'Don't,' she complained, a look of deep self sympathy etched on her face. 'I grazed my knee on a nasty thorn, look,' grasping the skirts of her lilac laced dress, she pulled it halfway up, exposing her left knee on which a line of reddened skin was visible, a thin crust of scab covering it.

'Then you should pay more attention to where you're going,' Rayna giggled, 'you're too easily distracted.'
'You're beginning to sound like my father,' Alyrëa muttered, still frowning.
'Well, he's right, isn't he?' Rayna chuckled.
After a few moments, Alyrëa sighed then joined her friend in her mirth.
'Besides,' Rayna contined, gently patting Alyrëa's knee, 'looks like it's already healing up. It'll be gone in no time.'
The two young girls relaxed together in companiable silence as the Sun slowly arked across the clear azure sky, the peaceful day showing no sign, giving no warning of the horrors to come.
A high ululation cut through the calm air like a white hot razor through butter as a company of forty strong horsemen galloped into the village, the horse's hooved trampling anything they encountered. Judging by their midnight black attire, they appeared to be raiders from the Northern lands. The leader, who wore a black helmet traced with silver filligree, reined in his steed and his men halted behind.

'Greetings,' the intruder hissed in a thin voice reminiscent of a angry snake, 'we have come for your harvest. Comply and co-operate with our demands and we shall leave in peace, resist...,' the citizens in closest proximity to the vile man heard soft sinister chuckle through the veil that obscured his mouth. 'We will have ourselves some fun.'

An elderly voice suddenly cried out from the rear of the crowd as Tirian, the village chief, rushed forwards in order to express his anger at the situation.
'No, you cannot!' Tirian protested, 'our young and old will require the sustenance for the harsh Winter days and nights. They could perish without it!'
'That's not our concern,' the raider sneered.
'As village chief, I am responsible for maintaining my people's welfare. I will not-' his tirade of protests were cut abruptly short and he toppled face down in the dirt, a few ragged breaths weakly escaping his lips which were beaded with spots of crimson blood before being silenced forever. The cruel shaft that had caused his tragic demise protruded from the small of his back, the arrow fletched with a raven feather, the cloth around the arrow stained a deep red.
'Can't say we didn't warn you,' the leader sneered.

The citizens of Ardon stared in shock at the sudden and swift death of their beloved chief before they regained their composure. Instead of discouraging the citizens of further resistance out of fear as the raiders had hoped, Tyrian's death only served to inspire them to stand up for their lives and avenge their fallen chief.

However, the villagers had little in the way of skilled warriors whereas the raiders had been trained in the art of combat since they were old enough to weild a weapon. They requested help from a neighbouring town, but the mayor refused to assist them, stating that because it had nothing to do with his own people, it was not his concern and he would not risk the lives of his own soldiers. Ardon had succeeded in vanquishing their foe-probably due to simply outnumbering the raiders and/or the Wheel turning in their favour-but they suffered many deaths and casualties which could of been prevented if help had come-deaths that had included the brutal slaying of Rayna, the young girl lying in a thick pool of her own blood, a deep gash sliced across her stomach, entrails spilling out of the slit. Alyrëa would never be able to erase that horrific image from her tortured mind and that was the day her faith in humanity had been shattered.
[End of flashback]

Alyrëa was pulled from her dark past by the sound of heavy boots squelching in the waterlogged earth as Lanur strode towards the shelter of Gleeman's Abode. The Wanderer could contain herself no more, the bloody images of her terrible past still vivid in her mind.

'You would condemn that woman?' She asked quietly, her voice trembling in emotion, a film of tears misting her eyes. 'You would rather satisfy your own desires than assist a person who is in desperate need of our help?' Her voice increased in volume as anger began to warm her cheeks despite the chill air, 'I had almost forgotten how selfish the human race could be. Go on, then, satisfy your own needs. Everyone else be damned! Are you really that self centred... or just a coward?' The final four words she uttered in a thin whisper, her anger increasing to rage, her whole frame shaking. She shot a look of loathing at the man then fell silent.

At the mention of the murder of one of her sisters, Za’ahrat gave Millae a second glance. It was entirely possible the girl had been framed. Intrigue would certainly be involved in the death of an Aes Sedai, but despite the cries of protest she was not yet convinced of innocence. Za’ahrat felt no ability to channel in the girl, but that meant little. Poison or a hidden blade were more effective weapons for any assassin. Dark friends hid in plain sight. 

The Aes Sedai remained silent as the embarrassing scene unfolded, all the while she watched and made note of each before her. As shouts met shouts, Za’ahrat moved her free hand to join the other beneath her cloak seemingly playing with her fingers. The gesture hid her true action, turning the head of her great serpent ring inward so that a casual onlooker would see nothing more than a gold band. Following the death of a sister she would need to tread carefully lest she meet the same fate herself. 

Despite the Yellow’s murder, Za’ahrat was unsure of the exact course to follow. There was no question that the matter required investigation, yet, she hesitated. The circle of five strangers had brought unexpected discoveries and they bore urgency, perhaps even more urgency than the death of an Aes Sedai. 

Za’ahrat let her violet gaze pass over the group once more. It had not taken long for the two women to reveal they were not of the White Tower. The auburn haired wilder had spoken directly and claimed no allegiance to the sisterhood. By the three oaths, there was no Aes Sedai that could utter such a denial. Speak no word that is not true. The other woman possessed a timidity the White Tower would have wasted little time breaking her of. As of the moment, there was no way of knowing if either was even aware of their ability to touch the source. Wilders embodied chaos and unpredictability. Where one might touch the source without even knowing it, another could possess a finesse that rivaled tower training. Any wilder bore close watching and this pair possessed uncommon strength. Yet, these women were not what held her focus. The young bowman… she did not believe such a thing was possible. 

The blue sister eyed the young man as he moved onto the steps of the inn and spoke up.  "Yes, aid may be needed.  But we don't know much.  The gentleman made a good suggestion when he proposed a meal in the Gleeman's Abode - it seems we were all heading there anyway.  Perhaps Mistress Velalin you would accompany us into the inn?  I don't think chasing down the good guardsman will do anyone any good right now, least of all the young lady.  But at the very least your exploits on her behalf this evening have attracted our attention.  Perhaps over a meal you could tell us more so that we might better understand the situation and formulate a plan to help the young lady.  Even going to the guardhouse won't do any good just yet. Anyone else tired, hungry and looking for more information before jumping feet first into a hornets nest? And you Mistress Velalin?   Some food and a chance to convince us of your servants plight?"

Za’ahrat nodded her agreement and glided to stand beside the intriguing man. “I agree. We can discuss the matter as easily indoors as we can out here. The coming night will bring the chill with it, there is no reason we should add our suffering to the mix.”

With that, the Aes Sedai followed the young man into the inn. It seemed the answers to the questions that had arisen were tied together. Mysteries were locked within mysteries; the dream had led her true.  

Hey, guys. Is this roleplay still up?

"Sir, before you go, who would accuse such a gentle young woman?"

"Millae has been accused by no one but the law. Our investigation led almost directly to her. Now please, I must be off!"

"Thank you, sir, we shall see you shortly."

Shaking his head sadly, Jandran turned away carrying an unconscious daughter and turning his back to a defeated mother and six onlookers as he strode down the solemn street.

Cho'Ra moved toward the hysterical woman, still bleeding and sobbing at the fear of losing her daughter, "Ma'am, Mistress," what was it? Oh, "Velalin, may I heal you? I am no Aes Sedai, but I have been a healer in my, home, for as long as I can remember. May I?"

The healer's kind offer was met with nothing but sobs as Mistress Velalin fell to her knees, clutching her hands to her chest and rocking back and forth gently as her daughter was carried away from her. The heartbroken mother was so focused on her loss, the agony of it apparent on her face, that she seemed oblivious to the world around her. 

"My fellow travelers," the women standing behind the group began a little awkwardly, but found confidence and spurred on by the conviction of her feelings towards the woman she wished to save, she continued. "Will you join me in investigating this terrible matter and, if discovered that she is indeed innocent, assist me in allowing the woman to be pardoned and set free? Please, my friends, I implore you to help me with this task."

"Of course." came the almost immediate reply from Cho'Ra.

"Blood and ashes," Lanur growled while still watching the retreating soldier. Swallowing the urge to leap after the soldier, the woodsman waved him off with the women. "You heard him. This is a matter that does not concern us. I have traveled a good distance and am due a meal and a roof over my head. If you lot wish to pursue this, it be at your own risk."

With not so much as a glance back at the heart-wrenching scene, the bear of a man turned around and marched back, into the Gleeman's Abode, nodding slightly at the roguish Ebou Dari man as he passed and mumbling under his breath about the foibles of the aristocracy.

“Your pardon, good sir,” the Ebou Dari man smiled, returning Lanur’s curt nod as he stepped out of the woodsman’s path, gesturing toward the doorway of the Gleeman’s Abode as he did so. Thren al’Rilin’s gaze turned, again, to the women – first to the Domani healer who was tending Velalin, then to the onyx-haired and violet-eyed beauty who still floated nearby, and, at last, back to the timorous little Ebou Dari girl.

“Sweet girl,” he smiled softly, “Thren al’Rilin has not survived so many turnings of the Wheel by being fool enough to present himself, willingly or otherwise, in any jailhouse. A man stays out of the law’s way and the law stays out of the way of a man, yes? For a man to put himself directly in the face of the law is quite the risk.” The charming smile faded a bit, then, and his honey-hued eyes swept over the women, once again, before finding Jandran’s back some distance away, now. He sighed, then, and, stroking thoughtfully at his whiskers continued; “In this instance, however, a man believes that the law in Maeldon may not be working just so…” The smile returned to his lips as his gaze returned to Alyrëa. “…And where there is risk, so, too, is there often reward, hm?

Of course there is,” he laughed even as he bowed with a flourish, “Thren al’Rilin will happily cede to a girl’s request. But first,” he suggested as he rose from the bow and gestured toward the Gleeman’s Abode, “perhaps a meal and a drink, at least?

 "Yes, aid may be needed." A voice broke in, drawing the eyes of the group to the slim bowman standing closest to the door into the inn. Unfazed by the attention of the strangers, Dane continued, "But we don't know much.  The gentleman made a good suggestion when he proposed a meal in the Gleeman's Abode - it seems we were all heading there anyway.  Perhaps Mistress Velalin you would accompany us into the inn?  I don't think chasing down the good guardsman will do anyone any good right now, least of all the young lady.  But at the very least your exploits on her behalf this evening have attracted our attention.  Perhaps over a meal you could tell us more so that we might better understand the situation and formulate a plan to help the young lady.  Even going to the guardhouse won't do any good just yet."  Dane looked at the rest of the group.  "Anyone else tired, hungry and looking for more information before jumping feet first into a hornet's nest?"  Without waiting for a response he looked at the injured woman in the street.  "And you Mistress Velalin?   Some food and a chance to convince us of your servant's plight?"

Za’ahrat nodded her agreement and glided to stand beside the intriguing bowman. “I agree. We can discuss the matter as easily indoors as we can out here. The coming night will bring the chill with it, there is no reason we should add our suffering to the mix.”

With that being said, the beautifully serene woman turned and walked into the inn. A moment passed before the others began to follow. Mistress Velalin remained where she was, and only rose and followed when Cho'Ra gently helped her to her feet and led her out of the street and indoors, away from the small crowd of farmers and shopkeepers who were trying just a little too hard to avoid looking in her direction.

The inside of the Gleeman's Abode was clean and well maintained, although the tables and chairs seemed a little worn. At least, in another place it would have been considered worn. In the warm, genuine atmosphere of the inn's common room, it appeared comfortable and well broken in. The very essence of the inn was that of a lived in, merry little home. 

In the corner, sitting on a table with his legs resting upon one of the chairs, a young man played the fiddle. He creating a jaunty little tune that was vaguely recognizable as a song that Cho'Ra and Thren knew as Bouncing on the Stormy Seas but was known to Dane as Dancing in the Jackrabbits Den. The fiddler had a reasonable audience, all common folk who seemed to be trying to forget their worries in the music and drink. They sat interspersed among the tables, leaving only one completely empty that was located in the back, unfortunately not too near to the crackling fireplace.

"Welcome to the Gleeman's Abode!" a rotund man exclaimed. His bright white apron and ruddy, slightly shiny face seemed very genuine and open as he smiled from behind the bar on the wall opposite the door. "Please come in and make yourselves comfortable, I'll send someone right over." 

Dane was glad to see the group following the suggestion to go into the inn.  He was interested in the situation, but had no intention of running off to the station and confronting the authorities about a situation about which he knew nothing.  Things might well not be what they seemed.  One of the guardsmen, at least, gave the impression that not all authority here was abusive.  He wanted information. 

he was less sure he wanted anything to do witht he wilder.  That meant the power and that meant, well, it could mean anything.  And there were other women more willing to get into a fight then seemed normal.  This was an interesting group and he wasn't sure that he like it.  He would need to make his choices carefully.  But it all started with finding out just what was going on.  

And finding information started with finding a table.  He was disappointed to see that there wasn't a table by the fire, but the place still had the look of the type of place he liked best - comfortable and simple.  He liked the Gleeman's Abode immediately and quickly moved over to the open table and too a seat on the end of the table and away from the wilder healer.  He ordered a simple meal and drink when the server arrived.  As plates of food and mugs of drink began to arrive the group turned its attention to the unfortuante woman.  

"Mistress Velalin, I think the time has come for you to tell us your story.  Why don't you start at the beginning and tell us what happened.  Without information we cannot do anything.  In the end, perhaps there will be something we can do."

(OOC:  Assuming the woman tells the story essentially as indicated it the first game threads.  Without that information the group wouldn't know what questions to ask.)

 

Dane swalled a bit when he heard again about the aes Sedai, but he already knew one was involved and had been killed.  Murdered, even.  As she finished her tale the time had begun to ask some questions.

"Was the aes Sedai really here just to help your son?  To your knowledge was she doing anything else here?"  It felt an odd question even to Dane.  Of course the aes Sedai was doing something else.  They always were.  But what about this one?  And what were the odds she would tell this poor women her secrets?  But it must be asked.  

"Is there anyone else in your household?  Anyone else that has been there recently?"

How quickly are the authorities likely to act on their suspicion?  How long do we have to learn anything?"

"Who has the authority to order the young woman's arrest, or to order her release?"

"Are there any other aes Sedai in town that you know about?"   There would certainly be more soon one way or another.  

"What is the evidence against this young woman?  What sort of investigation has been done?  Was it more then just those two who arrested her?

"Was your daughter acting strangely today?"

 

 

Shrugging his way into the Inn, Lanur surveys the Gleeman's Abode with a furrowed brow and an expert eye. While preferring the sweet scent of earth and the lullaby of the birds and crickets, the woodsman isn't unfamiliar with the ways of "civilization." He just prefers the simple nature of the wilds. 

"It's something I can understand," he once told a furrier as he brought in his winter haul. "People have ulterior motives, schemes, and tend to be untrustworthy. Animals are as they are and Nature—though unpredictable at times—is always true to itself."

Odorous human beings and spicy stew are an interesting cocktail for the nostrils. The Gleeman's Abode, though clean, cannot escape the flare. Turning his lip at the unnecessary noise of the fiddler, the bear of a man saunters to the back table, ignoring the cheerful greeting of the proprietor, and plants himself in the furthers corner where he can watch the happenings of the establishment with his back to the wall. Unslinging his quiver and bow, he sets them at his side, leaning against the wall, dropping his pack next to them and shifting his blade so that it rests at an angle that still allows for him to quickly retrieve his sword. 

Deepset eyes watch, perhaps a little feral, as those from the encounter outside—a bit of business that still flutters about his brain like a mad bat—make their way into the Gleeman and over to the same table as he. Not surprising considering it is the only one available. Slipping his belt knife from its homemade leather sheath, Lanur proceeds to pick at the dirt underneath his nails while he waits on the serving girl to arrive so that he can place his order. He cannot keep his eyes from darting to the women, but not out of lust or appreciation. His heavily bearded face is difficult to read, but the creasing between his brows gives him a dark countenance.

Ordering three bowls of the stew, bread (if they have any... a loaf will do), and a couple of mugs of ale, the woodsman continues cleaning his fingernails, even trimming them a bit with the blade. After the orders are placed, one of the fellows begins firing questions at the sobbing woman whose child had just been taken into custody.

Lanur shakes his head just enough to make his long hair roll a bit at the shoulders. He offers nothing further to the questions and focuses on his hygiene routine until his food arrives. Bread to sop up the stew's juices followed by a spoonful of the hearty substance and not really caring how much of it dribbles into his beard at the present. Stew will drizzle and until he's done wolfing down the ambitious portions in front of him, Lanur Dinas doesn't concern himself with a clean face. Bread, mop, spoonful. Bread, mop, spoonful. Gulping down some ale. Bread, mop, spoonful... drizzle, drizzle, drizzle. Manners be damned. He's hungry and angry.

Alyrëa watched her companions' actions closely to decide her next move. While the Wanderer's heart ached for the Aes Sedai's plight and Alyrëa's desire to investigate the situation immediately (her feelings inspired in part by the bloody period in her past when the Raiders had butchered her village), when Dane suggested they sought respite in the sanctuary of the Gleeman's Abode, she reluctantly relented. While the woman needed their assistance, the group could offer better help once they were fed and rested. It would, after all, be folly to jump into the deep end when they were all weary and drained (both phisically and mentally) from their long travels on the road, but as well as that, they needed information about the situation before they could proceed efficiently. The group had to be well prepared for what they were about to attempt otherwise things could turn out badly indeed. Not just for Alyrëa and her companions, but, if they handled the situation indelicately and poorly, they may only succeed in exacerbating the prisoner's already dire circumstances. Therefore she opted to follow the others into the inn, letting the healer Cho'Ra, who was still consoling a sorrowful Velalin, go on ahead. When it was her turn to pass over the threshold of the inn, Alyrëa was greeted by several welcome things: the pleasant wave of warmth, which was a great relief and change from being exposed to the bitterness of the chill air on the road who's icy fangs bit into your frozen skin, leeching its heat like a rabid vampire draining its victim's blood. The sight of the pleasant scene before her also made her lips twitch a little into a small smile and when the rotund man behind the counter assured them that a waiter would be with them shortly, the prospect of a good meal made her realise just how starved and parched she was. True, she had partook in meals whilst on the road of course, but due to the scarcity of animals present in the wild at this time of year, the meals were meagre and barely succeeced in sustaining her. Water, too, had been hard to come by. Not due to the lack of rivers, streams and other bodies of water that provided the revitalising liquid, but because of the difficulty in accessing it as most of it was encased under a frigid shell of thick ice which she had to break through before she could claim her prize and ofttimes the ice resisted her every effort to destroy it, thus leaving her even more parched than she had been before she begun her attempts. Her waterskin was all too often devoid of any of its contents. She could, of course, draw upon her command over water and let her One Power sustain her, but the use of her magic came at the price of using her energy. Yes, she could sooth her dry sticky throat but that would only succeed in exacerbating her wearyness. It was a delacate balance to master.
Alyrëa scanned the cheerful commonroom with its many patrons, most of whom were flushed, foolish grins spreading over their rosy faces as the alcohol they were consuming in copious amounts took its toll. As a result, this made a few of them a little too boisterous for her liking. Grimacing somewhat as the sound of their overly loud conversation and bouts of enthusiastic mirth assailed her ears, she continued to locate what she sought: a table that was unnocupied so her and her companions may take the weight off their aching feet. In a room as crowded as this, it seemed like a fruitless endeavour but her eyes finally settled on a free table a ways from the warm cheerfully crackling fire that was burning in the stone hearth, which disappointed her. The luxury of settling next to a warm fire after so long out in the chill pervailing outside was very appealing. Still, they must take what they were given. Her companions must of spotted the table the same time she had, for they all moved towards it together. Once she was comfortably settled, she was pleased that the waiter was not long in approaching them and after she had placed her order of well done lamb accompanied by fresh vegetables covered in thick beef and onion gravy (OORP: yes, that's what I just had in real life lol!), she turned her attention on the events around her. Velian was being questioned closely and with much scrutiny:

'Was the Aes Sedai really there just to help your son?'

'To your knowledge, was she doing anything else?' Alyrëa was certain she saw Dane's thick and grizzled brow furrow as he asked this question.

'Is there anyone else in your hosehold? Anyone that has been there recently?'

The enquiries continued, to which Alyrëa watched and listened with mixed feelings but kept her council for now. She was torn between the desire and need to gather information on the proceedings and questioning Velian was a good way to achieve that (assuming the woman's words were honest and true, of course) and her heartfelt sympathy towards the clearly distraught woman. Surely it would do her good to have a quite moment to recuperate after what she had just endured and not be plied with so many questions. In the end, however, the urgency for information pervailed so Alyrëa just sat, waited and listened, whilst slowly devouring her meal, despite her ravenous appetite. Half of her mind and attention was on the conversation before her and it distracted her from fully focussing on her much needed repast. She waited with rapt attention for Velain's response to Dane's questions.

Cho'Ra moved toward the hysterical woman, still bleeding and sobbing at the fear of losing her daughter, "Ma'am, Mistress," what was it? Oh, "Velalin, may I heal you? I am no Aes Sedai, but I have been a healer in my, home, for as long as I can remember. May I?"

The woman offered her nothing but more sobs as she fell back to her knees, clutching her hands to her chest and rocking back and forth gently as her daughter was carried away from her. Cho’Ra knelt beside her, beginning the motions of a healing weave. She knew all too well the pain of losing a child, and could in some way understand the fear and anguish this woman must feel watching her own be dragged away from her. She could have clutched at her own heart with the stab of guilt that hit her there again once more, but continued forming the weave.

"My fellow travelers," the small woman standing behind her began awkwardly, "Will you join me in investigating this terrible matter and, if discovered that she is indeed innocent, assist me in allowing the woman to be pardoned and set free? Please, my friends, I implore you to help me with this task."

"Of course." came the almost immediate reply from Cho'Ra, as the weave sprang forth warmly from her.

((OOC: 1st level Heal--marked off one used level 1 weave)

As the weave complete, a small voice seemed to finally catch her attention, “Perhaps Mistress Velalin you would accompany us into the inn?,” It seemed to have been the bowman who had also tried awkwardly to open the front door of the Gleeman’s Abode with all the others. He expressed the futility of chasing after the girl at this moment and gazed about at the rest of the group as he inquired about their interest in moving someplace warmer than the street, "Anyone else tired, hungry and looking for more information before jumping feet first into a hornet's nest?" His gaze met the Mistress’ once more,  "And you Mistress Velalin? Some food and a chance to convince us of your servant's plight?"

The Domani nodded her agreement and glided, as most Domani women were trained to move, next to the bowman, “I agree. We can discuss the matter as easily indoors as we can out here. The coming night will bring the chill with it, there is no reason we should add our suffering to the mix.”

As her fellow onlookers began to head inside, Cho’Ra gently helped Mistress Velalin to her feet and ushered her gingerly toward the inn.

The inside of the Gleeman's Abode was clean and well-maintained, although the tables and chairs seemed a little worn. At least in another place it would have been considered worn. In the warm, genuine atmosphere of the inn's common room, it appeared comfortable and well-broken-in.

Cho’Ra’s ears perked up as she entered. A jaunty fiddler was playing a tune she had heard often throughout her childhood, and she felt the pain in her chest rise once more. She focused on the feebleness the Mistress was showing and trying to keep the slowly prying eyes off the their precarious group.

Eventually the little Ebou Dari girl sequestered them a table and Cho’Ra lead Mistress Velalin to a seat with them. She ordered her and herself a simple vegetable stew and some ale, and continued to pat the woman’s back in what she hoped was a reassuring manner. Cho’Ra had grown up with multitudes of rules and regulations regarding how to act in these situations, what to say and things of that nature, but she was trying these days a tactic of sincerity. She was learning, however, that feeling sincere engaging in active sincerity, were two different beasts altogether, and it was difficult.

The food came, and before she or the Mistress could sip either the warmth of their stews or their drinks, the bowman turned his attention back to the grieving woman, "Mistress Velalin, I think the time has come for you to tell us your story.  Why don't you start at the beginning and tell us what happened? Without information we cannot do anything. In the end, perhaps there will be something we can do."

(OOC:  Assuming the woman tells the story essentially as indicated it the first game threads)

Cho’Ra once again tried the back pat thing as a show of consolation, though she doubted it helped at all. The woman told the store as woefully as she appeared.

"Was the aes Sedai really here just to help your son?” The Bowman continued, “To your knowledge was she doing anything else here? Is there anyone else in your household? Anyone else that has been there recently? How quickly are the authorities likely to act on their suspicion?  How long do we have to learn anything?”

Cho’Ra’s mouth nearly dropped open, seeing this onslaught of questioning a woman who had just had her daughter taken away from her. She wanted to intervene and let the woman have some stew, but the interrogation continued.

"Who has the authority to order the young woman's arrest, or to order her release? Are there any other aes Sedai in town that you know about? What is the evidence against this young woman? What sort of investigation has been done? Was it more then just those two who arrested her? Was your daughter acting strangely today?”

Finally, as she sipped the last of her own stew, Cho’Ra threw down her spoon and almost let her emotions fully win her over. Instead, she took a small breath and smiled politely at the inquisitor, “Bowman, please do excuse my intrusion here. Mistress Velalin, as she has just relayed to you, has had quite the traumatic morning, wouldn’t you say? Would it be alright with you if we allowed her some air to gather her thoughts before addressing your questions, or at least let her have it of stew first? I am able to heal the body a little here and there, but,” she sighed, “alas, I am unable to heal the soul. And it would appear the Mistress could use a little bit of that, don’t you think? Stew can’t to much for it, but at least it’s warm.” Her smile moved to the side into a teasing smirk, “Well, hopefully it’s still a little warm.”

The warmth of the in was a welcome respite from the evening chill, and Za'arhat let it wash over her with something akin to joy. A glance around the room told her there was little dust for which the young Aes Sedai found herself breathing epithets of gratitude and praise. The villainous substance had plagued her long trip from Salidar, she would celebrate any respite from dust.

As Za'arhat glided across the room, her gossamer skirts swirled around her flowing like the tides of the northern ocean. Domani garments were masterfully cut to suggest the rippling waves of the Aryth Ocean, one merely had to move with grace. Even the stoic halls of the White Tower could not take the theatrics of garment and movement from her, that had been the first art she learned. It might appear frivolous, but such arts of seduction were as keen a weapon as any weave of the power. For this, Za'arhat had chosen the Blue, the ajah of secrets and intrigue. 

The layer skirts clung to the curves of her body as she took a seat in the cleanest of the chairs, the twisting folds revealed as much as they concealed. She had made certain to seat herself nearest to the fascinating bowman to watch the interrogation unfold. Now was a time to observe, to learn all she could about those around her and the town she now found herself in. 

It was the bowman who began the questions, and he didn't waste any time or pleasantries. A series of questions were hammered out in quick succession. All were good questions to ask, but the technique lacked finesse. They were likely to learn far more if they just let the woman talk. People revealed more than they intended when given the chance to.

As the other channeler comforted the grieving woman, Za'ahrat leaned in and fixed her with her violet gaze, "Mistress Velalin," the Aes Sedai began, "perhaps you can begin by telling us about your daughter and the Aes Sedai. Begin wherever you like."

Aside from the Innkeep, nobody paid any significant attention to Lanur as he made his way to the only empty table. There were a couple of raised eyebrows or the scooting of chairs in the opposite direction as wandering gazes caught his visage, but their attention was quickly drawn back to their drinks and companions as Lanur passed them by. As the hardy outdoorsman sat with his back to the corner of the room, even that small notice he had garnered disappeared and he became just another patron to the Gleeman's Abode.

Lanur was quick to notice as the rest of the individuals he had met outside entered the inn, and it was also not lost to him that they had Mistress Velalin in tow. He watched with the eyes of a predator as the innkeep who had just momentarily welcomed Lanur bellowed out another welcome to the other group. The group of six made their way inside soaking in the homely atmosphere and heading to the only table empty enough to seat all of them together: the one where Lanur sat, cleaning his nails with a belt knife while awaiting a barmaid. 

The anticipated barmaid arrived shortly before the larger group made it to the table. She was a young, pretty thing with a rounded face flushed with the effort of keeping the inn's patrons desires met. Her dark eyes shone as she brushed her curly brown hair out of her face and surveyed Lanur sitting at the table. 

"Welcome," She smiled slightly, her eyebrows slightly raised at the state of Lanur's dress. "What can I get you, uhmm, sir?"

"Three bowls of stew, a loaf of bread, and a couple of mugs of ale."

The barmaid's eyebrows rose even higher as she heard Lanur's rather extensive dinner requirements, but she nodded. "And will you be wanting a ermmm, bath after dinner?" She asked, looking the outdoorsman up and down once again.

(OOC: any response)

The young woman turned to leave but paused as the others reached the table and began to sit down. Obviously baffled by the variety of the group of strangers she asked again for orders. She nodded at each of the requests made, informing the group when necessary that the inn was currently only serving stew, goat's cheese, and bread this evening. Having everyone's orders at hand she turned to walk away, but not before casting a quick, sympathetically curious glance at Mistress Velalin.

With the orders given, an uncomfortable silence descended upon the table like a thick blanket, only broken by the soft reassurances and comforts that Cho'Ra was offering the distraught mother. The silence seemed to last until finally the barmaid returned carrying several drinks in each arm. 

"I'll be back shortly with the food," she informed the group as she turned to leave, her plain dress swishing as quickly stalked away.

With the silence broken, the young bowman Dane spoke up, "Mistress Velalin, I think the time has come for you to tell us your story.  Why don't you start at the beginning and tell us what happened?  Without information, we cannot do anything.  In the end, perhaps there will be something we can do."

Mistress Velalin, who had seemed to recover from her shock slightly under the comfort of Cho'Ra, sniffed slightly and dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief before quietly whispering, "Are... are you all really going to save my Millae?"

(OOC: Assuming affirmative responses.) 

Fresh tears leaked out of the corner of the woman's eyes as she breathed out heavily, "Oh, thank you! Thank you so much. I... I don't have much, but I'll give you everything I can if you can bring me back Millae. Oh, please." She sniffed again. "What happened... I... I don't know much. My Millae was working for Nelelle Sedai, just as a maidservant. She was so very fond of Nelelle Sedai. Millae practically worshipped her. She never would have killed her. Never!" Mistress Velalin paused again, clenching her fists and taking another deep shaky breath. "She... She came home late last night and she seemed a little nervous, but also a little... Proud, perhaps. I didn't think anything of it, she was always very proud of the fact that she was serving an Aes Sedai. Then... Then this morning... Those two light forsaken guardsmen arrived at our home. They said that... that Millae wasn't allowed to leave... After... After a couple of hours a runner came, he talked with the guardsmen and... and... and they told Millae that she was under arrest... under arrest for the murder of Nelelle Sedai. Millae was so shocked... she fainted straight away  And then... then... the guardsman took her!" The last couple of words came almost like a cry, causing nearby tables to glance over and divert their gazes upon realizing who they were looking at. Tears started anew and Mistress Velalin slumped in her chair, clutching her face in her hands.

The barmaid had arrived during Mistress Velalin's spiel. It was quite apparent as she passed out the food that she was listening very hard while trying to appear not to. As Mistress Velalin broke down into tears again, the barmaid's brow furrowed and a frown creased her lips as she turned and scurried off. 

Silence fell at the table again, broken only by Mistress Velalin's sobs and the sound of Lanur sloppily tearing into his feast. This silence didn't last nearly as long, however, as Dane spoke up again shortly thereafter.

"What was the Aes Sedai doing here?" he asked.

It took a couple of moments before Mistress Velalin began again. Through her tears and her hands, she answered in broken sobs, "Nelelle Sedai was... was just passing through on business that I am not aware of. She stayed in Maelon to heal Lord Lanara's son who is... who was incredibly ill. He died last night as well in a terrible fit, I've heard. It's a shame, he was a good man. He treated us common folk fairly, once... once he even saved Millae's life... he... happened to be riding by when she was a young girl swimming in the Arinelle and a current took her... She wouldn't stop talking about it for weeks... to think of it, to be saved by a Lord... Oh, my Millae..." 

"How quickly are the authorities likely to act on their suspicion?  How long do we have to learn anything?" Dane asked after another moment or two passed.

"Lord Lanara is a harsh man. A good Lord, most of the time, but... but still very harsh. He will... will likely be very angry and grief struck... he will likely want her hanged within a couple of days... at least that's what that bloody guard Dain said... my Millae... hanged..."

"Who has the authority to order the young woman's arrest, or to order her release?" Dane asked, after a swallowing a spoonful of stew.

"Likely only Lord Lanara... We... We have a judge appointed by Lord Lanara, but I suspect that he... he will want a personal involvement due to the loss of his son..." Mistress Velalin sniffed, pulling her hands away from her face and making a visible effort to take control of her emotions. She seemed to have very minimal success, as tears still trickled from her eyes. Those eyes seemed to have a fire behind them though, a fire that up until now seemed to be all but distinguished. 

"Are there any other Aes Sedai in town that you know about?" Dane continued asking, ignoring the exasperated look that Cho'Ra seemed to be giving him.

"None."

"What is the evidence against this young woman?  What sort of investigation has been done?  Was it more than just those two who arrested her?"

"I... I am unsure... I spent all morning with my Millae, trying to provide comfort and the guards did not tell us much. It isn't much of a secret, though, that Millae and a young Whitecloak were getting... rather close..." Mistress Velalin paused here, a slight scowl twisting her tearstreaked face. It was only a brief pause, however, and Mistress Velalin picked up again, her voice a little stronger.  "I would bet my last copper that has swayed opinions."

"Was your daughter acting strangely today?"  

"No... No, I don't think she was... Well... Actually, aside from being scared out of her stockings by the guardsmen restricting her to our home, she seemed unworried. Normally she'd be... she'd be worried sick about keeping Nelelle Sedai waiting..." Mistress Velalin paused there, the scowl on her face shifting to a worried frown as she considered the revelation.

With a clatter, Cho'Ra cast her spoon down into her nearly empty bowl. With a small sigh, she adopted a polite smile. “Bowman, please do excuse my intrusion here. Mistress Velalin, as she has just relayed to you, has had quite the traumatic morning, wouldn’t you say? Would it be alright with you if we allowed her some air to gather her thoughts before addressing your questions, or at least let her have it of stew first? I am able to heal the body a little here and there, but,” she sighed, “alas, I am unable to heal the soul. And it would appear the Mistress could use a little bit of that, don’t you think? Stew can’t to much for it, but at least it’s warm.” Her smile moved to the side into a teasing smirk, “Well, hopefully, it’s still a little warm.”

"Thank you, Lady," Mistress Velalin murmured, wiping some of the tears from her flushed face. "But... But I wish to do all that I can to help Millae as soon as possible... Even if it is... difficult to talk about." She tried to smile at Cho'Ra, but with her red eyes and blotched face, it came out as more of a grimace.

As Cho'Ra continued to comfort Mistress Velalin, Za'ahrat leaned forward and fixed the tragic woman with a piercing violet gaze,  "Mistress Velalin," the Aes Sedai began, "perhaps you can begin by telling us about your daughter and the Aes Sedai. Begin wherever you like."

"I will tell you what I can, Lady, but I know very little of Nelelle Sedai," Mistress Velalin replied, quietly. Unable to maintain eye contact with Za'ahrat. "She... She was of the Yellow Ajah, and although rumors indicate that she was very proficient at healing she evidently had... difficulties with the healing of Lord Rain. As for Millae... She is such a sweet girl. When she was younger, she would bring home injured birds or other animals, determined to nurse them back to health. Until she was brought into the service of Nelelle Sedai, she assisted me at the tailor shop I run. She is such a beautiful young woman." Mistress Velalin perked up at that, looking almost fiercely proud. "She had any choice of suitors, why she picked that Whitecloak, I shall never understand! He is--"

Mistress Velalin stopped short as the Innkeeper walked up. Behind him stood two burly men with telltale scars that pointed them out as the Inn's personal guards. All three of them were carrying cudgels and looking grim but determined. Ignoring the others sitting around the table, the Innkeeper focused on Mistress Velalin. "Mistress Velalin, Teni tells me that these strangers seem to be troubling you. Shall I escort them out?"

Mistress Velalin blinked, obviously surprised. "Master Masteon, that's not necessary." She replied, her voice hoarse from the sobbing. "These kind strangers have offered to help free Millae. I'm... I'm just answering any questions they have."

Master Masteon visible relaxed, and as he eyed all those around the table, he began to blush. "Oh," He said, rubbing the back of his neck and looking down bashfully. "Oh, my. I see... That... Well... I'm glad to hear that, Mistress Velalin. We're terribly sorry to have interrupted... You know that everyone here at the Gleeman's Abode is with you. No one here believes for a second that Millae did... well, no one believes what the guards say. And if they do," he added forcefully. "Then they won't be here much longer. If there is anything that we can do for you, Mistress Velalin, don't hesitate to ask." With on more embarrassed look at the group, Master Masteon turned and shooed the toughs away, scurrying back behind the bar.

With a soft sniff, Mistress Velalin addressed the group, "I... Please. Please, if you can save her... Thank you... I... I am very tired and I just wish to return to my bed. If you have everything you need from me, please, I would like to take my leave."

Dane listened carefully to the responses that the poor woman offered to his questions.  He tried to find a good balance between giving her space and sympathy and getting the information needed.  He was a bit annoyed when one of the women suggested he was pushing too hard.  He was truly trying to offer as much sympathy as he could, but this woman was in a crisis and while curling up in a ball and crying might feel good it would not help Millae at all.  When Velalin insisted that she wanted to keep talking and help as much as possible Dane was not surprised, but was still impressed.  True character was shown in how one handled a crisis, and for this woman this siutation was a crisis.  And despite her brief collapse in the street, she was standing tall and strong.  Lords might think the common folk were weak, but this woman was proof that was not so.  

Dane listened to her speak in response to Cho'Ra's inquiry.  A whitecloak?  Dane did not like whitecloaks and was not pleased to know that they were in town.  He would not be surprised at all if those arrogant buffons were at the heart of this matter.  But he had no proof of this, so he needed to be careful and not let his biases lead him astray.  As the discussion continued, he sought opportunities to ask further questions.

"This whitecloak she was seeing.  What is his name?  Does he know of Millae's situation?  You have given the impression that he might be involved, or that this relationship might be a reason why Millae was accused.  Why?  And do you have any idea what has brought whitecloaks to this town?  Are they here often?"

"The Lord's son died?"  Dane had trouble feeling too badly for a lord, but apparetly some were good people and if this young man had been one it was a shame he had suffered and been lost.  "Is there a reason his death would be linked to Millae's trial?  Is it more than just the Lord being in a black mood?  Is it just that the Aes Sedai was trying to heal him?"  

"Velalin, you seem to understand what you just said.  Did Millae in some way seem to know that the Aes Sedai would not be calling for her today?  In any other way did she seem to know what had happened? Was she prone to fainting?"

After the innkeeper came to the table and threatened the group Dane watched them go with a curious expression.  "Mistress Velalin, do you know the innkeeper well?  Did he know Millae?"  The innkeeper's reaction was interesting.  It seemed obvious that his reaction was more than casual in nature.  What did he know?

 

(OOC:  When things at the table settle down Dane will seek an opportunity to speak with the innkeeper.  This could be handeled either as part of this post or I can write a separate one later.)  He will ask questions ike the following:

*How long have you known Mistress Vilalin and Millae?    I'd love to help out, but I don't know the people in this town.  I'm new here.  You seem sure about this young woman.  If the authorities are so sure, what makes you so sure they are wrong?  Are they often wrong?"

*"What's up with the whitecloaks?  What brings them here?  Are they here frequently?  How'd Millae meet one, they aren't usually real frienldy."

"Any idea who we would need to talk to about Millae's case?  Mistress Vilalin has been impressive - staying strong and telling what she can.  But we need to know why the guard thinks the girl was involved.  Do you know who we would talk to about such things?  

 

Bland and pasty, heavy on potatoes and leeks, the stew is messily devoured by the woodsman as soon as the bowls are placed in front of him. Head bent over the crockery, Lanur barely pays any attention to the conversation taking place around him. People are too loud when they should be taking advantage of the feast in front of them. Animals take the opportunity to eat when it presents itself because they don't necessarily know when or where their next meal will come from. The fur and leather-clad man is of such a mind. 

 "I... I am unsure... I spent all morning with my Millae, trying to provide comfort and the guards did not tell us much. It isn't much of a secret, though, that Millae and a young Whitecloak were getting... rather close..." Mistress Velalin pauses here, a slight scowl twisting her tearstreaked face. It is only a brief pause, however, and Mistress Velalin picks up again, her voice a little stronger.  "I would bet my last copper that has swayed opinions."

Stalling the delivery of yet more stew into his gaping mouth, Lanur Dinas tunes his ears so that he might hear more. Whitecloaks are like snared badgers, crazy and unpredictable with the ability to wield dangerous power. The woodsman makes great strides to steer clear of them; a task he has been quite successful with his whole life. Aes Sedai and Whitecloaks in the same city... no wonder there are troubles. Willfully pushing the morsel of food into his mouth, Lanur chews thoughtfully. One of the witches dead and one of the Children involved with the suspect while the witless ruler suspects a young girl of doing the deed.

A short chuckle bursts from his chest and sprays a few small chunks of potato from his lips. Shaking his mane of hair in disbelief, the wild man returns to shoveling food into his mouth. Even a simpleton can put this one together. Best that I be far from here when this mess boils over.

"Was your daughter acting strangely..."

Snatching one of his ales up, Lanur sucks down three large gulps before setting the mug back on the table with a loud thunk. Allowing the bubble of air to rise in his chest, he strikes his sternum once and lets out a surprisingly loud belch. Shaking his shoulders and head the way a horse would when antagonized by an annoying fly, the woodsman immediately sets into his meal again.  

"...scared out of her stockings by the guardsmen restricting her to our home, she seemed unworried. Normally she'd be... she'd be worried sick about keeping Nelelle Sedai waiting..." Mistress Velalin pauses, the scowl on her face shifting to a worried frown as she considers the revelation.

With a clatter, Cho'Ra cast her spoon down into her nearly empty bowl, a small sigh escaping her lips as she adopts a polite smile. “Bowman, please do excuse my intrusion here—”

Initially captured by the sudden unladylike gesture, Lanur returns his attention and his thoughts to his meal once he's sure she isn't about to crazily attack. Lifting the bowl to his lips, the cleanliness of his mustaches and beard being damned, Lanur drains the dredges into his gullet and practically drops the bowl to the table before scooting the second into place and piercing the thick surface with his spoon.

"—it is... difficult to talk about." Velalin tries to smile at Cho'Ra, but with her red eyes and blotched face, it is more of a grimace.

As Cho'Ra continues to comfort Mistress Velalin, Za'ahrat leans forward and fixes the tragic woman with a piercing violet gaze, "Mistress Velalin," the Aes Sedai says, "perhaps you can begin by telling us about your daughter and the Aes Sedai. Begin wherever you like."

Eyes narrowed, Dinas casts a quick look at the silky-voiced woman. He is barely capable of suppressing the hackles rising on the nape of his neck. With his immediate needs being fulfilled and the chance for a little exercise no longer distracting him, the athletic man takes full stock of the bearing that this woman has. Like a swan with a birdsong's voice. Nobility? If so, which of these others be her guard? Him? Maybe... maybe more than one. What if the little one there is the cygnet to the swan and these others are their contingent? She called him, Bowman. They are not close, though I've seen enough t' know that servants are rarely close to their masters.

"She... She was of the Yellow Ajah," stammers Mistress Velalin, "and although rumors indicate that she was very proficient at healing she evidently had... difficulties with the healing of Lord Rain. As for Millae... She is such a sweet girl. When she was younger, she would bring home injured birds or other animals, determined to nurse them back to health. Until she was brought into the service of Nelelle Sedai, she assisted me at the tailor shop I run. She is such a beautiful young woman." Mistress Velalin perked up at that, looking almost fiercely proud. "She had any choice of suitors, why she picked that Whitecloak, I shall never understand! He is--"

Repressing a shudder at the mention of the Whitecloak again, Lanur uses his fingers to pick up a plump carrot and shove it into his mouth. Get out. Leaving it be. That's the best.

Mistress Velalin stops short as the Innkeeper walks up. Behind him stands two burly men with telltale scars that make them out as the Inn's personal guards. All three of them are carrying cudgels and looking grim but determined. Ignoring the others sitting around the table, the Innkeeper focused on Mistress Velalin. "Mistress Velalin, Teni tells me that these strangers seem to be troubling you. Shall I escort them out?"

Mistress Velalin blinks, obviously surprised. "Master Masteon, that's not necessary." She replies, her voice hoarse from the sobbing. "These kind strangers have offered to help free Millae. I'm... I'm just answering any questions they have."

Master Masteon visible relaxes, and as he eyes all those around the table, he begins to blush. "Oh," He says, rubbing the back of his neck and looking down bashfully. "Oh, my. I see... That... Well... I'm glad to hear that, Mistress Velalin. We're terribly sorry to have interrupted... You know that everyone here at the Gleeman's Abode is with you. No one here believes for a second that Millae did... well, no one believes what the guards say. And if they do," he adds forcefully. "Then they won't be here much longer. If there is anything that we can do for you, Mistress Velalin, don't hesitate to ask." With on more embarrassed look at the group, Master Masteon turns and shoos the toughs away, scurrying back behind the bar.

"And what if they are bothering me with their constant yammering?" Lanur calls after him with a huff. Not waiting to even see if there's an answer or a response from the others at the table, he practically dives face first into the bowl.

With a soft sniff, Mistress Velalin addresses the group, "I... Please. Please, if you can save her... Thank you... I... I am very tired and I just wish to return to my bed. If you have everything you need from me, please, I would like to take my leave."

"This Whitecloak she was seeing. What is his name?" One of the other men continues the questioning.

(OOC: Velalin's answer.)

"Does he know of Millae's situation?" the man continues.

(OOC: Velalin's answer.)

"You have given the impression that he might be involved, or that this relationship might be a reason why Millae was accused.  Why? And do you have any idea what has brought Whitecloaks to this town? Are they here often?" More question flow from the man.

(OOC: Velalin's answer.)

"The Lord's son died?" the man confirms. "Is there a reason his death would be linked to Millae's trial? Is it more than just the Lord being in a black mood? Is it just that the Aes Sedai was trying to heal him?"

Now, Lanur is exasperated. "Blood and ashes!" he growls while leaning forward so as to look the inquisitive man in the face. "I've not been able to eat in peace as my ears are filled with this simpering. Maybe if I were to draw it out in the mud, the case might be clearer.

"The girl was tending the Aes Sedai who was caring for the young lord. From all accounts, the witch was the only one keeping the little lordling alive so with her death the natural result is the lord's demise. The girl is in bed with the light-blinded fool of a Whitecloak, so he's in a prime position to set the whole thing in motion. 

"He likely has the girl's routine with the witch memorized and knows what she's fed and when. Would be a simple matter to either convince the girl to deposit some poison or to sabotage the girl's offering with poison. Then the Tar Valon Witch's death is blamed on the girl by the wooden-headed buffoon of a ruler and the Light-forsaken Whitecloaks get off without even being looked at.

"A blind baby goat could have put this together. The only one who seems to be not guilty of anything is this poor woman." Lanur tips his mug towards Mistress Velalin, spilling some of its contents over the side. "The lot of you would do well to follow my lead; eat your meal, get some rest, and then leave the boneheaded behaviors of city folk to the city folk.

"Now, mayhaps I can eat in peace? Hmmm?"

Gruffly turning back to his meal, Lanur Dinas frowns into his stew and then takes a deep breath as he snatches up the spoon once more to begin his excavation.

"This whitecloak she was seeing.  What is his name?  Does he know of Millae's situation?  You have given the impression that he might be involved, or that this relationship might be a reason why Millae was accused.  Why?  And do you have any idea what has brought whitecloaks to this town?  Are they here often?"

Mistress Velalin paused and gently sat back down in her chair. A look of disgust painted her weathered, tear-streaked face as her reddened eyes turned towards Dane. "Jollin is the upstarts name. I don't know what he knows and I don't care to know. It'd be better for everyone if the whole camp of whitecloaks just up and left." Mistress Velalin paused, she sniffed and wiped her eyes. "Every few years a group of them will come into the area. That time is always marked with dragon fangs and hatred. I just don't understand why Millae is so infatuated with one of... them."  

"The Lord's son died?"  Dane had trouble feeling too badly for a lord, but apparetly some were good people and if this young man had been one it was a shame he had suffered and been lost.  "Is there a reason his death would be linked to Millae's trial?  Is it more than just the Lord being in a black mood?  Is it just that the Aes Sedai was trying to heal him?"  

"Blood and ashes!" Lanur interrupted, leaning forward so as to look the inquisitive man in the face. "I've not been able to eat in peace as my ears are filled with this simpering. Maybe if I were to draw it out in the mud, the case might be clearer.

"The girl was tending the Aes Sedai who was caring for the young lord. From all accounts, the witch was the only one keeping the little lordling alive so with her death the natural result is the lord's demise. The girl is in bed with the light-blinded fool of a Whitecloak, so he's in a prime position to set the whole thing in motion. 

"He likely has the girl's routine with the witch memorized and knows what she's fed and when. Would be a simple matter to either convince the girl to deposit some poison or to sabotage the girl's offering with poison. Then the Tar Valon Witch's death is blamed on the girl by the wooden-headed buffoon of a ruler and the Light-forsaken Whitecloaks get off without even being looked at.

"A blind baby goat could have put this together. The only one who seems to be not guilty of anything is this poor woman." Lanur tips his mug towards Mistress Velalin, spilling some of its contents over the side. "The lot of you would do well to follow my lead; eat your meal, get some rest, and then leave the boneheaded behaviors of city folk to the city folk.

"Now, mayhaps I can eat in peace? Hmmm?"

An awkward silence fell over the table. The silence was brief, however, as the scrapping of chair legs on the wood floor drew everyones attention to Mistress Velalin. The woman had risen from the table, her eyes alight with fury. Without pausing for thought, the old, grief-stricken woman scooped up her untouched bowl of stew and threw it at Lanur's hulking form, spattering his being with the cold meal.

"How dare you!" She shrieked, causing the common room to fall silent. "Millae had nothing to do with Nelelle Sedai's death! NOTHING!"

All eyes in the common room seemed followed Mistress Velalin as she whirled around and stalked out of the building, her dress flapping behind her. As the door to the Gleeman's Abode slammed shut, all eyes then turned to the table that Mistress Velalin had just vacated. 

This silence that now occupied seemed much deeper than the one experienced before, even more apparent with the contrast held between the jovial atmosphere that had permeated the room moments prior. The quiet seemed to last a long moment before Master Masteon cried out.

"Music, man! We need music. And drinks! Come, a free drink for everyone!" There rose a clamor of cheers as the patrons of the Gleeman's Abode quickly forgot the scene they had just seen in the light of free ale. The few furtive glances that were shot at the table stopped as the drinks were passed out and the fiddler began to play another jaunty tune. Master Masteon, however, scowled at the group as he assisted in serving drinks. 

Lanur raises his eyebrows just a bit as the woman explodes. He doesn't flinch away from the stew nor her anger. His lips turn down in an appreciative frown and he slowly nods his head while watching her storm out. Flicking some of the spent meal from his left hand, the woodsman shifts in his seat so that he is fully focused on his meal. Returning to the devouring of the gruel, he chuckles a little. There's dragon fire in that woman after all. Tears and sobbing profess nothing but sorrow. That flame she just allowed to engulf her speaks to her conviction. Perhaps there is some further injustice to these circumstances than a girl being dragged from her home by a couple of brutes.

Nature has its own concept of Justice and those are the rules by which Lanur lives; not the paltry measure that humanity deems worth their while to meet out, but the fierce finality of Nature. For the first time since coming across the scene and stepping forward against the affront to the older woman, the woodsman is considering assisting her.