The Bard sat, legs gingerly crossed, at the table, catching the lingering, yellow gaze of Vero. Though she shuddered to imagine what thoughts were in his twisted mind, she knew better than to complain; women seemed to outnumber men considerably in this group, so what little power she could grasp at, she would accept happily. Vero was the only one, save for Ghaleon, who had more years in Death's Shadow than her, and she respected him... though she still wasn't sure how far she could trust him. There were far too many politics involved in her trust for it to be given, or held, easily.<br/><br/>Her attention shifted to the coins, the gentle jingle of gold upon gold upon wood. She almost gasped, she could feel her heartbeat quicken, her mind raced, she focused so intently on the shimmer and fantasy of the coins that she managed to ignore most everything else. Slowly, she stood, her mind filled with images of a new home, a new bed, silken sheets, fine robes, handmaidens, she could do anything, go anywhere... be anyone.<br/><br/>"Well Felly, whoever it is is rich,"<br/><br/>Delphine snapped to attention, her eyes danced over the seal on the bags; "Ghaleon..." She hesitated, her dark eyes shimmering with a duet of desire and apprehension. "Ghaleon, what kind of job would pay this much?" Her mind raced, she was conniving, sometimes even cruel... but she wasn't stupid. This much tender would require the blood of more then even an elven lord. She could feel her pulse in her fingertips, "Who is the mark?" She spoke clearly, concisely, almost demanding the information. She knew that anyone worth this much had to be important... or very dangerous.