Francis
*After finally returning from Salvainia, Ehakli had sent out inquiries on a voyage to Runra, only to discover there was yet another delay to wait upon. Turning misfortune into opportunity, the tholian took to the typical rounds of visits outside the Academy to reengage with the scattering leaves of gossip around her friends in the Iascói and Seonni parties. While she often enjoyed the curious change in this theater's henpecking after the shift from Imperial to Parliamentary nobility, it would only satisfy her entertainment for only so long, and she found herself back to visiting the estate of Aibaer, still kept in good condition and use after her father's passing well over a century ago.*

*While her claim to the estate was barely even that of ceremonial measure over the generations, now mostly serving as a donated retreat for the Iascói, Ehakli was still honored to have an unchecked presence in the holding of blue and white, offering council to those of the party and their guests, especially when it came to matters of historical precedence, the daughter of Sir Bhihibi and Lady Ralvis's long life well known within the pristine stone walls.*

*In her leisure, Ehakli considered her recent ambitions, her stirring after nearly an entire century of sedentary study in Pepor's renowned Academy waxing into a need to mark her place once again in history, the laurels she sat upon having grown brittle and frail over time. Her dreams over the nights in the estate filled with the possibilities of the coming future, she enjoyed wine paired with the irony of finding a need of more time on this world after a hundred years of wasting it. There were yet rituals that could be done, but in her considerations, she couldn't help but think of a name of another who knows of the greater passage of time, that newly ennobled canifor of Blackspire. A whispered legend among Lymians after their independence, and a blackguard to the Imperial lathians they forced separation from.*

*Ehakli considered this man, and realized she knew so little about him. Paired like wine with her personal considerations of ambitions and the next chapter of the future of Ramul Ta, she deigned to know more, and why not? It was always important to know those of noble name within the region, after all. So a missive was sent to Blackspire, the letter crisp, the calligraphy impeccable, the paper so very lightly scented with rose oil. An invitation for tea within Aibaer's historic estate among the hills between Pepor and Vunraurie, to enjoy civil company in the beautiful weather Lymia shone in the shift between spring and summer.*
Rhonda
Lord Ashnard Therion Valcrow had become a frequent subject of gossip among the Lymian social circles around Pepor, ever since he had permanently settled in Blackspire manor two years ago. Most talk of him, however, was based on folk rumours and wild speculation rather than impressions of his limited public presence. Unsurprisingly, many natives were not fond of a canifor claiming one of their ancestral estates, yet knew better than to be explicit on their disapproval; the impression or acceptance and inclusivity Lymians prided themselves over their fairer brethren had to be preserved at all costs. 

If there was one thing barely disputed about the canifor, it would be his battle prowess. His title, after all, was granted after vanquishing a crystalline hydra which terrorized the forests near Pepor with a mere party of three. A few accounts confirmed he had severed each had almost by himself with a ferocity bordering into primal savagery his kind was infamous for. Perhaps that was his crowning glory as well as the noose around his neck; succeeding with brute force where magic had failed... Within a society that revered arcane arts above all else. Depending on whom one asked, Ashnard's achievement could be described with begrudging respect or unmasked scorn. Allusions to his nightly habits and a notorious outlaw of Ulnoor known as *Revenant* That the canifor bore uncanny resemblance to were not helping his repute, either. To waltz with a man like him could be as prosperous as it could be dangerous. And for long-lived Tholians, risks that could not be easily calculated were best avoided.
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Ehakli's invitation was met with eager acceptance as a letter bearing the pale raven seal of the now-extinct house Valcrow– aptly delivered to her by a raven. The text was concise and neatly written in cursive with tar-black ink, stating that the canifor Lord would be visiting her the coming evening. Essential courtesy was kept in the letter's formal tone, but he had made no further efforts to impress. 

His arrival at the Aibaer estate would be just as modest. He had seemingly brought no repertoire but himself on the saddle of a black mare, which he promptly let the stablehands look after. He had donned a burgundy doublet emblazoned with streaks of silver and gold alongside matching breeches and a leather girdle. Riding spats covered his ankles, looping around his heels and a black mantle flowed behind him as he was ushered into the manor. On its centre, as well as on a brooch hung on his chest, was the raven sigil of House Valcrow. He had not been affected by the Macenization effect in the slightest, yet his trimmed fur and soft, solemn gaze belied his rumoured ferocity. Even his wild braided mane had been tamed into a ponytail by a single knot. He sauntered past the threshold with quiet, measured steps, his eyes of deep amber roaming about, ready to greet the hostess.
Francis
*Though prepared for Lord Valcrow's arrival, the estate's footman, a middle aged tholian with a narrow and receding widow's peak, could not help but give the slightest pause upon opening the main threshold to the foyer. Finely attired as he was, the sudden sight of the intimidating canifor in the night leant to a reaction that surely Ashnard himself was quite familiar in witnessing. Nevertheless, the footman promptly welcomed him in.*

*Even in the evening, the estate showed signs of its functionary role in the Republic. Servants were busy carrying out their duties and candelight was plentiful. There were chairs to one side of the hall where a few men and women seemed to be in heavy discourse on the matter of letters over their drinks, an open door by the central stairs revealed a meeting of sorts with others, including a grizzled Lora with an extremely austere naval hat. The throng of bureaucrats would acknowledge the presence of Ashnard's arrival in their own way; some raising drinks, others giving a simple nod, some just giving a quick stare before returning to the point they were making within their present company. Regardless of the divided attentions about the place, the footman began to announce the arrival to all as a macen servant moved to offer to take Ashnard's mantle and anything else he may wish stowed in the coatroom.* "LORD ASHNARD THERION-"

"-Valcrow, Master of Blackspire Manor!" *Another voice interrupted. Though softer than the practiced bold volume of the footman, the tholian at the door yielded to the interruption. A lit candleabra in one hand, the other lightly lifting the skirt of a gown afront her steps, Ehakli descended the stairs from its west wing split, an enthused smile on her dusky countenance as she moved to come and greet the new guest herself, stopping to give a formal curtsey as the footman took the candelabra.* "I saw you ride in from the balcony, thank you ever so much for making the trip as promised in your letter. I trust Éliara bid it a safe one." *She said, referencing the region's popular hero-goddess of navigation.*

*Modesty in dress was often encouraged in Lymian fashion, the trends tending to circulate between what exagerrations come to defy it. For Ehakli herself, her rather simple white and blue gown would only stand out in the flounces at her elbows, and the fine blue and silver embroidery that crept up the bodice and up along the sides and back of her neck in the queen anne's sort of neckline. Her alabaster hair was mostly bound up in a line of small dorsal buns, with a long, narrow lock of it draped forward over the blue of her shoulder. Her only jewelry was of a pair of silver earrings each fashioned as a crescent moon that becomes a wave of water. Her violet eyes focused sharply upon the canifor, after all, it was rare to receive such an exciting guest.*
Rhonda
*Who would have thought entering Silnari homes from the front door is even more tedious than the back,* Ashnard thought as he stifled a sigh and resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the crowd of bureaucrats and apprehensive footmen. He did acknowledge their welcomes with a nod of his own and a feigned smile before shedding his mantle to offer the servant. *Golds and secrets course through this estate like a turbulent river,* The canifor assumed, and this time a genuine smirk flashed on the edge of his muzzle. Of course, peering through any of it required the arduous process that was Lymian courtesy.

Ashnard spared nary a glance at the herd of bureaucrats once the hostess made her presence known, to which his ears bristled upwards and he answered with a practiced bow. 
"Lady Aibaer, it is an honour," He greeted, the chipped tip of his right ear twitching in alert to the muttering around him. 
"I see now the rumours of your beauty and elegance have done you a grave injustice," The canifor offered a veiled compliment. He stepped forward, unblinking eyes meeting her gaze. The semblance of a wolfish tail behind him flicked ever so slightly as he glanced to one of Ehakli's hands in cue to reach for a brief kiss. 
"The Goddess has indeed been most kind to me on the road."

The canifor favoured no jewellery of his own aside from a small silver and ruby ring on his left hand, its amber gleam upon reflecting the candlelight juxtaposing the sharpness of his trimmed claws.
"Shall we share a drink as promised, then, on a more private setting? I believe we have much to discuss, and the night is still young."