The door opened once more, and that was the last time it opened, because the hulking ruffian of an ork that pushed his wide-shouldered frame through, tore it straight off his hinges. A nob, that much all four of them recognized. Caennyr, seated on the edge of the table instead of taking the chair, scoffed at such a display.<span style="color: #BFFF80">"It stinks so much I can smell it here."</span>he proclaimed with disgust.<br/><span style="color: #80BFFF">"Then turn the other way."</span>another one of Asduthara's companions quipped back harshly, holding the glass of wine by his lips. The Dracon frowned at them both, eyes lighting up with cold, unforgiving dismay.<br/><span style="color: #BFFFFF">"Enough. I didn't bring you here to bicker like dogs. Search for that insolent swine."</span>he commanded them sternly, effectively silencing them completely, and erasing the smirks from their faces. An ork of this sort wasn't worth the attention of their kind, noble and high above the matters of this green filth. As long as it was no warlord, he would not even turn its way, if not to slaughter. And even if it was, their only concern was about how to get rid of him. Orks, humans, Tau, they were all but insignificant worms, writhing underneath the soles of their boots. To be crushed without further thought. Caennyr's gaze followed the ork, to see it reconcile with the other one by the bar, his eyes slowly slipping onto the trio of Chaos Marines, and he scoffed.<span style="color: #BFFF80">"She Who Thirsts. A follower of her is here."</span>he remarked, the distaste so present in his voice one could cut through it, and his hand, placed around his glass, tightened so much it sent cracks through the structure, threatening him with shattering it entirely.<br/>Asduthara's own thin fingers clenched around his wrist, the metal sounding a silent clink, and gripped the Dusk Blade's arm tightly.<span style="color: #BFFFFF">"Not here. Do not spoil my wine. <span style="font-style: italic">Outside.</span>"</span>he proclaimed authoritatively, and Caennyr nodded, easing his grip at the glass, though his expression remained hateful.<br/><br/>However, the next figure that passed through - no, not the human, to whom he paid very little attention, if any - was the one that he cared for. His father's harlequin, the red-haired Eldar in such a colorful garment, with those innocent eyes. Those innocent eyes that he had no doubt Or'istra would have favored on a silver platter. The soulless Harlequin, a mute girl without her mask, at least as far as he knew, but she wasn't stupid... A Solitaire, indeed, a rare pick to catch into a net like that, though she was, after all, lured with gifts and favors. To wager one's soul for power was a great sacrifice, without doubt.<br/>He had last seen her while he himself was still young, remembering her as nothing more but a hazed blur, dancing beautifully. He was astonished by her back then, enamored by the speed and elegance of the Harlequin, but his keen senses grew unnerved to the very edge of her. Since then, he has gotten used to how empty her presence was, the soulless nature of the woman, but still there hung the aura of something unnatural around her.<br/><br/>Not really that surprising to see her coming towards them. The Trueborn, till now seated on the edges of the table, slid off, instead taking steady postures by Asduthara's side, more of obligation than of true concern for their lord's life; Asduthara was more than capable of protecting himself, and she was trusted enough not to have a blade at her throat and a gun at her head when she got this close. Yet, the Dracon appeared unmoved by it all - not even with a flick of his finger, a twitch of his brow, he kept drinking the wine, slowly, doing his best to ignore the sour, uncouth taste. Only when the projected writing was shown to him, did the corners of his mouth lift to form a cold, acidic smile, without a hint of kindness.<br/><span style="color: #BFFFFF">"Why, how kind of you to note, Arrail."</span>he spoke, voice cold like ice and unforgiving like a winter's night.<br/><span style="color: #80BFFF">"Our lord cannot mature further, for he has already reached perfection."</span>crossing his arms on his chest with the clink of his armor, one of the Dusk Blades proclaimed proudly.<br/>Asduthara gave him a look that would've had him pierced, if looks were like iron spears. His insides turned at the words, all of his muscles twitching with distaste for the statement. Oh, how he hated ass-kissers. Perhaps his underlings needed some extra lessons? Have they lost all memory of what he has attempted to etch into their minds with whip, blade, and a fist of iron?<span style="color: #BFFFFF">"I hate groundless flattery as much as I hate incompetence. Have you forgotten already, Yl'agard? Or have I not trained you well enough?"</span>his hand clenched around the handle of the whip as he spoke; for sure it was not an empty threat.<br/>Yl'agard bowed his head in an apologetic gesture, though fire flickered in his dark eyes, a fire of hatred.<span style="color: #80BFFF">"All apologies, my Lord. It will not happen again."</span>he muttered, dour in voice despite the forced humility.<br/><span style="color: #BFFFFF">"I sincerely hope it f**king won't." </span>Asduthara tipped his tongue in wine, nonchalantly crossed one leg over the other, and laid the glass down once more.<br/><br/><span style="color: #BFFFFF">"Kaestra. Bring one more glass for the lady."</span>he commanded to the red-haired Trueborn, who, after witnessing the harsh scolding his fellow Dusk Blade received, hurried to retrieve the wine noiselessly, both in fear of punishment for himself, too, and in a wish not to be present, would another argument start. It took but a short moment before he laid the glass before Arrail, and sat back down, by Asduthara's side, moving as silently as a shadow.<br/>The Dracon waited for a moment, then spoke up once more, watching the Harlequin with his cold eyes. Surely she wasn't here without a reason... No one ever came without a reason. Did she come for a favor? Or to repay one? Only she could answer that. Maybe his father has sent him a message...<br/><span style="color: #BFFFFF">"Why did you search for me? I highly doubt it's only a coincidence. And... As you know, it would be a folly to suppose that you are arriving without a certain purpose."</span>He raised a brow slightly, only in politeness, still with the same bored, but high-borne expression on his fair face, still consuming her form with his eyes. The red twirled inside the glass as he raised it, holding it among his first three fingers, so lightly it seemed that it could slip out at any time, and he cocked his head to the side, studying it further. A few wisps of his long white hair sled to the side at the gesture.<br/><br/>The background sounds, those were what angered him the most, so disharmonious, so loud and so harsh. Humans. He loathed them almost as much as he loathed the Necrons and orks. They were no better than walking, slowly moving targets, than slaves whose souls could be sucked out and feasted on...<br/>That reminded him, it has been quite... Long since his last meal.<br/><span style="color: #BFFFFF">"Yl'agard, repay your insolence, and stop by the bar. I wish to dine. I trust you will choose a fitting meal." </span>he instructed the Dusk Blade, who eased his posture, a question in his glance, turned at everyone else by the table.<br/><span style="color: #FFBFBF">"Bring one for myself, too."</span>Kaestra added then, shooting a glance at the bar. The dark-haired Trueborn gave him a short nod, and accompanied by nothing but the sounds of his armor, the plates sliding across one another as he moved, he made his way towards the innkeep, obviously unimpressed by these demanding, harsh creatures.