressing things on his mind though and had not heard her.

This wasn’t something he could handle right now…and truthfully, not something he could handle by himself. But where was he supposed to find allies? His future Queen? Certainly not. If the Lady was in hiding, or on the run…he couldn’t endanger her. But perhaps he could enquire as to any pertinent information she might have. Before that, however, it would be only courteous if he told her a bit about himself. “I’m from Kaeleer. Truthfully, I came here to find information on certain suspicions that have been unconfirmed…Of course, even if I managed to return back home, something like this wouldn’t be enough,” he gestured at the documents. “Most of all, I’ve wanted to find SaDiablo, and discover a way to return him to Kaeleer one way or another. Do you know any specifics that might be relevant for me? A location you’ve heard about where I could find allies for my endeavor? Something that's common knowledge to you but only a hint and a rumor to someone like me? Anything at all?"

She wrinkled her nose at him when he spoke the name SaDiablo. She slowly shook her head and responded, “Unfortunately I have little information as well. My companion and I are looking for some help currently. While I cannot tell you directly, yet, where it is we are headed you are welcome to join us. As far as the Queen Killer goes, I know not where he is or what he does. It does not concern me what that beast does.” She maintained a civil tone but was unable to keep the ice from it when speaking of the infamous Saetan.

Jandar's eyes widened in shock at the title Fatima used for SaDiablo as well as her obvious distaste of the male. Wh- No, it can't be, he can't be co-operating with her voluntarily. He was still in disbelief as he answered. "I...see.," he slowly nodded his head, considering her offer. "I will join you then. You know this land far better than I. Shall we meet in front of the inn at sunrise?"

Fatima nodded that she would meet him. It seemed their work together was done so she took her leave and snuck back down to her room. Once safely in the confines of her rented space, she sat down on the bed and stared at the floor. She was processing everything that had just happened and what it meant for her future. She would need to tell Jassen when he came back to the room. If he hadn’t already and gone to search for her in a panic.

After Fatima was done inspecting the documents, and they’ve discussed all they could in the time they had, Jandar put the correspondence and pouch in order, off to find Erkyn again. He headed to the rooms the inn had allocated for the guests to stay at. If Erkyn didn’t have one of his lackeys acting as a guard, Jandar would simply head from room to room, knocking and asking after the Lord until he found him. "I 'ave the pouch," he'd introduce with a cocky smirk, the accent and tone he'd introduced himself to Erkyn with in place, the messenger bag held enticingly in the palm of his hand. "'Ow much it worth it t'you, then?"

Erkyn sneered and glanced about, "Where is Gendry and that wench?"

Jandar shook his head scornfully. "Your fella went off some'ere af'er he made sure this is yours. Maybe for a drink or to get a fuck of his own," he shrugged carelessly. "The girl's likely cowerin' in some corner, tryin' to keep away from me," he groused. "Now, this," he indicated Erkyn's possession "Jus' so you know, it was in the stables of all fings. The stables! Dunno who stole it, but they left it lyin' 'round with the papers all tossed 'bout. Your guard wasn't sure if anyfing's missin', so you'll hafta check that yourself. I won't mind if you pay me by the number of papers returned," he affected a crooked grin.

Erkyn sneered and snatched the satchel sorting through it quickly. Tossing a small clamp of the silver marks the Blood used as currency. In total there would be twenty. An overly generous sum for how miserly Erkyn was. "Get gone before I decide you'd make a better gift to the Queen."

Jandar caught the marks with a pleased smile. "'Course. Pleasure doin' business, Lord," with that, he turned, and left, heading to his own room for the second time that day, though it'd been perhaps an hour or two since he'd first settled himself in there. After locking himself in the room that was temporarily his, he stored the marks with his other belongings. They would certainly be useful in the future. Money always was. With a sigh, the Kaeleer native sat on the bed, rubbing his temples. All the stress had caused a headache to built, not to mention the pain in his hand from when he'd hit the wall had made itself known. Thankfully, all he had to do now was rest until tomorrow and avoid Erkyn and his men while they were all still in such dangerous proximity. The Warlord rolled his shoulders and neck with a soft groan, slid his knife from where it was still sheathed at his back and slid it under the pillow, undid said belt and removed his boots, then threw himself on the bed to finally fall asleep.

Athanasia Theroux

Location Camp Half-Blood

Desdemona turning into Barbie two-point-oh was interesting enough and her distress was relatable. After all, who liked having their personal fashion sense messed with? As someone who went for the cute and adorable vibe, Athanasia could easily sympathize as she was thoroughly disgusted by the clothing that was standard to Crystal Rivers School. "Now that is a smokin'-!" The skull's opinion was cut off as Athanasia hissed a breath of annoyance. "Right, skalle is silent. Sorry, toots." Rolling her eyes, Athanasia nearly jumped when thunder lashed the sky above the little trio, a bolt symbol appearing above brunette hair girl's head. It was a familiar symbol and Chiron declaring the girl a Daughter of Zeus click a memory of time shared with her mother.

"He's the god of thunder and King of Olympus, right?" Athanasia questioned the centaur. She didn't like getting things wrong, and she was feeling very much off balance here. Though catching Arthur's glower and words she smirked with some relief. She had no reason to mistrust her second-in-command from the prison that had been called a school, and now she was falling back onto that routine of the Hell Raiser Committee to keep her head from exploding. Was that even possible? Sticking her tongue at the newly-founded half-brother, 'Ash' gave her most charming smile to Andy. The poor girl looked like she could use a friend and goodness gracious a good dose of fashion sense. "Athanasia 'Ash'. The glowering bror I just got is Arthur." Athanasia offered to the girl while the skalle gave a groan of protest as he was tossed up and down slightly.

Athanasia Theroux

Location Camp Half-Blood

Athanasia gave a wider smile to Andy before Arthur caught her attention. Turning on her heels the young half-blood frowned at her apparent half-brother. A wicked gleam appearing in her eyes. "And why shouldn't I be looking out for you?" Leveling a sweet smile at her Vice President-Brother-Cabin mate Athanasia gave a small snicker. "After all, I did take the lead at the school, did I not?" Fairly pleased with her point, 'Ash' gave a stern glare to the skull and let go of the top of 'Chatter's' head.

"Kommer du att uppträda, och inte förolämpa färskfett? Eller behöver jag se hur långt i sjön jag kan kasta dig?" Athanasia hissed in an undertone. Not waiting for a reply she gave a raised brow to Arthur. "See? He'll behave." The skull however was looking dubious (if a skull could look dubious). "So shut my yap lest I want to talk to the fishes? An' what fufu-lamps got to do with far skiffs?" Giving an annoyed look at the skull, Athanasia sighed and gave Arthur an annoyed glower as if his point wasn't supposed to be proven. Because it wasn't! And this wasn't helping her point!

Arc I - Terreille in Trouble

Faeril Ashkevron

Present Day
Location - Front Palor, Ashkevron Residence in Aren, Askavi

Interacting with @Slim Shady @13org @Zoey White

Faeril's mouth drew to a thin line as she sneered at Doreen. "What of taking up a trade for yourself? Tailoring? Keeping a shop? There were other options you were apparently too blind to see." The air about Faeril turned frigid as she contemplated what to do with the witch. "And so naive that selling yourself into servitude would only get you the mines? Rather you'd be some Red Moon's worker." Her voice was as harsh as a lash as she stripped away the naivety of the girl by naming the large establishments where the Blood could find good food, and company, as well as anything else that may give them some comfort in distressing times. Watching the hourglass symbol, Faeril felt torn. "Murder is not against the law of the Blood." She murmured, as Xandar snored in the chair. It was a hard truth but it was a fact the Blood lived with. Though a price could be asked for the life taken.

Yet, the Black Widow hesitated. Could she ask for the blood price when her own web strands were tugging at this woman? A piece of the puzzle she had drawn to herself. Smoothing nonexistent wrinkles from her gown in irritation. No, she needed this killer. Despite her own issues with the murdering of her sisters, Faeril felt the keen need for survival. Killing the Pruulish witch could have unforeseen consequences and the Eyrien would leave those in the hands of what was coming. "You will remain in this house and I swear on my Jewels if you so much as leave for a second or attempt harm on any within my home, I will leave you a ruin. I will twist your mind till you know madness and leave you rambling in the streets as Draega."

Gen and his brother slipped from the room, to avoid being involved and wanting to set up a room far from Faeril for the poor woman. They had felt the lash of her tongue before and while both didn't think Doreen was lying, they didn't see the point of declaring against Faeril. Specially if the woman had been with a bunch of mercenaries that killed Black Widows.

Root's Teeth, Dhemlan Terreille
@SilverPaw @eclecticwitch

The witch was in shock, to say the least. Which was to be expected after killing a man. Taking the offered hand, the Opal Jeweled witch stumbled down the steps shakily. "I didn't mean to-" She whispered in shock pausing as she reached the spot where the body had been. The blood leaving a faint trace of color on the dark wooden floor. It would disappear with time, but did they have time? If the body was found and she was proven for murder... Would she be killed or tossed to the chattel yard as a 'mercy'? Gripping Jean's hand ever tighter the witch stared absently at the blood tears flowing down her face. "I didn't= I only meant to stagger him. I didn't hit him that hard."

"He should have caught himself." Whispered the witch as a figure flittered at the edge of the corner beneath the landing just down the next flight of double back stairs. A small figure looking a bit ragged as it peered up at the commotion. As the witch led Jean down the stairs to the second landing and through a beaten up door which led into a small and cramped corridor, the man would hear quick light steps of someone scampering out of sight. This small hall had doors going off of it, some were open as they passed by. All were silent as the grave. It was easy to tell this was the servant's quarters. Slipping into a room only large enough for a tightly fitted bed, dresser, desk and stool the witch stared blankly at the wall whispering that she hadn't meant for that to happen.

Elsewhere, slipping up the stairs Fatima would see a scrawny boyish figure duck into a more elegant doorway and a whispering and frightened voice coming from above. The roar of the party downstairs slightly muffled enough as the rain drummed from a floor or two above. Listening to the voices the Queen would hear a door open and close above her and then footsteps walk away deeper into the layout as the floor creaked.

Athanasia Theroux

Location Camp Half-Blood

As Chiron began to explain the cabins and that they were here to be heroes, Athanasia tapped her fingers along the top of the newly dubbed 'Chatters'. For in truth, she couldn't remember another name on top of all that had been going on. Cyclops at lunch, a chariot ride in the sky via pegasi power, and now a camp where the Greek deities existed and had kids and she was one of them. Oh, plus her father was Lord of the Underworld. Skeletons popping from the earth and talking skulls. If they were heroes, what did heroes do exactly? She never really had been the sort to save damsels like in those flowery little stories. In truth, she found them boring compared to the places her mother had visited.

While she wouldn't admit it, the pale girl was thankful that her only half-sibling was Arthur. She knew him, however slightly, from the horrid school so they had some common ground. Having more siblings just seemed troublesome. You'd have to keep track of who was who and doing what and everything or so she understood of siblings she had seen. It would be interesting to see how Arthur felt about the situation, but there would be time for that later. For now, best to let the tour get on with it and figure out the private family matters in private family cabin. Chiron was in truth answering more than she had asked, and missing some things she had asked but she was feeling generous after escaping the prison her step=father called 'school'.

When a weasel scuttled up to sit on the blind girl, Jade's shoulder, Ash blinked and tilted her head slightly. A spellbook from what Jade said, though the weasel was... Waving a hand slightly in front of her face to dissipate the smell, Ash frowned and firmly gripped Chatter's jaw cutting his words short her other hand pressing down on his cranium. "Whew! What an st-!" Backing away slightly and glowering dangerously down at the skull, and partly wondering if it would be rude to punt into a tree, she found herself on the edge of the group next to Andy. "Tyst." She hissed in an undertone to the skull, the Swedish word for quiet. A word often said by her mother. She had enough to think of, especially with what Chiron explained during the winter solstice. Falling silent herself, Athanasia sorted through her thoughts, unsure what to think of that bit of news. Giving a roll of her black eyes at the skull she held firmly as muffled sound issued from the mandible, she shot Andy an apologetic look for disturbing the girl's aloneish existence.
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