Surfeit of Thieves

[Ze Flying Wraithetti Monstress]

In my experience, human taverns were those rare places that were to be avoided at all costs. Better to spend the night in an animal pen than on a filthy bed that stank of mildew, stale sweat, and desperation, where even the fleas had fleas. I considered it good advice to never sit anywhere, buy anything, or so much as touch anything, ever. With these well-founded criticisms of human public houses, I entered The Golden Perch with more than some degree of caution, expecting an even distribution of vomit, brawling, and unconscious drunkards littering the floor. I was therefore quite surprised at the not unwelcome sight of a clean, rustic little establishment that was quiet and well-lit. The design of the interior rather reminded me of the villages surrounding Carvala in the Valley of the Crown, near where I’d been raised.

Waitresses sailed by, arms laden with jugs and plates. The inn was maybe half-filled, and the occupants only raised their voices to call the barmaid. Indeed, the loudest noises were the soft pad of feet on stone, the susurrus of conversation, and the delicate slurping and munching of the patrons. Many of said patrons looked up upon our arrival, scrutinized us, and nodded with approval before returning to their tall tots of rum and liqueurs, their tobacco pipes, their cards and dominoes and unlawful scheming. So we passed the test. Though I doubted I would ever get over my natural aversion to the simplicity of human culture, I admitted The Golden Perch would not be too terrible a place to stay. It was certainly worth our fascinating adventure regarding a stolen book, those that had purloined it, and the treasure it would lead us to.

“Welcome to The Golden Perch, esteemed guests. I am Elberiy, the owner of this fine establishment. How long, may I ask, will you be staying with us?”
“As long as it takes.”
The human was a stout, potbellied little thing, so average that he’d escaped my notice entirely. Even after his merry meeting, it was only the sneering voice that led me to turn around, and properly size up his sweating, nervous, and now very incensed exterior.
“We are in Teirm in search of an artefact for my father, Waylon, Lord of House Egladhrim, and we will be staying here until we find it.”
“And-”
“We’ll take your two best rooms. Have my and my cousin’s bags delivered to one, and put those of my servants’ in the other.”
The innkeeper, despite rather badly hiding how insulted he was, did not hesitate at her orders. “Of course, my ladies.”

Lantana of House Egladhrim had so far proved to be markedly similar to Rohiriel the librarian. Both were aloof, irascible women armed with a barbed tongue that cut deeper than any knife- and so very jumpy. I recalled two nights past when we’d set up camp, and I’d been keeping watch. Upon hearing a noise, I’d approached her in her sleep to shake her awake- and could have sworn that first moment when she opened her eyes, there had been something there- something completely beyond her irritable exterior, some sort of caged inner beast. But then it was gone, and she was quickly repossessed by that cranky disposition that struck quite viciously against the lone, frightened, and rather inept thief that had stumbled upon our camp.

The woman proved to be most entertaining- almost as much as Vaoris and his bumbling. Despite my most valiant attempts to prod Rohiriel into saying anything remotely revealing- as well as simply to test just how far I could push her until her temper snapped- she was very adamant in never revealing a single detail about herself. She was wryly disinterested in conversation, highly businesslike, and rather intolerant of my constant prodding. I had long ago realized that I didn’t care about who she was or where she was from. It was simply amusing to pull at the tomcat’s tail until it showed its claws. Now she utilized her constant displeasure to great extent, turning up her nose at the commoner even as he turned his back and hurried off to order about his waitresses.

The enchanted armour of the Karzin Bandits. It did indeed sound like a fable, and though I had never even heard of Draidin Longfellow before I’d been asked to come along, I could guess what his book was like. Fanciful descriptions of buried treasure, the loveable rogues who’d hid them, their daring tales of escapades- in short, the novel had to be a little more than a pile of manure. Yet another reason I preferred to attain information on my own rather than read about it. However, it was more than worth getting out of Ilirea’s dreary scholarly atmosphere. Though I hadn’t seen or heard of the thief, I’d been contacted by an ancient Rider known as Hendalacon and his dragon Aldanion to accompany a trio on this quest of dire importance. Under the guise of a lady-in-waiting named Corchiel, I would serve as their personal protector.

However, I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to protect Vaoris and Rohiriel from the occasional bandit along the road, or from Myaja Kolbjorn. Though she’d stopped attacking all her guards like when she’d first been brought to Ilirea, she was to be kept under watch at all times- especially on a mission that revolved around armour that made the wearer invincible. Drawing power from the sun and the stars- I would certainly have to look into that. As for Kolbjorn, the ruthless, infamous, totally-without-mercy General was actually much sneakier than she looked. Apparently, she and a guard had been listening in when the theft had first occurred, and immediately afterwards had burst into the library, requesting to join the mission. After a heated debate, she’d been allowed to come- under the condition that she be watched by me. And so began our misadventure.

Myaja had been given the guise of Tinuthêl, Lady Lantana’s cousin. The two elves were startlingly alike in demeanour and colouring that their physical differences could certainly be overlooked. Both had ash-blonde hair, ice-blue eyes- Rohiriel especially, with those seemingly blind orbs- and ivory skin. Both had wary gazes and serpentine tongues, and were possessed of remarkably low tolerance for stupidity or deviation of any kind. Their chief differences were physical- Rohiriel was taller, more slender, while Myaja clocked in at a more average height and was curvier, and more muscular. And though Rohiriel was her equal in imperious mannerisms, that regal, elegant bearing and being no stranger to giving the cold shoulder, Myaja had a particularly severe presence that showed her obvious comfort in commanding respect.

Despite being a reputed force on the battlefield, and though the highly combative General did legitimately belong to nobility- the Kolbjorn line being among the oldest of Du Weldenvarden- she was not aristocratic material. During our time together on the journey, she rarely spoke, suggesting what I now realized was social inexperience and awkwardness. She’d remarked that she’d had a sheltered childhood, one where her father had brusquely trained her day and night in the art of war. As soon as she’d been released from Ilirea, she had enlisted in the military, and spent her entire life there since- which meant little social interaction apart from screaming orders. This was only justified by that when she did speak, it was chastisement or even the rare burst of fiery violence she’d often utilized on her hapless guards in Ilirea.

Almost as soon as the proprietor had fled, one of the waitresses fluttered up to us.
“Would y’all like a table?”
“Yes,” answered Rohiriel in her straightforward manner. “One near the hearth.”

I supposed the woman was attractive by human standards. She seemed to think so herself, because as soon as she nodded respectfully at Rohiriel and Myaja, her eyes were drawn to Vaoris. Lashes across her large eyes and tossing her head, she swayed her hips and walked in an obviously provocative fashion. I saw Rohiriel bite her lip, doubtlessly thinking the same as I was. I turned my head to see an utterly blank expression on the male scholar’s face, suggesting he was miffed. He’d given me a very similar look when, during casual conversation, I’d mentioned that my last name was Venali. Upon questioning me about it, his face had then become something comparable to a deer staring into headlights when I confirmed that I was indeed the niece of Veela and Rusalka Venali.

It was a simple matter to confuse and frighten Vaoris. The boy was an oddity as all elves went- with his tiny, thin body, huge eyes and timid temperament, he reminded me far more of a lost little puppy than the elegant, savage, fearsome creatures that inhabited Du Weldenvarden. Despite his shy nature, however, he proved to be quite the conversationalist- at least when compared to the standoffish Rohiriel and haughty Myaja. Any barriers were especially broken when the topic of choice turned to books. From how his voice rose in volume and he spoke with his hands upon warming to the subject, I was convinced he’d read every spiel in Ilirea cover to cover upside down and backwards- twice. I never understood how one could take comfort or enjoyment in a book- a fact that I’d brought up quite loudly, much to Vaoris’s chagrin.

The lost little puppy, as it was, could become a hungry wolf if the proper buttons were pressed. Vaoris had rebuked my anti-book philosophy quite soundly, even stumping Myaja and Rohiriel with his passion. The experience had left me pleased. He did have a spine- he just, for whatever reason, chose not to use it. And it wasn’t the only time he’d surprised me, either. Naturally, his obviously frightened reaction at my relation to the Countesses required investigation- perhaps I could have discovered something to upset him even further. However, shortly after my telling him, his face had then changed to something approaching realization- and then understanding. He’d nodded, thanked me for my openness, quietly excused himself, and fallen back to ride a little ways behind me for the rest of that day, leaving me perplexed.

We followed the waitress to a table by one of the two cheerily crackling fireplaces in the room. Rohiriel, as our undisputed leader, was the first to choose a seat. She took one that made an excellent vantage point that faced the rest of the room, and straightened her blue silk cloak as she sat. I took one opposite her, deciding not to remove my travel wear. I was dressed in a thick, form-fitting cloak that reached the floor, with large sleeves. I was all in black save for a silver necklace hanging around my throat, set with onyx that stored reserves of energy within. My hood was pulled very far up on my head, so that only my mouth and chin were not hidden in shadow. I turned the edge of my lips up into a smile as Vaoris and Myaja joined us. They had been painted black with pigments, and were a stark contrast against my ivory skin.

I eyed them from beneath my hood. Noendîr, herald of House Egladhrim. Lantana, heiress of its estates. Tinuthêl, her cousin. Corchiel, lady-in-waiting. An enigmatic group to be sure.

“And what shall we do now, hmm? The city beckons.”

What we did then was turn our heads as a very tall, very thin woman with a face like a hawk and eyes like needles came stomping towards us. In one hand was a rolling pin that she held like a spear, and underneath her other arm was a sausage-shaped dog that snarled quite voraciously as she swept towards us. Upon her appearance, the customers raised a loud greeting in unison. Despite the noisiness, there was something like wariness in their jovial voices- apart from which, from the looks on their faces, they feared the woman more than they actually respected her. She came to a halt directly at our table, hefting her deceptively ridiculous-looking dog. Tucking a strand of jet-black hair behind an ear, she fixed us with her predatory stare.

“Cor, you’re a rich lot. From Hightower, I take it? You’ll be getting the ‘nice’ treatment, then. Name’s Boann, wife of that pig Elberiy. What’ll you take?”
“Red wine,” I said smoothly. “And leave the bottle here.”
“Beer,” said Myaja from behind her black veil. “But only good microbrews, none of that mass-produced swill.”
“Ooh, touchy sort. And you two?”

Characters Used;; Laioni with Myaja Kolbjorn
Words;; 2090
Muse;; -eye twitch-
Thoughts;; ... it is shameful. ANYWHO, I'm sorry with messing around with Rohiriel's dialogue a bit, I just changed it to suit the fact that we have TWO noblewomen now. XD

[Angmor]

To any outside observer, it was a thoroughly ordinary warehouse; a two-story building near the citie's northern wall, the exterior constructed of the uniform slate-grey stone, identical to the dozens of other thoroughly ordinary warehouses that surrounded it. To the casual observer, it would look like a simple warehouse the inside as well. It was only after one started looking very closely that one would discover the features that made the warehouse anything but ordinary. For example, the crates in one particular side room, instead of being filled with canvas, wooden pulleys, or skeins of rope, actually housed several plush cots, enough for a fairly large team to rest comfortably. Another set of crates in the upper level, instead of the more conventional lids, had removable sides, which would reveal the respectably sized armory within, ranging from various blades and projectile weapons to other, more exotic instruments of death. During most hours of the day, the warehouse district was a bustling place, so most comings and goings from the place would not be marked with suspicion, and the authorities had no reason to come snooping around, as no legitimate company had ever stored freight in it. The man who owned the property had some ties to the Hive, but he mostly just rented the place out by the week, asking no questions as to what his tenants were actually doing. All in all, it was about as perfect a base of operations as a businessman wanting to avoid undue attention could ask for.

Riggs and Nareth approached one of the building's side doors, their passage sending ripples through the layer of mist that had fallen with the setting of the sun, obscuring the cobbles of the streets. As they reached it, Nareth couldn't help but smile to himself. If Riggs was to be believed, then at least some of his team was assembled inside, and yet the place looked just as eerily deserted as the rest of the district. No sounds could be heard, and not a single ray of light filtered from the cracks in the stone. He knew his team was good, and he took pride in the fact, but it was almost enough to make him wonder if perhaps, just maybe, Riggs had chosen the wrong warehouse. Almost as if he had heard the thought, Riggs raised his hand and pounded a slow, three-stroke knock on the heavy timber door, the usual callsign of his organization. Nareth had discovered long ago that it was best to keep it simple. Immediately, the bolt slid to from the other side, and the portal swung open into darkness. Without a word, Riggs glided through, a living shadow entering his element. Nareth followed, feeling his lips quirking upwards as he followed, the door shutting on its own accord behind him and sealing him in darkness. It was all vulgar theatrics, he knew, but he really did enjoy indulging in these cloak-and-dagger affairs every once and a while.
But only when necessary. He thought to himself.
"Alright,"He called into the darkness. "Now that you've had your fun Lenthir, would you mind enlightening us?"
Immediately there was a spark of light from behind him, causing the shadows to flee before a pale blue radiance. Nareth turned, his vision greeted by a smiling, hawk-featured face, illuminated by the glow of a pulsing blue-white orb enclosed in a shadowed hand. "Sorry, boss." The face said, all deep, oiled baritones that did not sound the least bit apologetic. "You can never be too careful, not in my situation."
"You can be," Nareth answered, matching the tone. "If Riggs or myself had ended up eviscerated on the floor, trust me when I say that you would have been very swiftly been next."
The face's dark eyes didn't even blink. "Then I guess it's a good thing we're all still alive. Shall we move further in, or stay here chatting in the mudroom?"
"Further in, please.” Riggs cut in, pushing open the door set opposite the one through which they had entered. “This part hasn’t had the soundproofing treatment, and right now all of Teirm can hear us.” Nodding, Nareth turned back to Lenthir and gestured gracefully.
“After you.”
The face nodded, and the glowing orb melted away, revealing the rest of the figure’s body as it brushed past him.

Of all of the talent that Nareth had assembled, Lenthir was perhaps the most eclectic. He was an elf, for one thing. In the world of criminal organizations, getting a mage was difficult, but getting a former elven battle-mage was a miracle. But, as with most things, it was truly a simple matter if one knew where to look. In Nareth’s case, it had been in looking for members of King Vanska’s personal guard, people who had actually been present at his death. Sure enough, after a little research, he had turned up Lenthir, a former guardsman for the king in the battlefields of the Blue Divide. Of course, upon finding a mage, an even more pressing question was how one might exert control over someone who was, strictly speaking, more powerful than oneself. But with Lenthir, the answer had practically provided itself. Firstly, he had been brutally maimed by a direct hit from a catapult stone in the battle where King Vanska had met his end. Lenthir had survived, but only barely. Only so much could be reconstructed with magic, and today he was still completely without the use of his right arm, and one lung remained smaller than the other, making for a pronounced rasp in his breathing. By the standards of his people, he was impure, forever a cripple. Even more so, his injuries in the battle had prevented him from helping to save the life of his king, which meant the king’s widow was instantly very interested in his head on a platter. Any one of Dellanir’s many agents would be perfectly amenable to finding him and dragging him back to the paranoid queen, if they could find him. And so, the solution had been simple. Nareth had offered to hide him from Dellanir’s wrath, in return for his still highly-adept magical talents. Considering the narrow prospects of a maimed elf with a mad ruler after them, it was not surprising that Lenthir had accepted. The elf had been at his side ever since, a tall, black-robed figure, ever ready to bring his own particular brand of mystical influence into an operation.

As they walked, Riggs led them through a tight passage between two stacks of large crates, turning ninety degrees to the right. Nareth already knew that this was a simple yet highly effective defensive measure. The tiny choke-point was easily defensible by one person, and the tight walls of the turn would mean anyone wielding a weapon in his right hand would be at a severe disadvantage. Finally, rounding the corner, they emerged into the warehouse’s main room. To Nareth’s surprise, the place was actually quite well lit by a large chandelier suspended from the rafters. The merry glow of its dozen candles cast a warm bubble of light that picked out the room’s only furniture: a large square table surrounded by a dozen cheap but comfortably-padded chairs. Solitary as ever, Lenthir sauntered into a corner, probing his limp arm with his good hand. Smiling, Nareth set down his satchel on the table, glancing around at the rest of the room. “Well, this is cozy. What other accoutrements do we have?”
“Well, as you can see, the place can be sealed up tight enough that not even a glimmer of light gets out, and the whole thing has top of the line soundproofing. We could have a dance with the king’s court in hear and no one would hear it.” Riggs said, gesturing further into the warehouse as he rounded the table. “Beds are over there. The armory is upstairs in the loft, and there’s a hidden hatch to the roof as well. Plus a few other spaces that we can assign to our needs. I could rig up a holding cell in the back, in case a source is a bit less than communicative.”
“I highly doubt that will be necessary.” Nareth settled himself into one of the chairs, suppressing a yawn. He was ready to admit that the long ride from the Tears had tired him, despite his body being so used to traveling. And of course, Sirith making it such an easy ride. He would have to check on her tomorrow, and make sure that she was properly watered and fed, after he took a short nap…
Realizing his thoughts were wandering, he shook his head, bringing his attention back to the here and now. There was a time when he thought that retiring to the country and raising his horses and studying his books was exactly what he wanted to do with his life. He had even tried it, briefly. It had been then where he had quickly discovered that the nature of his hungry mind made it impossible for him to sit still. He needed challenges and enigmas, he craved it like most men craved food. That was why he did what he did, and that was why he could ignore a yawn or two after a long ride. He could sleep later.
“Well,” Riggs broke in cautiously, settling himself in a chair opposite. “Anything else you need me to accomplish?”
“No, my friend.” Nareth answered, leaning comfortably backwards to watch the flickering shadows chase each other about the raftered ceiling. “All for the moment as ready. Once the others are here, we can begin in earnest.”

. . .

As settled himself on the solid wooden bench, clumsily trying to sort out the train of his cloak, Vaoris fought the urge to just close his eyes and block out the world, to make sense of the myriad emotions churning through him. But that, he sensed with his newfound awareness, wouldn’t do. A herald for nobility would put his personal feelings aside, and remain attentive to the needs of his mistress at all times.
But why am I thinking like this? He asked himself. It’s not like I don’t have a choice the matter.
After all he had been through, it wasn’t as if a surly nature wasn’t warranted. And of course, he doubted that any of the three women sitting beside him would even notice him no matter what he did.

As he had discovered early on, sitting among three such strong feminine personalities, he felt as if he was shrinking under the weight of their combined presences. Of the three, Myaja was probably who intimidated him the most. Now, current events were not his strong suit in the least, but after the momentous events of the winter solstice, the news had penetrated even the most oblivious scholar’s ears. Vaoris imagined that being within spitting distance of the general of all the armies of Du Weldenvarden in her natural territory would be frightening. Spending a week on the road with her in a state of loose arrest was downright terrifying. From the very first moment they had met, when she had marched determinedly up to them right after he had nearly lost his life in the library, her glacial eyes had swept over him once, just once, and then she made it a point never to look at him again if she could help it. It was as if she had made a full assessment of him with a single glance, and had dismissed him as useless. Something unworthy of her notice. Further study on the road seemed to back up the hypothesis, as their interactions were always curt and abbreviated, and few sharp words with him always carried the slightest edge of disdain. For some reason, that fact bothered him. Having had time to mull through it, he had finally decided why. In Myaja’s eyes, he was weak and useless, an expendable asset that did not require saving. If he was ever in danger, she probably would not even think once that she might help him. Rohiriel at least could be counted on to show some decency, if the situation was dire enough. But for the former elven general, for whom killing hundreds was a day’s work, the loss of a single young scholar on her conscience would not cause her to lose a single second of sleep. Since coming from that realization, Voaris felt all of his scholarly curiousity toward her to wither away to nothing. He did not know what it was like to be Myaja Kjolborn, and he was perfectly content to keep it that way. Laioni was more bearable, but only by an infinitesimal amount. Dealing with that personality carried its own unique set of challenges. It was like… like dealing with a particularly vicious child. From the very first, Laioni had not outright shunned his contact like the other two. If anything, she tried to spend as much time with him as she could. The problem was that it was for the express purpose of needling him, prodding him, and just generally trying to evoke a reaction from him. She seemed to derive some kind of sick pleasure from the whole thing. Why Hendalacon had personally asked her to come along was beyond him. And her manner of dress… Just revolting. While he did not have anything against feminine attributes, there reached a point where it was just too much. He was glad when Rohiriel’s insistence on disguise had forced her to subscribe to the nudity taboos of humans, which were even more stringent than that of the elves. It almost made his own ridiculous clothing worth it. But of course, what did he expect? She was a direct relative of her. The very niece of Veela Venali, Countess of the city of Cuenon, and perhaps the most frightening individual known to man or elf. It explained everything, really.
And then of course, there was Rohiriel. The impossible enigma that he remained determined to solve. Of course, she continued to allude any attempt for him to understand her. Ever since entering the city, she had grown only more distant, if such a thing were possible, and her haughty treatment of him in her Lady Lantana persona still rankled.
Within such close proximity to all three of them, he knew that he could not hope to measure up to the sheer power that was contained in their group. He felt almost as if he was being actively repelled by it, as a lodestone with a similar pole to its neighbor.
“And what shall we do now, hmm?” Said Laioni, her natural sneer sounding loudly in his ears as she set herself down on the bench beside him. “The city beckons.”
Vaoris felt a spike of annoyance at her words. Not three hours before, by his reckoning, he had handed to her a copy of a hand-drawn map, complete with a handy list of places where they might start their inquiry. And now she asked what to do now?
Unable to keep the anger from his face, Vaoris turned away, sweeping his eyes over the rest of the inn as he struggled to lock down his feelings.
Who knows, I might just find the thing that Rohiriel always seems to be looking for…

As it turned out, his newfound friend at the gate had been right about the Golden Perch. It truly was a nice place, in a homey, eclectic sort of way. Now, every building in Teirm was made of stone, he knew this for a fact. After that fiasco a century ago, nothing was going to be burned down by pirate arrows ever again. Which was why it was so impressive that that every visible wall of the inn had been overlaid with rough-cut timber. It had to have cost a relative fortune when the place had been built.
Humans. He thought. So nostalgic.
Still, he could see why. It really did set up the warm, simple atmosphere of the place. But for all it’s simplicity, it did not seem without its secrets. He wasn’t sure what made him think so, but there just seemed to be something pervading the air around him, pressing against his sinuses, like an inside joke he wasn’t getting. The staff, the architecture, the clientele… all of it. It made him want to get up and explore, to start talking to people, to start investigating. If there was a defining trait for a scholar, one of them would have to be an instinctive hatred of secrets.
Just then, his eyes swept over the bar area, where he noticed the young waitress who had led them to their table on coming in, currently occupied loading up a tray with food and drink. Noticing his scrutiny, she held his glance, winking at him and smiling broadly.
Ah. And there was another thing that he didn’t know what to make of.
By the standards of most people, he was not beautiful. He was scrawny and thin, with a paleness that he had heard described as a walking corpse. And yet every once and a while, it seemed, there was a female who would be drawn to his dark hair and dreamy eyes. Veela Venali had first made him aware of this fact, and it had been her flirtations that had first awakened the feeling of utter confusion that arose within him whenever he thought on the subject, usually causing his face to turn a bright red. Of course, it was a bit easier with this human girl who seemed to intent on winning his affection. After all, he had to be at least sixty years older than she was.
I’m sorry, girl. He thought, nodding cordially to his potential suitor. I’m really not your type.
Still, there was something inside him that liked that smile.
The girl was in the middle of returning his nod when suddenly her jovial expression froze for a second. She then turned away, hastening to resume her work. Vaoris frowned.
What was that all about?
Just then, he became aware of the shouted greetings from his left. His frown deepening, Vaoris looked…
And what he saw sent an involuntary shiver down his back.

Striding purposefully toward them from the back of the inn was a woman. Now, there would not be anything inherently disturbing about this, except for several things. First, he noticed the round, thick face of Elberiy the innkeeper peeking around the doorway to the kitchen, watching the woman’s progress warily as if he was afraid what she might do. Also, the inn regulars, upon her entrance, immediately dropped everything they were doing and raised a unified shout of greeting, as if they knew the consequences if they didn’t comply. And then of course, there was the woman herself. Everything about her was sharp; sharp face, sharp hands, sharp eyes. One hand clutched an ancient rolling-pin with all the grace and poise of an elven swordmaster, as if she was ready to riposte with a killing blow without the slightest warning. The other held… some furry bundle of flesh which for a moment Vaoris was unable to tell was alive or dead. Finally, she sauntered to their table with a single-minded fury, towering above them to fix them with a beady eye. As she did, the bundle of fur emitted a high growl, proving that it was indeed living, after all.
Vaoris wasn’t sure if he felt better about that or not.
“Cor, you’re a rich lot.” She said finally, revealing a broad accent in her scratchy tones. “From Hightower, I take it? You’ll be getting the ‘nice’ treatment, then. Name’s Boann, wife of that pig Elberiy. What’ll you take?”

For his part, Vaoris was highly doubtful that this Boann had come out of her usual domain just to take their drink orders. He felt that they were being assessed, but he wondered just what an inkeeper’s wife might be assessing them for. How very curious. If Laioni had noticed any of this, she did not show it, her half-hidden features sporting only her usual smirk. “Red wine. And leave the bottle here.” Vaoris suppressed the urge to flash the witch a quick frown. He had studied the complicated human class-system extensively, and he knew that a lady in waiting never spoke before their superiors. And he also knew that telling her so probably wouldn’t change her behavior one iota. “Beer,” said Myaja, equally unaffected by Boann’s display.“But only good microbrews, none of that mass-produced swill.”
“Ooh, touchy sort.” The woman quipped broadly, turning to Rohiriel. And you two?”
For the first time, Vaoris noticed that Rohiriel’s face had taken on an intent blankness, studying the innkeeper’s wife very closely, not letting on that she had even heard the words. For the moment, it could be passed off as Lantana’s haughty disdain of the woman’s dress and manner, but that could only hold true for so long. And Vaoris knew that after all of his thoughts on a servant never speaking first, he could hardly intervene. And yet, for some reason, he feared what might happen if the silence dragged on for too long.
“My mistress never drinks alcohol so shortly before retiring.” He found himself saying, his Noendir-voice asserting itself without his permission yet again. “Bring us the best mulled cider you have. I’ll have the same.” At the sound of his voice, the woman’s sharp, angry gaze flicked to him as if noticing him for the first time. Vaoris would have cowered, but for some reason, Noendir sat straight, holding Boann’s stare until the woman seemed to grow bored of the contest.
“A’right then.” She said at last, as if nothing had happened. “I’ll send someone with your orders. Enjoy yer drinks.” With that, she turned and began making her way back toward the kitchen, spreading a sense of relief as she finally disappeared from sight.

Vaoris felt himself sag slightly as the tension was released. He had no idea just what that had been, but whatever the reason, he was glad it was over. Of course, his good or bad actions were still yet to be decided…
“I’m sorry.” He said, turning to Rohiriel and keeping his voice low. “I didn’t know if I was supposed to do that. This is still a bit new to me.”

[/blockquote]

[Akilinia]

In spite of the initial feeling of comfort that had enveloped her upon entering the inn, she was reminded of why she had never harbored a particular fondness towards them as she stared around the room. The rich grains of the wood planked walls, so rare in Teirm, along with the warm crackle of the fire, and the soft burble of conversation that pervaded the room went far towards alleviating the undertone of disquiet evident to those who searched for it. She could not pinpoint its source, but she had long since learned to trust her instincts, and something told her that the Golden Perch was not the homey place it appeared to be. Perhaps it was the couple who had seated themselves just a little too close to the table where she and her companions were situated, or maybe it was the peculiar group of figures dressed in black who whispered amongst themselves conspicuously near the door. From her position in the corner of the room, she could see everything that occurred in the small common room. Rohiriel did not like to be surprised. It was one the many quirks she had that remained from her life in Ellesmera. When one was an assassin, one could not afford to be stunned by the moves of ones opponents. Assassins needed to be prepared for every possible course of action their target might choose, and be able to alter their plans accordingly. The addition of an unexpected companion when walking home from the market would stymie a lesser assassin, or result in two deaths where only one was necessary. One who knew their work well would be able to lure off the companion in order to complete their job without any additional casualties. Certainly, assassins needed to know how to kill, but having good skills of observation was the true key.

Rohiriel frowned a bit, settling back in her chair to survey the people in the Golden Perch’s common room. It was a bittersweet thing to be able to salvage talents that were previously utilized in tandem with knives and poison. It irritated her that skills from her life in Ellesmera could prove useful to her after swearing off anything to do with killing, but it was also liberating to know that the century of her life she’d spent murdering people had not been a complete waste. Although they may not prove useful in her peaceful life at the Grand Library in Ilirea, they might help on the mission given to her and her three companions by Hendalacon and his dragon. She’d learned to read a man’s intentions in the way he walked and through the emotions in his eyes, how to blend with any type of crowd, how to disguise her appearance and her voice until even those who were familiar with her would not recognize her. Surely some of those talents would prove useful during their stay in Teirm.

Her eyes dropped to her clothing, and she realized that one of them was already smoothing their way in Teirm. The city’s populace was welcoming to visiting nobility, but did not afford them too much attention. As ambassadors of the city state of Ilirea on a mission for one of the riders, they would have drawn a significant amount of interest, something that would have complicated their search. Anonymity could be a blessing and a curse, but in this case it would prove beneficial to their mission. Although Rohiriel had no evidence to back up her convictions, she knew that they would not be successful in their search if the general population of Teirm was following their every move and attempting to help them in their search. In fact, some would not even help them. The lack of action of the riders during the Blue Divide had earned them the enmity of many. She was willing to wager that a large percentage of the families in Teirm were a member short because of the Blue Divide. Who knew how many of those families would blame the riders for those deaths? Those who did would have no qualms about hindering those who professed allegiance to the riders, regardless of the consequences.

Her eyes flickered over her companions and settled on Myaja Kolbjorn, the elf responsible for the entirety of Du Weldenvarden’s military. The elves were the source of much animosity as well. It is only natural that humans hate the race their empire is fighting, especially when the resulting wars have caused such a decrease in their numbers. She thought regretfully. The woman responsible for the orders that had led to those deaths would garner as much hatred from the humans in Teirm as representatives of Ilirea would, if not more. Rohiriel was glad the woman had consented to disguise herself as a mere noblewoman for the duration of their time in the city. She had enough to worry about without watching for an enraged heathen hoping to put a knife in the elf general’s back. Not that, she suspected, any normal human, or elf for that matter, would find themselves successful in such an undertaking. Rohiriel was formidable herself, but she was not certain that she could even put a knife in the woman. Despite her vows against violence towards others, she felt a stirring of excitement at the thought of fighting with Myaja. Although the elf was three times her age and probably more than a match for her in skill, her blood raced at the prospect of such a thrilling battle.

Although Rohiriel had seen the general at a distance several times during her years in the elven capital, she had never been close enough to get a good look at the woman. Many of her people were deceptively fragile, but it was immediately apparent that Myaja was something more than a pretty face. The elven general was certainly attractive by the standards of the elves even if her shorter height was unusual for their tall race. She had ample curves, long blonde hair, and the delicate, pronounced facial features common for their people. However, the hard muscles that layered her stocky frame, the hard set of her mouth, and the coldness evident in her ice colored orbs offered a stark contrast to the image of classic beauty first imagined at the sight of her. Even if Rohiriel had not known who the woman was, she would have known the elf was a killer. She had seen the same coldness in the depths of her own blue eyes when she’d been an assassin, and, even though she was loathe to admit it, the sight of it in another frightened her. In fact, much about the general reminded her of the woman she had been before she’d abandoned her life as an assassin for one of peace in Ilirea. Every glance at Myaja was like looking into a mirror that showed the past. It was unsettling, but Rohiriel tried not to let it show. Myaja was a woman with whom it was best not to exhibit any sort of weakness.

“And what shall we do now, hmm? The city beckons.” The sardonic voice of Laioni Venali broke through her ruminations, drawing her attention to the prickly elf seated across the table from her. The woman lounged languorously in her chair with a small self-satisfied smile turning up the corner of her ebony lips. Laioni reminded Rohiriel of a cat, always secretive and yet prone to swift changes in mood. She would go from bantering playfully with Vaoris, teasing him for his adoration of books and knowledge, to prodding the poor scholar until his elusive temper reared its head, at which time she would relent, pleased with herself. Over the course of their travel here, the young elf had even attempted to anger Rohiriel, and she was ashamed to admit that her temper had almost gotten the better of her on several occasions. Laioni seemed to derive some sort of sadistic delight from angering others, but Rohiriel had yet to determine the reason for her behavior.

The approach of a woman from the back of the common room drew her from her thoughts, and she reached for the knife strapped to her wrist as a reflex before catching herself. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up, but she clasped her hands firmly in her lap even as her fingers itched for the comfort the feel of the smooth leather hilt in her hand would afford. Rohiriel could not pinpoint why she felt so uneasy all of the sudden, nor did she think her companions knew. All three of them stiffened as the suddenly tense atmosphere suffusing the room washed over them, and she felt more than saw them all turn to stare at the hawk-like woman striding purposefully towards them, because her own eyes were busy studying the room and its occupants, curious and apprehensive at their unanimous reaction at the woman’s presence.

The first thing to catch her gaze was the sickly hue of Elberiy’s pudgy face. He peered out from the back room of the inn where the serving girls kept disappearing and reappearing from with food and other amenities. His expression was apprehensive and she saw a bit of fear in the tight lines that stretched from the corners of his mouth and eyes. His short, thick fingers were white where they clenched the wood of the kitchen door, and his small, beady eyes followed the woman’s progress with rapt attention. She was also suddenly aware that the waitress who had taken such an immediate liking to Vaoris had suddenly stopped all efforts to flirt with the scholar and was busily going about her business, her face pointedly turned away. Rohiriel shifted her gaze from the young woman to stare around the room at the rest of its occupants. It was like watching a group of actors perform in a scene that had been rehearsed too many times. They all sat quietly at attention, all conversations and drinking suspended as they called falsely cheery greetings, their eyes riveted on the woman as if afraid the appearance of inattention where she was concerned could have dire consequences. Troubled, she turned to examine the cause of such odd and unanimous reactions.

Rohiriel’s eyes were immediately drawn to the rolling pin the woman’s held in her hand. Her grip on it was loose, and she couldn’t help but compare it to the way a master would wield their sword; calm and relaxed. She walked with the loose, fluid stride of a fighter: perfectly balanced on the balls of her feet, prepared to counter an attack at any moment. She was clothed in a simple outfit composed of a cotton shirt with worn and stained apron over a tan skirt. She shouldn’t have been remarkable in any sense of the word, but there was a sharp intelligence in her black eyes, and a haughty tilt to her head that drew the eyes. And she was all angles. There was nothing soft about the woman. Her cheekbones stood out above a point chin and thin lips that were turned down into an assessing frown, all of which were framed by locks of lank, ebony hair that fell in harsh lines to her shoulders, and as she tucked a length of that hair behind one ear, Rohiriel suspected that her words and personality would be just as sharp.

“Cor, you’re a rich lot.” She said after staring down her nose at them for a moment. “From Hightower, I take it? You’ll be getting the ‘nice’ treatment, then. Name’s Boann, wife of that pig Elberiy. What’ll you take?” Something about the way she introduced herself struck Rohiriel as odd. It was not just her accent, which was as odd as the waitress’s had been, but the fact that she identified herself by referring to Elberiy. It was a normal thing, for women to introduce themselves as the wife of their husbands, but for this woman, who so obviously was the dominant one in the relationship, it didn’t seem to fit. Rohiriel knew she could be getting suspicious over nothing, but could not seem to shake the feeling of unease that had settled deep within her bones at Boann’s appearance. She glanced at her companions, to weigh their reactions to the innkeeper’s wife.

Laioni’s small smile remained on her face, undimmed by this sudden development. She does not sense anything amiss. Rohiriel thought as the witch ordered a red wine with the stipulation that the entire bottle be left on the table for her consumption. What did I expect? She asked herself. The woman was a witch, accustomed to being in control of the situation. Would she even listen to any instincts she might have left if they told her to be afraid or wary? The woman was either oblivious, or extremely confident in her own powers. After all, she did not exhibit the smallest bit of caution when dealing with Myaja, a very dangerous individual.

“Beer.” Myaja ordered, as calm as ever. “But only good microbrews, one of the mass-produced swill.” Rohiriel doubted she would even know if the general was affected by the innkeeper. The woman was a block of ice, and equally as hard to read.

“Ooh, touchy sort.” Boann responded, unimpressed by the hint of hostility evident in Myaja’s tone. “And you two?” She asked, turning to face her and Vaoris. Suddenly, Rohiriel wondered if she was even who she said she was. There was no reason to suspect her of being anything other than Elberiy’s wife, but what innkeeper’s wife behaved in such a fashion? They were always hospitable, all warmth and softness after a long day’s ride. Without that warmth, what weary traveler would want to stay there? She was surprised the Golden Perch was doing as well as it was with such a sharp woman in charge of it. Who would choose to deal with such a person when they could go to any of the other inns in Teirm? Abruptly, she realized that she was taking too long to respond to Boann’s question. The innkeeper’s wife was staring at her intently, with a spark of irritation in her eyes. She seemed about to say something when Vaoris broke in. “My mistress never drinks alcohol so shortly before retiring.” He said calmly, meeting the woman’s sharp gaze without flinching. “Bring us the best mulled cider you have. I’ll have the same.” They stared at each other for a long moment, before the Boann seemed to tire of the contest. She looked away, but Rohiriel caught a glimpse of amusement on her face before the hard mask was back in place.

“A’right then.” She said after a long pause. “I’ll send someone with your orders. Enjoy yer drinks.” Without a glance at any of them, or any hospitable words, she turned sharply on her heel and strode away with a brown-haired dog Rohiriel had just noticed yapping away under her arm. As she disappeared into the kitchen, a sense of relief spread across the room. It was as if some unspoken vow of silence had been lifted. Everyone in the inn turned back to what they had been doing prior to the woman’s appearance as if nothing had happened. She released a deep breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding in, relaxed back into her chair, and turned at the sound of Vaoris’ voice, putting the puzzle of Boann aside for a later time.

“I’m sorry.” He said in a quiet voice. “I didn’t know if I was supposed to do that. This is still a bit new to me.” It took her a moment to realize what he was talking about. She hadn’t even considered the fact that human etiquette dictated that she should have been the first one to order. Sloppy. She thought scornfully, clenching her hands in her lap and trying to keep a scowl off her face. Such mistakes could get them killed, or at the very least, complicate their mission in unnecessary ways. She had to be more careful. She was the one who had insisted on wearing the disguises, and so it was her responsibility to make sure they held up, and that they behaved in a fashion that would not arouse suspicion. Startled, she wondered if Hendalacon and Aldanion intended for this to be her role in the mission. No, that’s not possible. She thought, denial rising swiftly to counter the idea. She had been very careful about not letting details about her past become common knowledge. In fact, she hadn’t even told anyone in Ilirea. The only people who would recognize her were dead, or did not know what she’d become. A spasm of pain shot through her body at the thought of her parents. What would they think of her now? She lived a life of secrecy and had long since discarded all of the values they’d taught her as a child. Would they even be able to bear the sight of her?

What does it matter? She thought harshly. She never planned to return to them. It would be better for them to believe that she lived happily in the elven capital as a horse merchant, or that she continued her studies in Ilirea, too absorbed to think to write to them. Anything was better than the truth.

The clink of glass and ceramic on wood brought her attention back to the table in the inn. Another waitress set a bottle of red wine and an empty glass, a mug of beer, and two glasses of mulled cider on the table in front of them. “Is there anything else I can get you folks?” She inquired, lifting up the tray she’d brought the drinks on, and balancing it on her hand with practiced ease. “No, that will be all.” Rohiriel said, waving her hand arrogantly at the woman. A flash of irritation darkened her face, but she offered a small curtsy and then retreated to the kitchen, weaving through the maze of chairs and people in the common room with the effortless grace of long practice. Rohiriel slipped her fingers through the handle on her mug of mulled cider and lifted it to her lips for a sip while she thought about Vaoris’ question. It poured over her tongue in a hot wave of cinnamon apple and various spices, and burned a pleasantly warm trail down her throat and into her stomach. She sighed and set it down on the table in front of her.

“No, don’t apologize. It is my fault for telling you how human nobility behave. Traditionally, the highest ranked of the group orders first, followed by the others in order of rank. In this case, I, as heiress, should have requested my drink first, and followed by Myaja as Lantana’s cousin, Laioni as the lady in waiting, and then Vaoris as the herald.” She shrugged, warming her hands around the cider. “In any case, it matters little now. We will just have to be more careful in the future.” She tapped her fingers on the mug of cider, thinking. “Tomorrow we should begin our search. We’ll ask around for the best places to buy artifacts similar to the one we’re searching for. I think it would be best if we refrain from mentioning it directly for now. We don’t want to alert anyone who has cause to be alarmed at our presence that we’re searching for it.”

[Ze Flying Wraithetti Monstress]

As soon as the human woman arrived, I became very irritated. It was not from the stink of far, far too much perfume sprinkled behind her ears or the piercing, needle-point glare of her eyes, but by how close she was standing to me. I’d never been close to a human before that didn’t include my killing it, and I was reminded, not for the first and probably not for the last time, that I no longer had any power, or even the ability to make life-and-death choices for myself. The woman herself only intended to show us just who was queen here, as well as to size up her guests, but that knowledge did not relax me in the least. I detested the weakness that she now brought to the front of my mind, and how she analyzed us so carefully- peering at me through my veil like I was a fascinating insect that she intended to study before squashing me with her boot.

After an eternity of being subjugated to this gaze, I heard the scholar finally speak- not with the shy, carefully respectful voice I’d come to expect from him, but the businesslike manner of a born-and-bred herald. “My mistress never drinks alcohol so shortly before retiring. Bring us the best mulled cider you have. I’ll have the same.”
Boann stared him down. Again, Vaoris would have muttered apologetically and looked away. Noendîr met this peasant’s gaze without blinking.
“A’right then,” she said even more irritably than before, probably dejected by Vaoris’s coldness. “I’ll send someone with your orders. Enjoy yer drinks.”

She left without another word, although the sausage tucked under her arm gave one final threatening growl at our company. My tension was gone as soon as she was, but I knew I had to be wary. Of our entire group, I was the one who had the largest chance of being detected- hence my decision to wear a black veil, which, as expected, nobody we’d met had dared to ask about. Though I had been a mere major and only worked my way to colonel during the war, I had made a sizeable reputation on the battlefield. I had visited Broddring in peacetime, and so the people knew my face- but most of all, they knew that I was responsible for the deaths of many humans, not all soldiers. I accepted that fact, but refused to feel shame for it. If someone wished to seek me out for revenge, I would happily accept their challenge, but I refused any guilt trips. I had killed too many people in the Blue Divide to begin pitying myself now.

The Blue Divide? I felt my face twitch with the surprise at hearing the term within my own mind. Then I smirked. Obviously, I’d been spending too much time around the carefully neutral Riders. Almost as soon as I’d arrived, I’d spent my time reading Ilirea’s wide variety of texts on the Cleansing, detailing everything from the first stirrings of racial tension to the financial degradation by the end of the war. I’d wanted to read them mostly out of cynicism- to mock what the Riders could have possibly seen behind their safe walls- and had been surprised at the accuracy and detail I’d found, all penned with careful neutrality. Apparently, scholars and artists had been carried out on dragonback to record and immortalize the war while it had been waged. I hadn’t been sure how to react to that at first. There had been anger, certainly, that the great Riders had treated the whole ordeal as an academic undertaking. But I was also impressed- those dragons had spines hidden beneath their bloated muscles after all.

“I’m sorry,” The mannerly Noendîr quickly shifted into the awkward Vaoris once more. “I didn’t know if I was supposed to do that. This is still a bit new to me.”

For being so new at the duties of a herald, Vaoris had shifted into the guise of one with ease- ease that surprised him as much as it did me, I suspected. One would think that telling a lie, let alone lying about who you were, would be a difficult task- it required thought, invention, energy. Being a member of the illustrious House Kolbjorn, it was a simple matter for me to not speak and maintain a stoic bearing. But Vaoris could grow confidence and imperiousness where I was quite certain none existed. It was this little quirk, among others, that led me to pay attention to him after days of ignoring him- like Laioni, although Laioni hid it far better, he was soft and weak. On one occasion he’d shown remarkable bravery in the face of being bullied by Laioni. That had been the first time I’d looked at him. But now, despite myself, I wondered what made it so easy for the little scholar. Maybe it was all the books he’d spent a small lifetime within, and he’d stumbled onto a story that he now, consciously or not, integrated into himself. Or perhaps it was the thrill of being someone different, something I’d personally enjoyed long ago.

“No, don’t apologize,” answered Rohiriel. “It is my fault for telling you how human nobility behave. Traditionally, the highest ranked of the group orders first, followed by the others in order of rank. In this case, I, as heiress, should have requested my drink first, and followed by Myaja as Lantana’s cousin, Laioni as the lady in waiting, and then Vaoris as the herald.”

Only then did I realize the slip I had made by speaking out first. I quietly scolded myself for the mistake- I had only answered first to get the woman away from the table as quickly as possible, and had entirely forgotten about the niceties of high society. It had been centuries since I’d last been referred to as Lady Myaja, and I had consciously expelled any remnants of the fine points of being a noblewoman over several decades. I figured I’d never have any use for them ever again. I glanced at Rohiriel carefully. For all my skill of reading people, she eluded me almost completely- but I could see in her eyes that she had witnessed some carnage in her time. Not the rage of war, but certainly something that would have destroyed most people. In a way, I supposed she had been destroyed- a person had once existed there that lived no more. But that was all I could get from her, although I had once or twice seen her turn a curious gaze on me. It was ironic, then, that neither of us could see into the other woman.

Normally, I did not bother to pay such close attention to the inner details of a person- at least not without weighing how dangerous they could be to my country. I did not care for most people, and the amount of weaklings in Ilirea especially had turned me away from spending time with anyone unless it was entirely necessary. But out here, on the road, after six days, one tended to notice things. And I had realized something else, something that frightened me even more than the prospect of ceasing to have a choice. In Du Weldenvarden, I had my soldiers with me, my most trusted men beside me at all times. Even as a low-ranking officer I’d been among my own kind. Here, I was alone. No one in Ilirea knew what it was like to be part of one unit, one force, or of the heat of battle. I knew nothing but war, and no one had the capability of understanding that. For the first time, I was truly and completely on my own. And that terrified me.

“In any case, it matters little now,” continued Rohiriel, breaking into my thoughts- something that I was actually thankful for. “We will just have to be more careful in the future. Tomorrow we should begin our search. We’ll ask around for the best places to buy artefacts similar to the one we’re searching for. I think it would be best if we refrain from mentioning it directly for now. We don’t want to alert anyone who has cause to be alarmed at our presence that we’re searching for it.”
“She is right, Myaja,” said Laioni, her voice painfully saccharine. “‘Twould be more desirable for you to be less hostile next time. Wouldn’t you agree?”

It again took me a moment to react to the sound of my first name, with no titles added whatsoever, and when I did, I reacted badly. Of all the members of our group, Laioni was the most irritating- and not just for that foreign accent. She seemed to think of herself as her own personal definition of ‘evil’- embraced it, even- when she was anything but. She had witnessed nothing or even done anything in her life that was well and truly worth such vilification. Though it had not even crossed her mind- or anyone else’s, with that positively despicable exterior personality- she was innocent as the dawn, and fragile as glass. She didn’t know it, but all it would take was one touch in the precise spot to break her. That only made her supposed empowerment all the more annoying, and more than once I found myself hunting for that weakness just to rattle her. Every single time, I had come up fruitless, and given up when I realized I couldn’t break past those mind games she was so fond of playing.

“If I had indeed been hostile, she would be bleeding,” I replied matter-of-factly, and downed my beer in one draught. It was worth mentioning that I could eat and drink our little company into bankruptcy, but it appeared we would be skipping out on dinner tonight.
“Your self-awareness does you credit.”

The witch stretched languidly, displaying her very form-fitting outfit. I was only grateful that her duty as a lady-in-waiting prevented her from wearing those torn outfits that exposed every possible inch of bare skin she’d been so fond of wearing on the ride to Teirm. Then she picked up her chalice and sipped at it. She was waiting for a response from me, but I only tossed my head and gave a tsk, unwilling to humour her any further. The conversation lapsed into silence after that, as drinks were finished and everyone in our group turned their attentions towards themselves, and doubtlessly gloomy thoughts. I, however, became very antsy, and my mind was turbulent. I had too much free time on my hands- I’d dissipated into depressing realizations that made me careless and weak several times already, and I needed to be alert. I looked backwards, and unintentionally met the gaze of one of the waitresses. She smiled and bowed politely. Everyone here had shown us careful courtesy, I noticed- everyone except Boann. Remembering the bad aura she’d had about her, I realized that if she hadn’t had any interest in being polite, then that meant that greeting patrons was not something she regularly did- which meant that we stood out, even among these other well-to-do patrons.

“Today was simply exhausting,” groaned Laioni, who’d somehow finished her entire wine bottle without my noticing. Her next remark stopped me from challenging exactly why she was so exhausted when she hadn’t done a helpful thing all day. “Shall we retire to our rooms? We require rest for our foray into the market on the morrow.”
“Sit down, Corchiel,” I admonished harshly when she forgot herself by starting to stand up. “A Lady will be rise first, not you.” In a quieter tone, I added, “And you’re to accompany her if she does. It’s dangerous to be alone, wouldn’t you agree?”
Laioni turned up her nose at me for a long moment. Another irritating thing about her was that she was similar to Anastasio in many respects- one of them being an absolute hatred of working with others. But at least he respected authority and orders. She didn’t. However, common sense seemed to override her pride just this once, because she reluctantly eased back into her seat.
“Very well.” She looked pointedly at Rohiriel. “Shall we to bed, milady?”

Characters Used;; Myaja Kolbjorn WITH Laioni
Words;; 2040
Muse;; Actually SMASHING!
Thoughts;; I am SO SORRY for the wait! I actually like this post, though, except for the dialogue at the end. DX