LadyRunic

Blood's Jewels (High Casual Fantasy Revolution)

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Arc I - Terreille in Trouble

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Location: Winton

The outskirts where the Priestess made her home was a weed-infested garden but tamed it would be easy to see the delicate paths that curved through the beds and around hedges that had grown wild over the past few years. Places for people to sit and enjoy the beauty of the large stone building that housed the Dark Altar and where people would gather for public Birthright ceremonies and Offerings to the Darkness. But vines were beginning to sneak down from the roof, the old Priestess fiercely defending the ground level as best she could. The smell of freshly cooking soup floated upon the air as Mikhail, Fatima, and Gennar, by Denvar's insistence, found their way down the cracked and uneven road. Showing just how long it had been since the Blood of this village honored the old ways. Though it would be discourteous to assume that they had done it simply on a whim. "Happens when people don't want to gather and risk news getting out that they just happen to have a dark jewel in the family that could be a potential asset." Gennar stated quietly to the others as he felt his wings closed tight to his back in wary dislike of the fact. He didn't add that they also hid the fact a daughter was a Queen if they were not of the aristocracy and even if they were of such a rank. A Queen who was a child was a target to be a pawn under a more powerful or clever Queen. If they did not bend? He didn't want to think about those broke jewels and the shells that wore them. There had been far too many over the years.

The creak of a rocking chair would reach the group's ears as Mikhail would be the first to spot the elderly looking woman who fit the description of a story book's Black Widow more than she did a Priestess. Her fingers though old, nimbly working through the skeins of yarn that twisted and danced between a pair of knitting needles. A delicate iron table that had seen better days holding a basket of more shades of yarn next to a rather thick mug and a larger pitcher. Several others chairs were arranged about the entrance to the small cottage that sprouted off of the building where the Dark altar was housed. An uncommon thing. Most caretakers lived in the same building. The Summer-sky Priestess looked up with a wary squint of her eyes. "Well, a fair few visitors in one day. What does a Queen want with an ancient Priestess and a useless altar?" The words were not a jovial as she had used when speaking with Jandar, and in fact, wouldn't have been wise to use with any Queen. But age came with a few blessing and one of them was that Olenna knew she had lived a good life and was ready to see the end even if the end was at the hands of one of those young upstart Queens... "And a dark jeweled Queen." Olenna stated with some surprise, her hands pausing in their knitting. "You are not of Chaillot or this Territory. A long-lived race and I doubt there are any Dhemlan Queens left in Terreille." It was a whispered and horrifying rumor that none had been able to confirm. That Dorothea had sent her agents to find Dhemlan Queens and root them out. Even the youngest would never hold their birthright.
~~
The Queen’s Residence was a lavish manor that sat in the heart of the small port town. It had been built almost on the sea itself with pale stone reflecting the cloudy sky and basking in what sunlight could get through. The gardens that sprawled about it showed only the beauty that could be found locally, and there were gardeners aplenty as Jandar made his way down the grand drive and past fountains and pools that sported colorful fish. The great oaken doors had opened to a lavish hall boasting artwork plenty and scented with the overpowering smell of incense that took away the clean smell of the sea. An older man showed him to a waiting room that was much the same if not a bit gaudier. The furniture was a bit ostentatious with its silken cushions and gilded edges. Statues of two sirens flanked the door teaching playing an instrument as they watched Jandar with unseeing marble eyes. The ceiling was a fortune in pounded brass that seemed recently installed and really only made the room look ridiculous, but apparently was the style of the times.

"The Lady will receive you shortly," He had informed Jandar in the proper tones, though the Dhemlan would notice a slight worry in his eyes. A tightness about his mouth. Whatever the man said, Alice apparently was as capable to take on a visitor now as ever and the older gentleman thought she would be taking her time. Something that could reflect poorly on the Court and the Queen if Jandar was a messenger from an influential source. "If you have need of anything ring the bell, and a servant will fetch it for you." He beat a hasty retreat to inform the said Queen, the polish wood of the flooring rapping out the older man's quick footfalls.

Alice sat perched on a chaise lounge several women sitting about her 'study'. In all honesty, the once 'borning' room had been refined into one more suited to the Lady's taste of work. The work of gossip and cutting remarks when she wanted to 'work' on whatever suited her fancy which thankfully wasn't too often. As well-meaning as the Steward of her Court tired to put her intentions the young Queen caused more of a mess than she helped to rectify one. The books that lined the wall were covered in slight dust that no one would notice unless they took them down, but that was the only imperfection in the room that Sybl knew about. "It was a real shame about that handsome fellow..." Sighed one of the Lady's companions. A mousy headed witch, who was often speaking just a bit too freely. "But that's Eyrien brutes for you. It really is a shame you couldn't have kept him."

The blonde-haired Queen gave an irritated look at her companion. "How can I help it if he had a bounty on his head? Besides I can probably purchase one for what the Queen of Askavi will give me. What is a shame is that he killed three of my First Circle!" The fake tears welled in Alice's eyes as she gave a stifling sob. "And now my Court is short and could be declared-!"

"No! Don't even think that! Any man with a brain would more than willingly serve you!" Came the encouraging reply from Elle, a blond from Chaillot who looked quite similar to the Queen. As well she would, being a close cousin. "You'll be fine, Alice." All heads were ripped from the discussion as they turned to look at the door as an intruding knock sounded. Biding it to open with a pained voice, Alice gave a weak smile at one of the First Circle men, a new one who had stepped up from the second Circle to take the position one of his fellows had left vacant. Not that it was the dead man's fault. She had expected the Eyrien to be more biddable to her charms. Instead her Black Widow had laid down her life to trap the man. Which left with without one of the 'unnatural' women ontop of everything else.

"There is a man from Hayll to see you, Lady Alice. He has a message from.."

Alice shook her head with a slight sob cutting her servant off. "No! He cannot see me like this! I need to freshen up and... contain my grief." She gave the older gentleman a pleading look. "Perhaps he could wait for a time? Of course he could! And he will! I am in mourning!" The Queen declared with a smile that would put any fox to shame. Giving a innocent look to the pretty manservant she purred in Sybl's direction. "Dearest, wouldn't you entertain him and make sure he stays out of trouble while he waits? I don't want a Hayllian visitor to think we are... inferior." She smirked and gave a imperious look to her ladies with a gleam in her eyes. "Perhaps we'll get luck and have that handsome Warlord Prince- yes, the one who supposedly wears the 'Black'- come to our Court too!" She laughed lightly despite the death of her beloved men. Giving Sybl a beaming smile she made a shooing gesture. "Well! I wouldn't want to keep him waiting if he was! What a day that would make!"
~~
Dareen would find herself left at the small inn with a rather comical show playing before her eyes. Faeril had said little, retreating to the rooms she had turned into her de facto quarters of business. Denvar had been trying to help and consequently been banished downstairs while the Pruulish woman found herself being Faeril’s unexpecting keeper by some unspoken agreement between the Healer-Black Widow and Warlord Prince. The room was tidy, with the trunks needed brought up form the carriage and carefully arranged to meet the Ashkevron’s standards. Measuring out several dried herbs from small wooden boxes, Faeril spoke. Her voice rough as she poured the spoonful into a mortar. ”I am sorry that Denvar conscripted you to keep an eye on me. He would love to do it himself, but as I would argue…” She shook her dark head, her blue eyes closing for a minute as the wooden box was replaced and another was drawn out to be measured. ”Warlord Princes are stubborn men. They will only compromise so much against their favor and even then it’s in their favor.” Her tone was exasperated as she tapped the yellowed herbs into the bowl as well and replaced the box. ”And it’s thankful there are only two of them.” There was the more usual grumble of the grouchy healer.

Blood's Jewels (High Casual Fantasy Revolution)

@SilverPawCheck your discord, i left a message about the ro there.

Blood's Jewels (High Casual Fantasy Revolution)

@SilverPaw Last day til update. Do you need more time?

Blood's Jewels (High Casual Fantasy Revolution)

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Arc I - Terreille in Trouble

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Location: Winton

It did seem sound enough to Denvar, though he wished Faeril or Gen could have not thrown their little fit. The two of them knew far more about Kaeleer than he. Shrugging, he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly trying to figure out if there was anything he could add to the conversation and coming up short. Damn Gen for having to bring up Faeril's loss! They didn't have the time for it and watching Faeril from the corner of his eye, she was getting back to herself but he doubted there would be any warmth from the Black Widow to anyone other than Dunny or Thom. "Well with any luck, we'll get to Kaeleer and be able to find a foot hold there." His smile was less than convincing, but he tried. Bellinar had disappeared somewhere again and Denvar wasn't about to lie. He was worried about his other brother. Bellinar had grown distant in recent months, his trips out and about growing longer and what he brought back was less. Of course, things were getting worse. Everyone expected that, but Bellinar dismissed it. Was it their blindness that they didn't want to see their brother giving up on their cause so easily? While he would give up, surely he wouldn't give in. That was absurd.

Denvar's train of thought was cut off as the sharp tap of running feet careened into the courtyard. A young looking man with a messenger's satchel was paused in entrance to the inn's courtyard where carriage and a horse or two could be kept. Where their carriage actually was kept. The sandy haired fellow looked to be a cross of the natives to Winton and the Chaillot islanders, a young Warlord not quite in the old enough to be a man but certainly not a boy. "I'm looking for a Lady Fatima? Got a message from some giant winged-" His words cut off as he took in the tension of the yard and two 'winged' figures. "Ah, well, got a message for the Lady." He offered looking about the faces hopeful that one of them would be kind enough to claim it.

The letter, or rather short message, itself was in the scrawl of Xandar's handwriting. 'I've gotten an invitation to visit the Lady Alice. I will do some looking around, and see if we can convince her to be our friend.' It was a brief note, short and concise. Denvar gritted his teeth as he kept his face passive. The fool was doing what? Could they even risk trusting this 'Alice'? A priestess and now a Queen? Oh, he did not like this at all, but arguing what he did and did not like with an Ebon-Grey Warlord Prince wasn't a good idea in the long run.

Elsewhere, Alice was smiling as she played with her bouncy blond curls. "Should I wear the green dress or the blue dress?" She wondered, not really expecting an answer as she looked over at her favored servant with a sultry pout. Well, he was on loan truth be told. Her dear friend Tamerial had made the offer for the exchange of letting one of her Warlords have a pretty little priestess that Alice had kept about. Her mind wiggled about that uncomfortable thought. Now short a priestess if she wanted anything official done, she'd have to go deal with the old hag at her shrine. The Warlord Princes she controlled always cajoled her to visit the woman rather than summoning her. She was a Queen! The Priestess should come to her! Kicking her small feet in irritation, the Queen of Winton glared at her reflection. "I do hope that Eyrien proves entertaining! Why are all the men around here so boring!" The Queen sighed and let her maid finish painting her nails a delicate white. The paint slightly grazing the Queen's skin. "Watch what you are doing you cow-faced wench!" The woman went pale and began stammering apologies as Alice glowered at the servant. "No! No you will not finish! Servant, you do my nails. Bitch? Get out of my sight." She ordered sharply, her already done and perfect hand slapping the maid. Leaving the woman to scurry out the door like a pathetic mouse. "Really, everyone is so useless!"

Blood's Jewels (High Casual Fantasy Revolution)

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Arc I - Terreille in Trouble

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Winton

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Luckily it seemed the young Queen did not have too far to go. Barely ten paces out of the door and there the Eyrien woman sat. She was looking quite miserable, if Fatima said so herself. And she did. She plopped down with more grace than might be expected from the messy girl and forced the ale into the woman’s hands. “That’s from Mikhail,” she said quite matter of factly. She then handed over the shot. “And that's from me. Now drink up. This is a healer’s order.” Her tone brooked no ability to be turned down.

It was slow seconds later that a hand raised the shot to pale lips and the dark-skinned Eyrien woman drank deeply. Her hair falling back enough to show the tears that streaked down her cheeks. Gasping sharply as the drink burned her throat, Faeril gave a sharp cough then another one as she handed the glass back. “Thank you.” The words were rougher than her usual cold and collected tone. Her hand shook slightly as she accepted the mug. “Both of you, thank you.” For all she had drank the shot at the Healer’s and Queen’s order, Faeril still looked shaken. From within the tavern, sharp voices could be heard. Not quite yelling in their native tongue but rather close to it as an argument went back and forth between the brothers. Denvar seemed to be giving Gennar lecture and the other was defending himself.

Dareen’s eyes flicked up, two dark orbs from underneath her hood and peaking over her raised scarf. None of them seemed to have noticed her yet, and so far Dareen wanted to keep it that way. She’d much rather they take their conversations somewhere else, so she wouldn’t have to eavesdrop on them. Dareen has already peaked far too much into Faeril’s personal affairs as far as she was concerned. Narrowing her eyes she refocused on her sketchbook and drove the charcoal deeper into the page as she hardened the outlines of a mug of ale being held in an undetailed silhouette of a person whose appearance was unimportant. The only important part was that they were having fun. Beer, she thought, was supposed to be fun. She tried to only drink it when she was relaxing, or in a good mood. Too many times she’d seen people self-medicate themselves into some ale sickness Dareen didn’t quite know the medical term for.

When Jandar returned to the inn, it was to the sight of three Eyriens bickering and the rest of the group absent. “What the Hell is going on here?” he growled, discomfited at finding some sort of chaotic and dramatic conflict had appeared to occur while he was absent. From the tidbits the brothers offered him while shouting at each other, he got the gist of the situation. Frowning, lips thin in displeasure, he stalked into the courtyard, where Fatima and Faeril where in the midst of an uncomfortably emotional looking conversation while Dareen and Mikhail were awkwardly lurking at the sides. Approaching the latter two, he asked quietly, “Which of you can explain exactly what happened? The brothers weren’t too clear.”

Mikhail was like that for a bit, simply enjoying the breeze until a familiar voice came from behind, interrupting him and making him put on his hood once more almost as if he had just realized that he was showing his ears and his hair, which could potentially attract a lot of unwanted attention to himself.
The owner of the voice was Jandar, who had just arrived and was quite surprised by the chaos he found going on inside regarding the Eyrien brothers.

"I... knew they wouldn't be..." Mikhail said with a long sigh as he walked towards Jandar while he finished putting on his hood and putting the rest of his hair, which did extend a bit lower than his shoulders inside it. As he got closer to him, only then he realized that Dareen was sitting in the corner with her sketchbook on hands. Mikhail did try giving her a small nod and a discreet wave but he didn't know if she did notice him, after all, she seemed to be really... concentrated in her drawings.

"I don't know much about what was said, since they were discussing in native Eyrien but Gennar said something he really shouldn't have. Faeril was really hurt by it. I tried saying something to her but I'm not really the best for these kind of stuff. Fatima is talking with her at the moment. I recommend you to let the two of them alone for a while." Mikhail continued.

"It may have something to do regarding the boy, Thom I mean." he said, finishing explaining about everything he knew to Jandar.

"And sorry, Dareen, I didn't see you there when I got out. I can find another place to... do nothing I guess, if you wish for some privacy." Mikhail said, looking towards Dareen.

Dareen flinched a bit at having been addressed, not sure if she was noticed or not. She had also been a little lost in her drawing, as had been her intention, but the real world had dragged her back from her little land of parchment and paper. Oh well, no big deal. It was Mikhail, offering to leave to give her privacy in her drawings.

The collection of scarves and folded cloth that was hiding a woman pretending to be a man inside glanced up, Dareen pulling back her hood slightly to make eye contact with Mikhail. She shrugged dismissively and smirked. "Oh, no, it's fine. I just needed to get out of there. You can, uh, sit down in the dirt here. If you'd like." She offered, losing a little steam and chuckled. "I'm just trying to stay out of everyone's hair." She concluded, keeping her voice low.

Mikhail nodded with an understanding smile as Dareen replied to him, offering him a place to sit in the dirt near her. It appeared that, just like himself, Dareen didn't seem to enjoy the current atmosphere going on inside the inn right now between the brothers.

"I will accept your offer then. I hope you don't mind, Jandar." Mikhail replied to Dareen with a smile before he turned to Jandar and sat down on the dirt just where Dareen had indicated.

"I am not exactly... useful in these type of situations. Fatima is much more suited to this. That's why I asked her to go talk to Faeril. The only thing I can do to help right now is getting out of the way. The skills I excell at are... not suited at all for this." Mikhail said with a chuckle as he sat down.

Dareen scoffed good-naturedly as Mikhail explained the situation. It seemed they were both fish out of water. "Yeah..." She responded focusing back on her drawings. There wasn’t too much to say. This kind of social conflict was one Dareen didn’t have the tools to help resolve. It seemed that went for both of them.

Fatima nodded mutely in response to Faeril's thanks. She could hear mere snippets of conversation between the trio across the way. Well, duo. The third was silent. She took a seat on the bench beside Faeril. "Your boys are a bit rough and growly. Need a bit of polishing with a sharp tongue." She spoke in a conspiratorial way, as if she were sharing a joke between friends. "I'm not entirely certain what the conversation was all about but I think I got a bit of it. Is it about Thom leaving?"

The others talking and the sharp sounds, though the latter was muffled by the walls of the inn, were a distant thing to the Black Widow. Her throat burned from the shot and the thin sips she took of the drink Mikhail had brought her soothed it. Hearing a far clearer voice she paused slightly, though her eyes still stared blankly into space. She didn’t want to answer Fatima, but there was hardly a way to dodge it when the entire group had followed after her like a trail of lost ducklings. Her lips quivered in sardonic amusement at the thought. “Yes and no.” She took a long, endless draw from the tankard in her hands. It numbed her slightly, but not enough. Never enough. “Gen does not agree that keeping the boy close is a good idea. He is worried for my safety.” And for her sanity, but she didn’t see a reason to bring the fact that her closest friend thought she was latching onto the miscreant out of some misplaced motherly desire. “A mistake happened that he reminded me of.” Her voice was far from alright or dismissive as she would have liked it. It was bitter, regret-filled, and there was sorrow. Her knuckles turned white as she covered her mouth with a hand feeling her stomach roll as that horrid guilt twisted in her belly. Was that what it had been? A mistake? A mistake to heal a village who needed it desperately when a Queen decided to play with a poison? A mistake to even attempt to give her dying family line a chance? “A horrid, horrid choice and there was no good answer. There was the death of one. Then the death of an entire village. All Healers face it.” And she had chosen the many. The many though it had cost her dearly.

Fatima listened calmly. Faeril was sharing something big with her. The woman was not the sort to share freely so she was not about to interrupt the speech. She folded her hands in her lap, eyes never leaving Faeril. "Mmm, I see," she said after a long pause in which Faeril didn't speak. Fatima did not entirely see, to be perfectly honest. There were a lot of missing puzzle pieces. Couldn't people be more straightforward?

"Could you live with yourself if you'd let the village die? I think we'd be having an entirely different conversation yet intrinsically the same." She shook her head. "That's not what is important right now. I need to make sure you are okay."

The Black Widow didn’t answer as she closed her eyes. Her mouth tightening into an ugly line, as she felt tears run down her cheeks. “I wish I had.” Yet, she knew she had chosen the best of the two choices in the long run. Pragmatic thinking did not ease her weeping though as more tears flowed down her cheeks and her shoulders shook slightly. “I-I will be alright. Time…” Time would at least help her cover the wound that still bled in her soul.

Fatima snorted in a most unlady like fashion. "Time doesn't do shit and you and I both know it. There are some hurts that you can't heal. But can be born more easily when distributed among friends." She reached out and squeezed Faeril's hand. "It's not wrong for you to feel the way you do." Fatima was doing her best to comfort with what vague information she had. Who died? Ah well, not really her business was it?

Fatima’s hand was knocked away, as icy eyes locked onto the Hyallian Queen. The mug was at her feet and spilled, the liquor spreading over the dusty cobbles over the courtyard. ”You mean well, but this is something beyond you, child. Time will not heal this wound, but it will allow me to collect myself to serve in your Court. To end this madness that threatens to consume us all, no matter the cost.” Her voice was chilly and the air about her became cold as the Black Widow turned her anguished face from Fatima. The hand that had knocked away the Queen's, she gripped with her own. The dangerous snake tooth of the widows laying against the dark skin of the Queen. Releasing the hand, she flexed her hand and the delicate poisoned weapon slipped under her fourth finger.

”Pardon me.” The pardon was hardly a question. Turning her head from the Grey Queen in dismissal.

Jandar stood by while Mikhail and Dareen sat, joining them on the sidelines, but keenly observing the conversation between Fatima and Faeril. He almost sprung into action when he noted an obvious moment of tension between the two females, but restrained himself. However, he did unobtrusively inch somewhat closer to them. When Faeril dismissed Fatima, he properly approached his Queen. “My Lady,” he murmured. Though his tone was soft, it carried far enough that the rest of his companions could easily hear him should they choose to do so. “I have met a Priestess here, and she can open a path to Kaeleer through the Dark Gates,” he confessed. His shoulders loosened somewhat as he finally relayed this key bit of information he’d found, and it was apparent that it represented a kernel of hope to him.

Denvar growled as he slipped out the door to the courtyard where he had seen Faeril flee to. Not that he would call that retreat such to her face. The younger brother liked to think he got the sense of the family that Gen generally lacked at the moment. Giving an apologetic look towards Fatima, the Eyrien tried to think of how to phrase an apology. Mother Dark, Gen wasn't going to apologize for a while. The Warlord had his temper up and not without reason, but still! Jandar beat him to it, however, and Denvar found himself grateful for the interruption. If it distracted from the situation, then it was all the better in his mind. Though looking at Faeril and the way she was holding everything at a distance... He flinched. The last thing anyone needed was a Black Widow who was suffering a mortal wound to her spirit. "I don't want to be the Eyrien of bad news, but what's the catch? Last I was around a Dark Gate the Queen of Pruul had them under heavy guard. No one came, no one left. Of course, that was three centuries ago..." He gave an apologetic look to the group. "We didn't want to risk attention, and lost contact with the Hourglass." Shrugged his winged shoulders, he wanted Faeril to take the conversation but the witch seemed lost in the past and the pain. Not even designing to explain that the Hourglass was the Black Widow's coven of witches. Their subtle society that outsiders were usually aware of, or had been at one point, but those same outsiders were careful to remain politely and pointedly oblivious of the coven lest they draw the ire of the witches whose caste were entwined with it.

Blood's Jewels (High Casual Fantasy Revolution)

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Arc I - Terreille in Trouble

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Winton

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Gen glared at his brother and would have responded in kind had Fatima not turned her ire upon the man. Turning a hard glare upon the tiny Queen he couldn't look into those matching fierce eyes for long and his gaze switched back to his brother. "I am her escort, her protector, Lady. And I will protect her even if it's from herself." Drawing in a sharp breathe he stood, using the height to boost his argument. It was hardly fair, but he wasn't really in the mood to play fair about this. "As for that particular 'discussion'. I thought it best to head such a delicate thing off as soon as I could. I've been damn well in agreement with that oversized Reaper about the boy. But what you are sticking your delicate nose into is a family matter."

"Brother." Denvar was standing as well now and gave Dareen a sideways look as he moved between her and the Queen. A hand behind his back and in full sight of the mercenary flicking towards the door that Faeril had rushed out of. Giving his card-playing partner an out as he locked tempers with his older brother. "Watch your tone. I'm not disagreeing it's a family matter, but you damn well brought it into the open."

Outside the widow was in the sheltered courtyard sitting heavily on a bench. Her face cradled in her hands, her wings tucked tightly to her back. The wound her had been dealt had been a harsh one. She knew Thom was not the son she had lost when the fever had hit her village. Nothing could replace that boy and, Hell's Fires, that was not what she had been trying to do! She merely was fond of the boy, fond of children in general. Running a hand through her normally tidy locks, she heard the soft steps of Mikhail approach her before the assassin spoke. Was there anything he could do? Hardly. He could not bring her boy back. Nor could he convince her that Gen was wrong in his assumption. Faeril would hate to admit it to herself but she had grown to have some affection for the boy. A dangerous attachment though it was not one that was a replacement for her child, just more of a transference of that longing need she had kept at arm's length for such a child. Something she was soothing by minding the young Thom and Dunny. Taking a shaky breath she shook her head dully and her voice came out as a rasp of its normal cantor. "No.. Maybe... Go get me something stiff to drink, if you would." In truth she did not want the assassin around. He had his own scars and a patient should not see her in this light. Weak, vulnerable, able to be mauled by the happening of the world. Of such simple things such as words.

Blood's Jewels (High Casual Fantasy Revolution)

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Arc I - Terreille in Trouble

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Winton

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For all she looked like a ancient Black Widow, the Summer-sky Jewel danced on its chain over the battered gown as the woman gave Jandar a squinted look as if seeing if he was truly a trustworthy young man. Seeming content that he was exactly that to her withered sight, the woman gave a crooked smile. Her teeth worn and aged between cracked lips. "Oh, thank you Lord." Bending enough she scooped up a single delicate looking wooden box in one hand and hobbled down the road. "If you'd be so kind, my home lies a bit outside of town. I'd travel the Winds there but the Craft doesn't come well to someone so old and my sanctuary lies off the traveled Winds. Bit of a blessing if I'm honest." She gave a sharp and good natured cackle. "It's less noisy." She explained though there was a bit of a sadnes in those dark eyes. The boxes and bags that Jandar plucked from the dusty cobbles were a mixture of provisions someone would need a good distance from the town for a bit of time and a few particular items. One bag contained color agents and another carried wax. A smaller bag that was deceptively light held coils of threads that smelled faintly of a scented oils. As they moved down the street, people were careful to give the woman her space, though there was a notable respect in their eyes as they greeted her and pointedly eyed the stranger with her. The Summer-sky witch's replies were cheerful enough, though there was a distinct weariness about her tone. She had been alive for a very long time and recent events had tugged and pulled at her heart as old memories of happiness and loss warred over a lifetime.

"Dammit, it all Prince." The Chaillot native growled in an irritated town as Xandar corrected him, a hand moving to rub the back of his blonde head. "Then come out with that first. I've been thinking more for my wife and myself. Not for an entire village." Sighing the Warlord gave a weak shrug. "Not that I would trust an entire village with even the cleverest boy. The Queen here. Alice? She's decent enough compared to the bitches we had to deal with, though with some goading I could see her suggestions and pouts turning to those furious demands. Especially if it was something that could give her a leg up with the Provincial Queen and make her one of Elizabet's favorites." He warned as the Reaper opened the door to leave. "Prince, do be careful and if I were you, I'd hide those wings at least. I'll ask around to see if there is a place for the boy other than us, but I doubt it. Lauran and I have been keeping to ourselves." Shifting nervously he stared off towards the door his wife had disappeared through. "Tomorrow night, I'll stop by that tavern. I doubt you will stay later than that?"

The youngest of the Eyrien brothers, Denvar, gave Dareen a weak smile as he glanced nervously at the thunderous looking Gen and Faeril. "Hold onto your seat. We're going to be in for some rough weather." He muttered in what could almost be an amused tone. "Call. Really, a raise against my hand?" He said a bit louder, attempting to distract from the storm he felt swirling about the room. As the Ashkevron and Saroth families were so close that they were very near to siblings, it was not odd that an occasional clash of wills would happen. As Gen was Faeril's erstwhile protector those clashes tended to happen a bit more often than either cared to admit when a situation was particularly stressful. Which this wasn't, but the topic was a delicate one that he hoped no one would tread on later with the Black Widow. That would be interesting to explain to their Lady. 'Oh, yes, well you see someone asked a question a bit to far so Faeril broke their mind. Don't worry! She might be able to fix it when she calms down. As for their balls? No, I think those are gone for good." Denvar snorted in amusement, his gold eyes dancing.

"You know we cannot." Gen switched to their native Eyrien tongue, as he tried to force reason through Ashke's thick skull. Why was this woman always so stubborn?!

The said woman was giving him an imperious look that warned of danger as Fatima walked down the stairs. "What we can or cannot do lies within the choices we make. I have made this one."

The innkeeper gave Fatima a knowing smile and nodded easily enough, Dunny watching the scene play out in the common room as he sat on Fatima's heel. "Oh, I know exactly. There's a stall in the market square. You'll want to talk to Rebecca, our little herb woman. She grows them for any witch who might need them. A bit of a warning though, don't mention my name. She's a sweet girl, used to work here, but we had a bit of a falling out when she married her husband. Lord Jeoff of Lady Alice's First Circle. I told her it was a fool's match, but she wouldn't heed me. I don't think they've shared a house in nearly half a year with how busy he is sorting out things for Lady Alice."

"It's a fool's one!" The raised Eyrien voice cut through the conversation as Gennar gave a glaring snarl at the witch. Still speaking in their native tongue. "You know if the lad stays with us then he's as good as dead. We all risk it doing what we are. But you would be as selfish as to bring a child into that?!"

The snap as Faeril flipped her wings cut the Warlord off from replying as her own words cut the airs like his warblade. "I am not so selfish, but he we leave him here there will be death in time. I can and will protect him Gennar Saroth. Do you doubt me?!"

The Warlord was standing and glaring at the Black Widow now, their hurled Eyrien words perhaps not understandable to others but the vicious tones a clear indication that what was being said was not kind. "I doubt you when you can't look after yourself. You will stretch yourself too thin and leave the boy exposed to danger. We went through this once, he is of the short lived races. You will watch him die. He is not your son, Faeril."

"Gennar!" Denvar sat up straight and stared in horror at the stricken face of Faeril as though the large man had slapped her. "That's too far!" Helpless he watched the witch turn and stalk from the room to the small courtyard that held enough room for a buggy and two stabled horses, not that they had that. Though they had managed to fit the carriage in there. "Fuck. Gen, you went too damn far."

The larger Eryrien sat down heavily as he stared glumly at the cards. "She needed to hear it."

"Still... Fuck."

Blood's Jewels (High Casual Fantasy Revolution)

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Arc I - Terreille in Trouble

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Winton

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Jandar would find the town as it had been, the streets held that unkept look of town that wasn't at it's most prosperous. The people hurrying about didn't give the Dhemlan another look. He was just another refugee of so many fleeing west to escape the dark, twisted power in the east. Something that was so common these days as people sought passage to Chaillot, or the even less known passage to Kaeleer, to avoid and start anew. The air of important business stopped the Warlord from being stopped as he moved about the seaside town. The owners of the stalls he stopped at showing him their wares and rarely offering idle chatter as they normally would have. They were not uncourteous, but rather maintained a distance between themselves and the customer. As though they weren't sure to classify him as one of the 'blue-blooded' Aristocrates or as someone more base born. Yet even as he moved about, Jandar could hear the whispers and snippets of conversations floating about the town.

"The Queens to the East are growing more greedy and want more of our crops and the haul we get from the sea. They'll pay out the nose for it you know." A witch minding a stall of woven baskets and making still more of them was conversing casually with a man who was rearranging his wares as though in boredom.

"They will only pay if they can't take it, and that gold can go to buying them more than mere food." Came the pessimistic counter from a weary voice. "Which will mean war. Their harvests are failing because their Queens don't give back to the land."

"And ours does?" The woman hissed back in more of an undertone. "Lady Alice only wishes to look pretty and play the darling of the town. If we need to tighten our belts-"

The burly man gave the witch a sharp look. "Careful, Lorrie. That's near enough to treason. Lady Alice gives back to the sea and we get our harvest. May not be as much as we'd like but we're not starving. If she wants to play the darling to keep the First Circle loyal to her, then I'll let her. Where's the harm?" The woman, Lorrie, looked utterly disgusted but offered no protest as two men walked by. They were handsome fellows and wore swords as openly as their Jewels. A Sapphire and Opal respectively. Guards, Jandar would recognize. Guards on patrol about the town. Though they were ready for trouble, they seemed easy with the people. They felt nearly 'clean' in comparison to the men who had attacked Faeril at her eyrie only less than half a month ago. They were just about matching heights with sun-kissed hair and one giving Jandar a look over with sparkling blue eyes. It was a humored look, but the steel behind it promised trouble if Jandar started it. But neither stopped as they continued on their patrol path, not finding the man much a threat.

It was scant seconds later, when a far smaller form nearly collided with the Warlord. Her arms had been laden with packages that went skittering over the flagstoned marketplace as the elderly witch gave Jandar an apologetic look. "I'm sorry, boy. Should have been watching where I was going especially at this time of day." Dressed in a homely gown that was worn and patched and a headcloth that held back a mass of hair that was half fizz, and another half tangles, the woman looked like some demented Black Widow out of the stories parents would tell their children. The only thing she was missing was the warts. For her nose was a hooked beak and her back was bent with the weight of years. A Summer-sky Jewel rested on her pendent chain, a lighter Jewel. But there was a twinge of pride in the woman that didn't belong to her Jewel. Not seeming to notice the others that swerved about her, the old woman bent to collect the eight or so boxes that had gone scattering about.

The tiny woman kept herself out of the business of her husband and it was something Gerald was thankful for. If she knew something it would put her at risk, as if she was not already with him living with her. If the Queen found out he had once been a rogue, things could go rough for the younger man. Let alone the witch who harbored him, no matter if she was his wife or not. The fact she was would probably make things worse on her. Running a hand over his face, the memories that haunted him on those bad nights coming back as Xandar talked making him look haggard. "A boy-? That you want to see if we can take in?" He considered what his one-time leader was asking of him. Lauran was rather fond of children though they both hesitated at conceiving another one after the failed pregnancy. An unfortunately common thing if the witch worked her Craft or the child just didn't form right. It was something that even the largest of families could admit a close brush with at least. "Lauran, my wife, wouldn't mind, but-" He seemed to search for the right words and found none. "It's not exactly free of strife and there is danger even here Prince Xandar. The Queen is decent enough, but I wouldn't trust any Queen after what we've seen." There was bitterness there and it was understandable. How many good men, friends, had they both seen killed? Tortured? Taken and disappeared in the dark of the night or the middle of the day? And when those men turned back up how many were alive and whole? Yet there was a debt owed and Gerald could hardly refuse his commander. "But- If you think it's best, we could take him on. One more mouth won't hurt us, so long as he's clever enough to not bring trouble down on us all." He wasn't comfortable with it, that was obvious, but inviting an unknown into your home during these times was a dangerous risk. One that Gerald worried about.

Faeril had watched Fatima and Thom lower the keg, the Queen disappearing back down the rickety stairs while the boy looked eagerly between the two. Wanting some chore to aid them, the Black Widow thought with an amused smile. As Mikhail offered to join her downstairs, the witch sighed and inclined her dark head. "I shall join the others with you, but first..." She made a slight motion, the keg's tap opening as it filled a cup Faeril had called into being from that place where the Blood could store things. Scattering a few herbs from a delicate bag she vanished, the witch of the Hourglass Coven let a delicate tongue of witchfire brew the mixture together. "It will help the headaches, and ease the heart." She advised, all too aware of the boy hovering in the doorway and eagerly listening to every word like the youth did when they were trying to not be obvious about it. The Dea Al Mon's words coming back to her. Yes, he was right. The boy was bright and clever. Smarter than most children his age, but she could understand why. Left alone, especially in these troubled times? It was grow up quickly or die. Which he was not going to do. The train of thought had caused the witchfire to flare around the goblet. Dismissing the flames, she carefully floated the warmed glass over to Mikhail.

"Boy, why don't you help me down the stairs? I still am feeling a bit off-balance, shall we say?" It was hardly a request, and it was never one that Faeril would normally make as she swept by Mikhail with a firm look in his direction. Her stride making clear note that she did not, in fact, need the aid. But still, Thom offered his arm with the awkward courtesy of someone learning the proper manners and aided the Black Widow down the stairs. Reaching the bottom, she shooed the boy back up the stairs to harry Mikhail with a flip of a wing. Watching him race up the stair with an odd fondness in her eyes.

A fondness which was noted by Gen. His hand laying his cards on the table as he watched his longtime friend. "Fold." He muttered, defeat in his voice. Though if it was about the game or what he had hoped was not, he couldn't say. Muttering a Eyrien curse, that he didn't try to hide, he arched a disapproving brow as Faeril glanced in his direction with a challenging fire in those eyes. One he could do without seeing, Gen thought bitterly. She just had to grow attached to the boy. Children were a weak spot of Faeril's and he had been aware she had taken the boy, figuratively, under her wing. But this? Running a hand over his fave he picked up his stein of beer and downed it in a few hearty gulps. "No." His voice was a ponderous boulder dropped in the middle of the table.

"I did not ask you anything, Gennar." The Black Widow responded coldly as she gave Fatima and Dareen a respectful nod. "In fact, I said nothing at all." Gen merely gave her a disapproving look.

Blood's Jewels (High Casual Fantasy Revolution)

@Zoey Boey Get some sleep, you can always bug the crap out of me at any time. Same with Faeril.

Blood's Jewels (High Casual Fantasy Revolution)

@Zoey Boey No worries, and Faeril is free to chat to, if you want to interrupt her like we discussed last week.