<em>It's a two day journey from the woods the Wood Elves call Sithaeril to Shellard, beyond the eastern marches of the Kingdom of Aerilon. Usually hazardous for the unwary traveller, the locals have taken to calling the barely beaten path that winds westwards through the forest the Gloomwald Road, as it snakes through patches of overgrowth so dense and oppressive even a beaming summer's day can't filter through into the dark forest below the trees. Giant cobwebs drape from low-hanging branches like razorwire hoping to snag the unwary. Eerie lights float lazily over the bogs and ponds off the beaten track to entice the young and the greedy. <br/><br/>Even Grilka's hardened footsloggers - whom she agreed to tap for the Tiefling's escort only with the promise of a favour, to be redeemed at her convenience - are quiet and alert on the journey through the Gloomwald, visibly anxious and unmanned once the relative protection of the castle walls have forsaken them long behind.<br/><br/>The party of three make their way, however, without major incident - solidifying the needling paranoia in the back of Damaia's mind that Meraxes actually has some say in who can and cannot pass unmolested through the borders of his greater domain. Eventually the thick wood retreats around them, gradually melting away to sunlight and fresh air, as snaggled vine and twisted bark become tilled field and levelled wall.<br/><br/>Shellard lies at the end of the Gloomwald Road, a small agricultural settlement usually overlooked by Meraxes' apprentices and subordinates. The larger towns and cities along the eastern march of the Kingdom make for lucrative rest stops, with their criminal element and the magical items and texts they usually transact in. Tiny hamlets like Shellard, run entirely off their landlord's estate, rarely offer much bar the occasional traveler to disappear into the keep dungeons. That it's now the object of Damaia's curiosity is of interest to her Master, she knows; more so for the fact that she employed two of Grilka's own cutthroats to see her there, along with an extremely rare exchange of correspondence with Robin.<br/><br/>The lord's manor sits on the hill around which the rest of Shellard is laid out, around which in turn lie the fields and pastures the entire hamlet's economy is bent towards preserving. Even blacksmiths and stoneworkers in the town exist only to supplement the farmers whose labour keeps the Lord of the Manor and his family fed. The inn, The Gloomy Horizon, is a recent addition to the settlement - the Lord specifically invested in having one open up to try and bring more traffic through the tiny village. How successful this venture has been, Damaia cannot say - Shellard is barely self-sufficient, with nothing at all to offer travelling merchants or outside trade. Were it to be simply wiped from the map, she quickly realised, nobody from beyond the fief may even realise until they found the ashen ruins where once the village stood.<br/><br/>Robin's delay in arriving gave Damaia time to spend alone in the village, shrugging off the stares and half-whispers enough to find out a little about its inhabitants. There is something of a buzz around the village, as the locals prepare for the wedding of a young half-elf girl, herself apprenticed to the village apothecary, to the huntsman's apprentice. Such trivialities brighten up the mundanity of peasant life, and as Damaia explores she finds the streets swaddled in flowers and little white flags as the townsfolk prepare for a full-village wedding. The Lord of the Manor seems entirely removed from the festivities and from what Damaia has heard it does not seem likely that he will attend. The Lord seems entirely secluded from village life, intervening only to settle disputes and dispense justice which, given the close-knit community spirit in Shellard, themselves are rare enough events.<br/><br/>Her second day in the village afforded her the chance to see one of the Lord's family - the daughter, allegedly, the Lady Isabella, who came down to market to shop for flowers. Though her father may be a fetishist for the Occult, Isabella is every bit the noble daughter; magnanimous and gracious to her inferiors and deferential and polite in conversation with those around her. Damaia only had the chance to observe her from a distance, Isabella being flanked by one of her father's men at arms, before the noble girl departed back for the top of the hill and her family manor.<br/><br/>It was early evening when Damaia retired to her rented quarters in the inn, the sun only just starting to set, but the rustic singalongs, chatter and banter of the tavern common room finally becoming too much for the Tiefling, already frustrated by spending two days with no furtherance to her business.</em><br/><br/><hr/><br/>The room is in darkness when Damaia enters. As soon as the door shuts behind her, she becomes aware of a hooded figure sitting by the small table in the corner next to the hearth. Before Damaia can even react the figure waves a hand over the candle on the table in front of her, and the wick sparks into life, a dull orange glow illuminating Robin's unmistakable features.<br/><br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Robin, The Prodigal Apprentice</div><div class="spoiler_body">(http://68.media.tumblr.com/f719bb94af97e7936a9f494d1cd720d1/tumblr_nqp1c7qBoM1sax3h6o10_1280.jpg)</div></div><br/><br/>She smiles at Damaia from beneath her hood, and sweeps her hand in a welcoming gesture, the other chair across from her beneath the table sliding out seemingly of its own accord to invite Damaia to sit down.<br/><br/>"I always figured Tamyn to be the bookworm," she says gently, holding her smile, green eyes sizing up Damaia. The two have known of each other - Robin making semi-regular returns to the castle to converse with Meraxes - but have never truly interacted until this moment, much less on mutual business. "I'm surprised the old man let you out for long enough to make it this far outside his reach," she smirks, legs apart where she's sat, completely at ease. The hilts of twin shortswords stand out on either side of her hip, glinting in the candlelight. "Is it frightening, being so far from the keep?" She grins broadly, and Damaia can't be sure if the smile is simply Robin being charming, or a challenge.<br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">OOC</div><div class="spoiler_body"><em>Robin cast Prestidigitation to light the candle on the desk.<br/><br/>Robin used her Mage Hand, summoned before Damaia entered the room and rendered invisible by her Legerdemain, to pull back the second chair.</em></div></div>