<strong>Name:</strong>Peregrine<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Erin Montgomery's Quarters, Civic Festhall, Sigil<br/><strong>Time:</strong>Mid-morning<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Peregrine, Alzeggra, Factol Darkflame<br/><br/><br/>Perrin pursed her lips for a moment, giving Alzeggra a contemplative look. She had in her time been accused of many things, but this was a first for having her very name doubted to be sure. All the more so when she was fairly certain she<em>had</em>introduced herself, if maybe not to the elf directly. She wrinkled her nose, turning back forward, deciding to fill the time in transit with a proper response. "Peregrine van Slithers. Or if that's not sufficient, given that I am fairly sure it has been said before, I take as my middle names that of my mothers. My right-hand mother is Sabien van Slithers, herself daughter of Aleit van Slithers, who took the surname as a common name in stead of her own expanded Oranje-Hissner-Berg, having married Anna of Berg, daughter of Maria III the Rich of the United Duchies, although the combined house is considered a cadet of the Oranje-Hissners, the crowned republic taking precedence. Aleit's elder sister Annika took the tiara and my second cousin once removed, also named Aleit but the middle names are different, inherited a few years ago as Princess of Oranje. Now my<em>left-hand mother</em>, Prisca van Slithers—"<br/><br/>Alzeggra was spared further genealogy by their arrival at the Factol's chambers, and Perrin would admit she was happy to let the subject go with the new set of distractions. Grass was not a common thing in Sigil. Or when it was, it typically had spikes, or was enchanted to scream when you walked on it, or drank blood, or something equally unpleasant. That this grass was<em>indoors</em>was probably the least remarkable thing about it, next to how otherwise unremarkable it was.<br/><br/>It felt nice on her scales, with more give than the stone out in the hall, lubricating and padding her undulations, reminding her that she probably was meant for living in a forest by a river, not a city. At least the bipeds had to contend with merely two feet getting in contact with the filth. It was a little reminiscent of home, if with the obvious and glaring lack of any of her nieces. Still, those were the sacrifices one made to live in a place with a dozen dedicated masseuses.<br/><br/>She wrapped a strand of hair around one finger, nibbling on the ends of the strands thoughtfully as Alzeggra speculated. It wasn't a terribly big leap in logic, especially if they were missing a certain number that could be… tampered with elsewhere before being reintroduced. She settled herself in a little more before speaking up, winding her coils in on each other, then simply wiggling in place until they settled comfortably.<br/><br/>"To potentially complicate things, this may be related to another matter. There were a trio of guests at the Festhall today, a gith of some flavour, an elf, and a human, two men, the last a woman, philosophically unsound and careless. I am told Alzeggra observed them by the murder scene acting suspiciously, whereas I have reason to suspect that they have also been investigating our new Modron initiate, Harmony.  They were investigating memories of<em>not</em>being a Modron anymore."<br/><br/>She paused. "At least one of them bore a Doomguard emblem. He was also the one with the facile thinking, although the rest didn't really disagree."<br/><br/>Another pause. "Hold on, they had an incident with a recorder stone too." She frowned, her brow wrinkling and the tip of her tail vibrating where it stuck out of her wound coils. "Someone dropped theirs, I think, and one of them returned it. I would not assert that it must be related, but it's another coincidence for the nest."