"A fine question, little one.  My kind's sense of humor is one of no filter and no hard feelings.  For example, if your friend looks like hot manure on harvest feast, you say 'the ass in barn has a better chance than you' and you both laugh."

Dak snorted out a chuckle at the Bofear’s reply and marveled at the sound of his voice. It wasn’t quite what he had expected… Not as deep by half, he mused, and that accent. Fascinating!

"Are we the only people in here that know how to laugh?"  Ruadhri asked.

“Oh, they know how to laugh,” he grinned up at the bull and waved a hand at the contingent of Syl still gathered in the library, “They’re just not the sort to do it so freely as we two, I suppose. You get used to it after a time and, if you’re in their company for long enough, you might even find some that do. They’re good folk, all in all, they just get lost in their nobility and solemnity now and again.” He stretched up on his toes, cupped a hand to one side of his mouth, and whispered; “I think the fact that they live so long might have something to do with how grumpy they seem. They’ve seen the world changing around them for a loooong time, and not always for the better, eh?”

Rosariel stepped softly through the woods surrounding the Isil’nari manor house. A whisper of daylight still lingered lightly on the horizon. She hurried swiftly along, not wanting to be caught out too late with the mission that lay ahead. The forest seemed woefully stark today. Granted, most had not grown up blessed by the Huntress’s plentiful game, but it was stark all the same. So far none of the traps she had set earlier in the day had warranted any spoils, and she did not wish to hunt larger game today. 

Her mind wandered as she did, weaving through the faces she would be traveling with, their demeanors, their mission, her mission, their questions, their answers, their voices, their stares. She wondered at the sort of game that would be provided when they reached Sendria and cursed herself for not asking when she had the chance. Then again, that meeting of minds was probably not the chance to ask about Sendria meat supplies. She still had some dried meats in her pack, but that would hardly be enough for the trip ahead of them.

Thrashing ahead brought her out of her mind and back into her body.

Thank you, Huntress, Rosariel whispered as she came across the rabbit that had found its way into her trap, one of the last she had to check. The gray rabbit stared back at her as she crouched to reach for the small creature. Its end was swift, as she was taught, and she sent up a small prayer of gratitude for its gift.

Rosariel dressed the remains swiftly, as darkness descended, placing a large rock she had found as the altar upon which she would prepare her ritual. Taudor Salka did not require much. She did not need or want a grandiose stage for her worship. That is waste. She did not want blood to run simply as a gesture, but as an offering to later be consumed or made similarly useful. And so was Rosariel’s intent. While the rabbit currently lay splayed, a show of a small hunt expertly executed, as the priestess of the Woodland Dancer prayed for a blessing from her goddess to be made upon her party and their hunt for this object deep in the poison that was Sendria, that would not be the end of her ritual. The end would come after her prayer, after the remains were broken down further and stored to be consumed later, perhaps even gifted to the Isil’nari kitchens, should they receive such an offering. The end would come with the preparation of the harvested furs, it would come with the small bones with fresh meat she would offer Tubs to eat outside of her hood.

It was fully dark by the time the young Syl made her way back to the manor and was shown back to her room. A beautiful tub had been filled for her, the water now barely lukewarm, but she was accustomed to cooler. She requested a small bucket of water she could use to wash the blood from her hands and nails before sinking into the tub. With the fire blazing nearby it was actually quite comfortable.

She stared up at the ceiling of her room, thinking how just a few months ago she was in a much smaller tub filled with much colder water, in a room with no fire, staring at her own thatched roof. She had come such a long way in such a short amount of time, and would go even farther soon. She wondered when the next time she was bathing like this would be, and what sort of ceiling would be above her.

As she dried she dipped Tubs in the water as well, hoping the small bit of soap would do something to counteract the used water she was rinsing him in. He coughed and struggled against her, glaring back at her with those black beady eyes as though she hadn’t fed him a king’s feast all day. Not to mention how she had saved his life not too long ago. She wrapped him in a dry towel and sat crossed-legged in front of the fire, petting and singing to him until he fell asleep and hopefully forgave her.

Eventually she brought him to the bed, hiding him away in the space between the pillows, and closed her eyes to sleep as well.

The woman in the robes and mask finally broke her silence.  

"My Lord, I can vow my hand guided by Lissentoria, and I will offer protection, and healing to those I will accompany and any who may need it along the road. However, I must ask if you are aware of the vow I have sworn to My Lady? Unless the individual threatens the life of others, I will not strike them down, I shall not kill. The others... they may, for it is their decision, so long as they are wise and just when they make these decisions. But, I must ask, would you have me on this journey despite this... what many may consider to be "a drawback"?

Lord Tansathil did not seem preturbed by the question.

"Lady of Lissentoria," he spoke smoothly, "I would expect no more.  I understand that you do not wage war; this is not why you were invited.  No, others of more martial ilk are here to bear weapons against our foes.  You are known for healing of wounds, not causing them; your invitation was to help ensure that any injuries that your comrades may sustain do not prevent them from accomplishing the task I ask of you all."  He paused for a moment.  "That, and to of course tend to any spiritual needs as required," he added.

As the conversation died down, Lord Tansathil’s eyes rested on Rosariel.  The priestess nodded, "The Huntress bids me to answer your call, my lord. Her light and wrath shall bless our hunt and strike down those who would stand in our way."

The lord of Isil'nari nodded gravely.  "That is good news, indeed.  You and your goddess have my sincere appreciation.  Your presence can only make the path easier."

And then, the Bofear himself spoke.  "While I am anything but thrilled to be heading to a land that nearly turned my caravan into a giant graveyard," the powerful creature spoke in an unusual accent.  "I am being called upon by the creator of this firm house and it would be disgraceful to object, so I'll come."

The cora of House Isil'nari apparently did not deem it necesary to correct the hulking foreigner as to his own role in creating the building.  Instead, he graciously nodded his assent.  "That is good to hear, brave warrior.  Your actions here will surely benefit your tréad as they search for new lands."  The sylvari lord allowed the bófir term to roll easily off of his tongue.

Tansathil seemed to decide that the time for serious queries from his guests had come to an end.

"Very well," he stated flatly after a long pause.  "It would seem that we have reached a shared accord in this sitution.  My servants will show you to guest quarters for the night.  Please make whatever preparations that you must, but if at all possible, I would see you on your way as soon as is practical - ideally, tomorrow morning.  The journey is long and fraught with danger, and it is not impossible that others may have been alerted to the existence of the amulet by my own investigations, no matter how prudently handled."

The elder sylvari gave the remaining guests a quick once over.  "Again, I must emphasize the need for secrecy with this mission," he intoned.  "There are others who would impede your efforts, or would seek the amulet for their own goals.  The fewer who know of your purpose, the better."

He paused.  "I assume that you would surmise this on your own, but if not - you would likely do well to avoid the Sendrians as much as is possible.  I fear that encounters with them will lead to bloodshed - and also, to the humans naturaly taking an interest as to why why you are within their borders."

The lord frowned.  "I will not fill your ears with falsehoods.  If you were to be taken prisoner by the k'goth, it will almost certainly end poorly for you.  I cannot imagine an imperial diplomat claiming official knowledge of your mission, let alone working to secure your release.  Once you cross into Sendrian lands you are, in effect, on your own."

Silence fell over the room at Tansathil's proclamation.  Momentarily, however, the lord spoke again.

"If there are no more questions, I bid you good evening.  The servants will see you to your quarters and will assist you with provisions for your trip.  May Adaron watch over you on your journey."

Arathea grinned at the Cidal's sarcastic remark, such fire for such a small creature. She watched curiously as he turned his attention to the massive creature that was so curiously quiet. But she had her focused moved to Rosariel, trying to figure out what exactly the hooded woman was like.

Arathea watched with a smile at Rosariel's awkward display, there was something oddly endearing about it. She could tell the woman was clearly no master of social interaction, she must be fun at aparty. “Yes, bladesinger, I am well. Thank you for asking.” Arathea offered a polite nod, watching as she introduced her... partner.

"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance Rosariel, I look forward to our time together." Arathea didn't necessarily view Rosariel's awkwardness as a bad thing, being more in tune with nature was respectable in her eyes. Sylvari are children of nature and Rosariel and Rainminainen were simply more connected to it.

The night would go on, the Bófir would finally speak, his accent was curious, his anger palpable. So he's been to Sendria? I feel horrible for him but... that will be very useful to us. She watched him storm out of the room, seemingly having no regard for any customs of Sylvari nobility. Such inelegance, though I suppose it's not surprising. He fought his way here? The poor creature his entirely out of his home and his league here.

"If there are no more questions, I bid you good evening. The servants will see you to your quarters and will assist you with provisions for your trip. May Adaron watch over you on your journey." Arathea bowed her head respectfully to the lord as she rose from her chair. "Good evening sir, I promise I will not disappoint."

As Arathea left the room with grace in her step she saw the Bófir yet again, she looked up at his bovine face before as she answered the bulls question. "It will take a good while given just marching time, we don't have horses and the forests here are thick, but I'm sure you know that. As for resistance? Anathari and Sylvari struggle to understand the concept of letting the past die, the hatred is deep and mutual. We'll likely have to fight any patrol we encounter." Arathea was plain and clear, and also quite exhausted, she simply made her way with a certain to get bathed and from there practice.

The bath was wonderful, but it was not Arathea's main focus. She would simply do what she needed to do to remain presentable, relaxation was nkt a priority. It did remind her of home however, home in a fine house at the great capital of Sylvaria, though this manor was magnitudes finer than the house Arathea grew up in.

Once Arathea entered her quarters and had her most important possessions gathered she bid the servant well for the night, telling him to simply leave her alone for the rest of the night. Now completely alone Arathea turned her attention to her blade, it's sheave and hilt decorated with fine jewels. Slowly she began to remove the sword from it's sheave, it's fine steel softly glistening in the moonlight that shined through the curtains.

Arathea began the process she'd done every night for over 100 years, she went over the famed '89 Steps' as the candles in the room slowly burned. The longsword itself was prestigious, twin roses were carved into both sides of the blade. The sword had been hers for multiple decades after it was crafted especially for her, it was like her sister in a strange way.

By the time she was finished Arathea softly sheaved the blade, placing it on a table near her bed before collapsing onto the sheets and quickly drifting to sleep. She would wake up early to write to her father, right now it was time to finally rest.

"I think the fact that they live so long might have something to do with how grumpy they seem. They've seen the world changing around them for a loooong time, and not always for the better, eh?"

"Well, my kin have never lived an easy life yet we know how to smile,” Ruadhri said after chewing on Dak’s response like a cud, “while they sit in a comfy house with a dozen servants yet they are as gray as a stormcloud."

“I suspect, my very large friend, that their stoic veneer is due to our presence,” the halfling confided quietly, “As I said, the Syls do know how to laugh and how to smile, but this is not often the face they show to outsiders such as you and I.” He flicked the Bofear a sly wink and a grin; “You should see the antics that they get up to when they think no one is looking…”

For the remainder of the meeting, Dak had found himself a perch on the high back of a settee so that he could be, at least, a little closer to the bovine man’s eye-level, and had spent the time trading quips and playful smirks, enjoying the more light-hearted banter that was not often expressed by their Sylvari hosts. When the briefing came to its end, the little Cid bid the colossal cow-man a cheery good-night with a smile and a jovial clap on a massive arm before scampering back to the floor and allowing himself to be escorted to the small room just off the manor’s kitchen. Of course it’s servants’ quarters, he mused after thanking his attendant, personally unperturbed by the arrangements, I do hope they haven’t relegated poor Ruadhri to the stables, though, else I fear we might lose a fighter before we set out.

He settled into the chamber, taking advantage of the bath that had been drawn and swapping out his formal attire for something a little more comfortable before sitting himself down with quill and parchment to scrawl out a couple of missives that he would send off before the party gathered to depart for the Sendrian border. The first of these, of course, was addressed to House Mithethiel, and was penned in near flawless Sylvari script:

My Lord and Lady Mithethiel,

Per your request, I have accepted Lord Isil’nari’s charge to attend a worthy group of travelers into the deeper dark of Sendria. We are tasked with the retrieval of certain items and artifacts which once belonged to House Lanalthis; may their names be praised in the Summerlands forever. I do not know just how long this venture might take, nor if I may even return from it – it is Sendria, after all – but I will endeavor to keep you apprised of the situation as I am able.

Should Shinara shine on me, as she long has, I hope to return in due time with at least some of the prizes that Lord Tansathil seeks and, as a result, see the gratitude and favor of House Isil’nari shine upon Mithethiel with renewed intensity. Should the Goddess of Luck deem my return undoable, however, please know that, as always, I did my absolute best to represent you and achieve the goals set before us, and the honor of our Great House shall be maintained as a result.

Your humble and loyal servant,

Dak Whisperfoot

The second letter, should it have been intercepted or even seen by eyes for which its contents weren’t intended, was more obscure in its syntax. In fact, most eyes in the Empire which might have fallen upon it (should they be so lucky), might dismiss it as little more than gibberish as the spidery script in which it was written seemed to be a stew-like mish-mash of words from various languages and sigils from none that might be recognized. The only truly legible bit of the dispatch, in fact, was a name – Sanfir Golddancer – and an obstruse address leading to some twisted thoroughfare in far-flung Bayris.

((I’ll get the contents of this letter written up and sent to our illustrious DM a bit later.  ))

Both correspondences were properly sealed, readied for shipment to their intended destinations, and left on the desk for House Isil’nari’s staff to send out before the diminutive halfling emerged from his chambers, again. When he did, it was into an all but empty kitchen, lit, now, only by a few flickering tallows that provided just enough light for Dak to go in search of any leftovers from the dinner that he might have missed and, with great hope, perhaps another bottle of that wonderous wine that had been served along with it.

Well, saved me poking about the servants’ halls… and the wine cellar… Alta-koronio, this one.

The diminutive cid, feet pushed against the counter, suspending two stoollegs, the other two threatening to skid from beneath him. Eyes closed, mouth too around the pipestem, a smile of apparent contentment. Two bottles for company, and a few humble remnants of the stately dinner. A simple ceramic cup, likely from the staff’s stores. 

Gods. Such.. uncluttered lives.. Barely a child, yet to him, a life half lived. Sarigraamin… 

He sets the smoke lazily adrift, opening eyes too. Returns all four legs safely to rest. The smile tilts ever so slightly at seeing her, as if amused by some untold joke, deepening the crows feet that tell it’s well-worn. 

She raises an eyebrow, almost imperceptibly. “Master Whisperfoot.” A greeting, barely.

((OOC: assume Dak greets, quips, offers to share, possibly pokes a bit of fun at Seleniniel’s solemnity))

She offers the replica of a smile, eyes unchanged. “How generous.” At equilibrium between openness and hostility. She crosses the tiled floor, bare feet cold on the intricately laid pattern of ivory and cobalt–Isil’nari colors. She scrapes a stool from against the wall, closer than his to the blackiron stove that gives a remnant of heat, embers gently crackling. She ignores the food, eyes the bottles. One empty, the other a quarter gone. 

She refills his cup.. a bit. Surveys the stemware, cleaned, dried, hung back in their tidy rows, retrieves a proper wineglass. “A bit of a waste, this from that” gesturing the bottle to his cup. She fills her wineglass nearly to the brim, finishing the bottle, a wry twist at the edge of her mouth as she does. Wipes the bottle’s parting deposit of dust onto her charcoal cloak. Drinks.. not just a sip. Lost the livery. Almost taunting to wear it so openly here. Hiding in plain sight, perhaps.

((OOC: assume Dak may chat, but her response is unlikely to change))

“I’m not much for chitchat. So... Are you to thank for this ancient journal, does my Uncle owe Lord Mithethiel a… significant… debt, or do they believe you to be their pawn in some other game? You may skip the ‘humble messenger’ bit. One such as yourself does not attain the entrée you have as an errandboy.”

She drinks, watching the vivid green eyes as she rests the wineglass on the counter of glossy marbled wood, older than the cid’s genealogies.

As he begins to speak, she plucks the pipe from his hand just as he draws it out to punctuate his forthcoming point. Inhales, deeply. Holds. Subconsciously, from sheer habit… 

er, atta, nelde . . . an eyebrow raises . . . kinta . . . Ba-seldarine . . . lempe . . . a few tears form at the corners of her eyes . . . enque . . . stubbornness now . . . otso . . . tolto. Exhales, abruptly. Coughs once, restraining a second. Hands the pipe back. Eyes him, curiously.  

Well well, Master Whisperfoot, perhaps I won’t need to give up my Moonshade after all.

A genuine smile is gone before it can fully come to rest.

The whisper of bare feet across the kitchen’s tiled floor drew Dak from his reverie and, blowing a puff of pipe smoke into the air, the halfling settles the stool into a less precarious posture and turns his eyes toward the sound. At the sight of Seleneniel, apparently fresh from the bath given her attire, the little man offers a cheery smile.

“Master Whisperfoot,” the mage intoned, her features a solemn mask , adding little emotion to the acknowledgement.

“Quel undome, Mistress Isil’nari,” the Cid replied with a bob of his head and a faintly impish turning of his smile, “I must admit, you are perhaps the last person I expected to see when I heard footsteps coming this way. In truth, arwen en amin, I hadn’t thought to see you again until we gathered to depart for scenic Sendria, hm? You don’t strike me as the sort to engage in frivolous socialization. “Would you care to join me for a nibble,” he offered on with a light chuckle and an expansive gesture to the meager spread of plates, “or, perhaps, a wee nip?” He tapped the mostly full bottle with the stem of his pipe.

“How generous,” Seleneniel replied, her voice as dry as autumn leaves blowing through a graveyard as she whispered closer.

“Your generosity, not mine,” he returned with a sideways cant of his head as she poured a bit more of the vintage into his cup and poured herself a proper glassful, “It is your family’s house, after all.”

“A bit of a waste,” she rasped, a tilt of the bottle’s neck indicating the simple ceramic from which he drank, “this from that.”

“You’ll forgive me if I disagree, my lady,” he snickered, tipping the cup to his lips, “The only true waste of Sylvari wine is for a drop to be spilled rather than savored, eh? Had I been left alone a moment longer, mayhap, I’d have taken to drinking straight from the bottle.” He lifted his cup in a wordless toast, then; “I suppose I ought thank you for sparing me the indignity…”

“I’m not much for chitchat. So... Are you to thank for this ancient journal, does my Uncle owe Lord Mithethiel a… significant… debt, or do they believe you to be their pawn in some other game? You may skip the ‘humble messenger’ bit. One such as yourself does not attain the entrée you have as an errandboy.”

Perceptive, Dak mused, offering the woman a sly smile and an ambiguous rolling of his tiny shoulders, as though I should have expected otherwise from the likes of you, but such secrets won’t be wrested from these lips so easily.

“Oh, but I am but a messenger, dear lady,” he replied with another tittering chuckle and another taste of the wine, “though, perhaps, not so humble, yes?...” He blinked in mild surprise as she snatched the pipe from his hand and took a deliberate drag. The dumbfounded expression lasted less than a heartbeat, though, and was replaced with one bordering on hilarity as he continued; “…You have the right of it, though, I wasn’t summoned here for my ability to discretely ferry communications and parcels from one place to the other. I have other skills which your uncle believes will be of some use in this undertaking. I am good with locks and traps, for example…” an almost humorous wriggling of dexterous fingers, here, “…getting in and out of places unseen… procurement… That sort of thing.”

He flicked her a quick wink of an apple-green eye as she offered the pipe back, his smile holding for a bit longer than the one that danced unexpectedly across her lips. “Soothing, isn’t it,” he beamed, tucking the stem back into the corner of his mouth and lifting a brow.

When the breifing came to an end, the little cid bid the colossal-cow man A cheery good-night with A smile and A jovial clap on the massive arm before scampering back to the floor and allowing himself to be escorted to the small room just off the manors kitchen

"Your lodging is this way, master Barrón." a servent said in a soft tone, Ruadhrí never liked being corted around like a new-born calf but he had no choice in the matter, the servent led him down to the ground floor and outside past the stables - he saw many other buildings in the distance but none he could make out - before reaching a large building.

The large cabin-like structure gave Ruadhrí the trick of home, it had dim candle light and a weapon rack with his weapons on it and A display of his newly polished breatplate and other armor before going up a couple stairs to find a dresser with his other gear in it aswell as A desk with a ledger and a small chest for letters and a bookcase with a fine solection to read from along with one of the finest fur beds he'd ever slept on, This will do nicely he thought.

just then A loud bang startled him and he turned to see A dagger and A helmat had fallen from their rack I can scarcley wrap my hand around the grip he thought as he picked up the dagger and helmat and how am I supposed to wear this? I have horns then the ledger fell off his his desk and he threw the tiny knife with planted itself in the wall just overtop the letter chest " I'm not alone " he said aloud before a servent walked in "is everything alright? there is a knife in your wall and I thought-" he was enterupted " Everything is fine, go!" Ruadhrí replied with a crazed look and the servent left.

"Where are you?" Ruadhrí said in a low tone as he slowly took a familiar warhammer of the rack along with a short bladed weapon the sylvari called a "short sword" and then skulked closer to his bed, then in the dim moonlight from the windows he saw a flash of fur and struck out with the blade to find hed now lodged it in the floor " sorry" he winced at the fine wood work now having a crack in it, the he saw a swiviling tail crawl under his bed and he went up the stairs to reclaim the dagger. It was stuck fine and when he pulled it out he tripped over something and his force sent him crashing down the stair, just as he looked up a paw hit him in the face and disappeared.

"I'm getting tired of these games" he said before a noise sent his warhammer flying out the thankfully open window "SORRY" he yelled out in his thick accent, just then he heard A low growl behind him and he waited until in striking range before spinning and snatching the beast out of the air and pinning it to the wall, he brought the dagger back THEN- it was just a cat, A hissing and scratching Persion cat of orange slightly ruffled well-groomed fur was scratching and bitting Ruadhrí's hand -its claws and teeth barely tickled- and he dropped the dagger and held the cat out in front of him "well arent you just a precious little thing" his accent rang out as the cat tried to run away as he pulled it in and it whipped him in the face finally leaving two small claw marks on his lip and Ruadhrí recoiled slightly "Ah sunuva- feisty too" at first when he tried to pet it the cat latched onto his hand and attacked it visiously before it calmed and saw a large ox-man grooming it and it took a moment but it calmed down "oh its just a giant bull man grooming me" Ruadhrí joked "at least one person thinks im normal".

Ruadhrí closed the windows and grabbed a book on animal handling before dousing all but the bedside candle and sitting on the bed with the feline to his side, not only can i fit and more but its also made of what feels like Zornig bear fur the Bofear finished the book by seven O'clock do to the fact he was already versed in animal handling and put out the final candle before going to sleep and falling into Valdorns domain by eight. Ruadhrí awoke with the feline asleep on his chest, he examined the cats coller to find that its name was unreadable well that just wont do he thought to himself what about.. Lennox he took the collar off the cat and engraved the name in his language's alphabet, finally he picked up the cat and put it to the side before getting dressed.

he put on his breastplate and his gauntlets and boots along with the rest of his armor and then he disided hed bring his warhammer, his sling and, of course his great ax, he also brought the small dagger a good amount of food and his money, he then picked up the cat and flipped up the main compartment in his bag "your coming with me Lennox" he said as he put the still sleepy cat in his bag and left the cabin after cleaning up what he had broke i should go find the halfling, hes good company.

“I have other skills which your uncle believes will be of some use in this undertaking. … getting in and out of places unseen… procurement… That sort of thing.”

A sneakthief.. hmph. Quaint [bulls***].

“Have it your way.” A strong pull from the glass… contemplative. “Prove it.” 

“My Uncle is not the type to… shall we say, gamble, with information.” “His library contains more than the crumbs he offered. Procure it, if you please, Master Sneakthief.” “Unseen” “An investment, of sorts.” 

A wolfish grin. “Or don't…”

The wineglass leaves with her, as she reaches the greatdoor, turns, sets it down again. “Oh.” Hand dips in her robe, emerges with a short ebonywood rod, fingerswidth around, brass bands encircle both ends, the rest covered in tidy flowing script. “Either way. Hang onto this, please.” She tosses it too him, retrieves the wineglass. 

“I'll know if you don't”

Then gone.

“Have it your way,” the brooding mage tested, “Prove it.”

At her challenge, Dak raised a quizzical brow and gave that curious sideways cant of his head.

“My Uncle is not the type to… shall we say, gamble, with information,” Seleneniel prodded, “His library contains more than the crumbs he offered. Procure it, if you please, Master Sneakthief. ‘Unseen.’ An investment, of sorts.”

She shot him a wolfish grin; “Or don’t…”

Tempting, the Shawlin mused, watching as she sashayed for the door, taking the glass with her, Very tempting… He had, of course, played roles in political maneuvering and pilfering in the Empire before, but never had an intra-house play presented itself. The lure of such a ploy was almost too much for him to resist… and the thought that he, himself, was being played with the offer of such a challenge, too much to not bear steep consideration. His smile never faded, though it did take on a tinge of cynicism, as he began to mull over the possibilities and perils of the task she had proposed.

“Oh,” Seleneniel uttered in that disinterested way of hers, momentarily interrupting his internal scheming, “Either way. Hang onto this, please.” Pausing in the doorway, she produced an item from her robe and tossed it to him. “I’ll know if you don’t.”

He snatched the rod out of the air, gave it a scrutinizing glance, and lifted his eyes to regard the one-armed woman, again, but she had already gone. A cold prickle teased at the base of his skull and, as he moved a hand there to assuage it, his gaze fell back to the rod, wondering at its purpose. After another few moments spent in contemplation, he tucked the thing away, drained the dregs of his cup, and slid off the stool.

“Bah… by Thirky’s cat,” he chuffed, wandering back to his chambers to gather some things from his kit, a tricksy twist tugging at his lips, “what harm could a little stroll through the halls do, anyway?”

“Well, of course he does, fiend Rain,” the little halfling tittered, “Surely Lord Islil’nari wouldn’t send us blindly into such a dreadful place, especially when he’s asked one of his own to attend us, would he? And, really, mellonamin? Just a single trip,” he grinned at the ranger, drawing a circle in the air with the stem of his pipe, “No roundabouts, scenic routes, or side trips to scout waterfalls? Tsk... Where’s your sense of adventure?”

Were it not for the seriousness of the situation, Rainminainen might have smiled and bantered a bit with the halfling he'd met only briefly before. His focus, however, remained on the lord who the little one had prevented from answering.

"Dak, darling, I do believe it would be... rather dangerous to try anything very... adventurous in Sendria. I believe Rain is right to be cautious, I'm sure he knows well what danger awaits us." Arathea maintained a polite smile. "I'm also sure Tansathil knows what he's doing however, it is true he has his kinsmen intertwined in this."

At least one of them has an idea of what is coming. The support was, of course, appreciated, token though it might have been. He had to disagree on the last point. People generally knew what they wanted, but that had rarely, in his experience, translated into know what they were doing.

"In general? Certainly. I am sending you into Sendrian territory. It is a nation of violent, murderous humans who openly worship the dark gods, who hate us and our kind and would gladly torture each of you until your spirits beg to fly to the forests beyond. But you, ranger, surely you have more first hand knowledge of that truth than anyone else in the room, perhaps possibly the bófir."

An obvious truth, and a neat deflection. Intentional? Rain was never that good at reading people. The nobility especially.

The lord sighed softly. "In particular? No. I have ancient journals, I have testaments from those who fought and died in the area many long centuries past. I do not have recent intelligence to give you. By all accounts, the Lanalthir manor was razed when the Anathari killed our poeple so long ago. My hope is that they did not despoil the crypts, but I know nothing for certain - which is why I am sending you. If the crypts are whole, then there will possibly be wards or the like placed upon them, but will the wards still exist after this much time? Who can say?"

Who can say indeed. He'd assisted on the odd scouting mission, even performed a few solo at the behest of several different groups. On the one hand, he already knew what the group would find there, in general terms. On the other hand, the devil was in the details.

Lord Isil'nari shook his head slowly. "No, I know nothing for certain. There is no benefit to me attempting to deceive you. The way is dangerous, that I know - but I have freely told you as much. I asked the lot of you here, as I believed that you possessed the skills and resources to accomplish this important task. I will not pretend to advise you on the best path to take, nor the best methods to accomplish this task I ask of you."

A genuine sign of confidence and belief, meant to bolster flagging morale? Or obvious flattery, meant to distarct one lacking focus, or perhaps possessing and abundance of pride? Once more, Rain could never have told the difference.

A touch of wry amusement cross the lord's face. "As for the one trip? I do not recall asking you for more than that, taur'ohtar."

This at last managed to get a reaction, a wry smile in return. "Of course, my lord. Of course." Their previous meetings flashed through his mind. Perhaps Tanasthil was genuine in his respect and restraint. Perhaps he was merely waiting. Rain felt a bit heavy, suddenly. He never was one for high society or politics. He knew, vaguely, of the dangers associated therein, but never cared to learn the intricacies. That lack was biting him now.

It was no secret he preferred the wild paths to the trappings of civlization most of the time (useful as they were). And not for no reason. While rewarding in its own right, the trials of the road tended to strip away illusions, delusions, and all manner masking that came part and parcel with the more sedentary lifestyles. It rewarded only preparedness, pragmatism, and luck. Actions mattered, and few people were capable of concealing themselves from him in the wild. In this moment however..... he'd have to trust, for now.

Rain bowed slightly, in apology. "Thank you for your forthrightness. This is no small task, and while it is surely an honor to undertake, the scope is... surprising, to one such as I. However, I'll do my best to see it done."

**********

"...assume that you would surmise this on your own, but if not - you would likely do well to avoid the Sendrians as much as is possible. I fear that encounters with them will lead to bloodshed - and also, to the humans naturaly taking an interest as to why why you are within their borders."

Rain's ears pricked back up. Herein was the meat of his own questions earlier. It didn't sit well with the elf that this was left until the end, but at least it was being said before they embarked.

The lord frowned. "I will not fill your ears with falsehoods. If you were to be taken prisoner by the k'goth, it will almost certainly end poorly for you. I cannot imagine an imperial diplomat claiming official knowledge of your mission, let alone working to secure your release. Once you cross into Sendrian lands you are, in effect, on your own."

The silence was short, but potent. It seemed this was of no surprise to most. Thats good. The journey will be dangerous enough without having to fight ignorance as well.

"If there are no more questions, I bid you good evening. The servants will see you to your quarters and will assist you with provisions for your trip. May Adaron watch over you on your journey."

Rain exited as the others did. The group seemed interesting, at least. He hadn't seen a bofear in some time, hadn't spoken to one in even longer. He'd have to try and get their story. It was sure to be interesting. He turned down the servant's offer with a polite smile, and made his own way outside. While grateful for the hospitality, he'd spend the night as he preferred. Under the stars.

"Lady of Lissentoria," he spoke smoothly, "I would expect no more.  I understand that you do not wage war; this is not why you were invited.  No, others of more martial ilk are here to bear weapons against our foes.  You are known for healing of wounds, not causing them; your invitation was to help ensure that any injuries that your comrades may sustain do not prevent them from accomplishing the task I ask of you all."  He paused for a moment.  "That, and to of course tend to any spiritual needs as required," he added.

The Clergy listened to what the Lord had to say about her and her comment. She was relieved to know that the lord had done his research and that she was not to bear arms. She was wise enough to know it wasn't the best of ideas to refuse service to a Lord, especially one who had sought you out himself, though he seemed like he would respect such, but she was also faithful enough that she would not violate her vow no matter the punishment from a Sylvari Lord. She was glad she would not find out what such punishment or disappointment would entail, though, and offered a nod with a small bow. Her mouth was the only part of her face visible the way she wore her mask, and that was enough to show a small smile forming.

The various small talk wasn't interesting to Mae'rel, at least, not for now. For the moment, she was in the presence of a Lord and offered luxurious shelter, and the opportunity to embark on a quest that could give her more influence, more power, and the ability to help far more people. During the weeks, or more likely, the months of this journey, they would have plenty of time to get to know one another, to be able to chat, and so, she was more focused on using this far more limited experience to its fullest. The Lord spoke again now, seeming to interrupt the various bits of chit-chat forming as if he was growing a bit tired of this energetic group already.

"If there are no more questions, I bid you good evening.  The servants will see you to your quarters and will assist you with provisions for your trip.  May Adaron watch over you on your journey."

Mae'rel took a deep bow, before looking off to the rest of the group. She fell in line along with the servants and made her way to her room. The room was perhaps the nicest she had ever stayed in, the bedding being nothing short of heavenly. She almost collapsed without taking off any of her robings, but just before she fell out of consciousness, she pushed herself up. Over the next hour, she bathed herself, allowed herself some time to indulge in some reading, and decided to ask the servants if her robes could be washed. They brought her some garments, which fit quite well. Once they had, she changed into them, she decided to allow herself a moment without the mask she practically lived with. She slept with it on and ate countless meals with it, it was practically her face. Sometimes she felt like someone else without it. Like she was looking at a stranger.

Finally, Mae'rel made her bed for the night and slept. Interestingly enough, she did not sleep well, and the night was filled with restless stirs and wakes. The Sylvari was used to far less comfortable spaces, so to have something so comfortable all to herself, not shared with three other boarding mates who were loud or smelled horrendous, it was.. almost unnerving. She awoke once again early in the morning, just before dawn, and so she rose from her bed, making her way through the halls.

(OOC: Assuming the manor has a balcony, will edit if not)

The Cleric settled outside on a lavish balcony, the architecture fine and strong, and she made her way to the ledge, looking out into the lush nature. She smiled a moment, lifting the Dove from the water for a moment to allow herself just a breath to savor the view, before returning it to her face. Then, Mae'rel reached out to Lysora and paid her daily prayers to her Goddess.

Dak found that he could not resist Seleniniel's challenge.  And so, after allowing ample time for the manor house to go dark and quiet, the shawlin found himself padding silently through the silent halls, pushing down his curiosity as he went.  

The cidal noted that the house never truly slept; an earlier glance out the window revealed several of the noble's private bodyguards keeping watch all through the night.  As he moved quietly through the house, Dak recalled a tale of an awful fire that had all but wiped out one of the Great Houses of Londelirinen just two years ago.  While he hardly considered himself an insider to the political maneuverings of the various Great Houses, it was an open secret that one of the other Houses had orchestrated the entire thing.  With enemies who held grudges for centuries - and families that strove against one another for millenia - security measures seemed prudent, to say the least.

Of course, that security seemed to be focused mostly on external threats, as opposed to internal curiosity.  As a result, Dak did not encounter any guards in the halls.

Speaking of security, when the halfling found himself before the library door, he was hit with the immediate realization that it was, in fact, locked.  Dak gave a wry smile as he retrieved the tools of his trade.  The lock was of excellent quality for what it was, but an interior door lock like this could hardly be expected to withstand any focused attention for long.  It took the rogue perhaps thirty seconds of careful manipulation until the mechanism yielded to his efforts and the door swung open.

The library was quite dark; while Gaela's blue moon was high and fairly full, the tree cover and angle of the window admitted little light.  Reluctantly, the cidal produced and lit his bullseye lantern, taking special care to not shine the light toward the window or the door.

Where to begin a search? he wondered to himself.  The shelves here were full of so many books.  After an internal debate, the rogue decided that trying to randomly grab books was not likely to yield anything of importance in a reasonable timeframe; instead, he moved to the desk of the cora, hoping that perhaps the papers there might be of interest.

The small face lit up with a grin as Dak began flipping through them.  One item was a map that showed the region where Sendria more or less abutted the Alloryen border, and the forest there in the east of the country was marked with locations that corresponded with Tansathil's tale of lost Viastel and the Lanalthir manor.  It appeared that both lie slightly south of a place notated as "Melenkur", but west of there, inside of the wooded region.  Conveniently enough, a reasonably sized human town called "Fox Glen" lay to the west of both.  Apparently, if one reached the human settlement, one would be certain they had gone too far.

There were various letters neatly stacked there.  The letters were in the hand of several different people, and the sylvari dialects varied, making it difficult to figure out every phrase.  The blasted sylvari had a love for long, flowery sentences, taking many words to describe what could have been done in half the space or less.  Even so, it was clear that much of the content here had to do with this amulet of House Lanalthir, though nothing that Dak could draw from them suggested any new information above and beyond what Lord Isil'nari had shared - though what the little spy read did seem to corroborate the lord's claims. 

There was no sign of any ancient journal, nor of much else of any real value; Dak realized that he had already spent the better part of an hour inside of the library, and the thought occured to him that perhaps he had found all that was worth finding at the risk he was assuming.  

And then, he noticed the drawer.

Cunningly hidden beneath the top surface of the desk was a drawer, hidden in plain sight in the woodwork.  If not for a subtle crack, the cidal would have missed it.  There was no obvious mechanism at first inspection, but then, it hit Dak - this was in so many ways like a Pickholder from home - one of the famous puzzle boxes that his people would make.  Highly prized by shadelins (and by those who wanted to keep a Pick busy for a time), these cunning wooden puzzles revolved around hidden triggers, sliding panels, and similar mechanisms.

Sure enough, Dak found the hidden release, which opened a secret compartment.  Inside was a small, leather-bound volume.

The rogue quickly surmised that this was some sort of journal that Tansathil had kept.  While many of the entries seemed irrelevant, there were several more recent that seemed to deal precisely with the mission the cora had recruited the party for.  Again, most of the information seemed to be little more than retellings of the same information that the lord had shared, albeit in a more disjointed format as the syl had collected his information.

One entry stood out.  It descibred that one of the fabled kormaguli might be among the treasures hidden in the crypts, since Lord Beltolien had posssed the item, and his body was thought to be returned there.  Furthermore, a pair of legendary sapphires called the liunelini were circled on the ledger, with a question mark beside them.

The amulet itself had several passages devoted to it, with some portions crossed out.  One notation caught his eye. 

Her'i'coia?

The cidal frowned.  The dialect was odd, the expression not one he was familiar with.  Then, it hit him - if he was reading this properly, the entry meant "to possess power over life".  

Just how important was this amulet?

Just then, Dak heard voices.  They weren't close, but they appeared to be headed his way.  Quickly, he returned the journal, closed the compartment, extinguished the lantern, and hid.  Presently, he could feel someone try the library door, which he had fortunately remebered to lock behind himself.  Apparently satisfied, the guards moved on down the hall.  Once they were beyond the range of hearing, the rogue let himself out of the library and silently returned to his quarters.

Arathea would awake just as the morning begun, and as the sun rose she rose rose with it. She pulled herself out of bed with grace and quickly moved to tend to her hair, putting it in a ponytail before attending her clothing. Knowing that today would be a day of action she began to put on her decorated leather armor, it was dyed a light blue and had the Imperial coat of arms on the left left shoulder. And of course on the right shoulder she had on her left shoulder a signature of hers, a blue rose.

Her sword was placed upon her back and then she at last began to write, it was a letter to her prestigious father, Moreuron. She wondered what he had been up to, what work was like, how many people he'd angered as he often did.

"Dearest father," she began. "I have missed you and mother dearly in these recent times, sork seems to pile on more and more. I cannot disclose very much at this moment but I am about to do something of great risk, and I may not be returning home to you, though we both know how common that is given my duties." Arathea stopped for a moment, her mind wandering back to her home and her family.

"I promise to do my greatest both for you and for this country we love so dearly, for our most glorious empire that has cared for us so greatly." She felt a ping of determination, a smile etching across her face. "I hope I can serve this wonderful realm as well as you father, you are perhaps my greatest inspiration."

"But enough of me, I trust you are well? I hope the wretched lovers of war and destruction among your colleagues have not given you too much trouble. I heard one of your allies had an arrow right through his skull while speaking to the usual audience of youths and the like, it was shocking. I pray that you remain well, I imagine all of your colleagues are quite on edge after that horrific turn of events."

Arathea felt a frown forming, she always was anxious for her father, while he was for the most part safe she knew that Sylvari politics went beyond cutthroat at times. "Is Tanonnen well? Pursuing in his mother's footsteps, has he ascended to priesthood?" She thought of her little brother, the free spirited rascal that he was.

"Well on that note I believe I must leave soon, I wish you well father, I love you dearly." And with that Arathea added the closing to the letter, put it in an envelope, sealed it, and prepared to send it on its way.

 She was far from home, and she missed it dearly. The streets of the great Sylvari capital were a place like no other, it's grand crystalline walls were a sight that would inspire awe in any person. The Imperial Palace and all the other grand buildings that resided in the city remained deep in Arathea's memory. Perhaps more than anything else that home, that great sight and all it's counterparts were what she really fought for, what she was willing to die for.