<div class="floatleft">(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v181/Kittenpeeler/Pathfinder%20Characters/Honeycropped.jpg)</div><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 12pt;"><strong>Honey</strong></span><br/><strong>AC:</strong>12 (Unarmored / shielded at the moment)<br/><strong>HP:</strong>33<br/><strong>Initiative:</strong>+1<br/><strong>Perception:</strong>Spot / Listen +10, Search +1<br/><hr/>Honey's hooves tapped lightly as she walked with the group. One hand was holding her cloak closed above her chest, the other somewhere within the folds of that garment. The acolyte's chatter brought an easy smile to the faun's lips.<strong>"Oh, I'm no hero,"</strong>she offers, fingers tightening in her cloak.<strong>"Simply a traveler, here to see the fabled Winter Kingdoms."</strong>She bit her lip, giving a quick glance around. They fey term for mortal lands didn't have the most flattering of connotations. If it weren't for the flush in her cheeks, the others might not even think twice of it, though.<strong>"<em>But</em> I'm happy to help the land, even so,"</strong>she amends with a soft murmur.<br/><br/>The entry into the hall clearly brings mixed emotions to the Faun. On the one hand, the chamber is beautiful, and her eyes rove over the colonnades and stained glass windows as if seeing such things for the first time.<strong>"I've never seen <em>paintings</em> made of light before,"</strong>she breathes. But the seems tense as well, the sheer scale of the room reminding her of the oppressive weight of hand-wrought stone and mortar above her head, the flesh of slain trees and bindings of iron and other cold metals fastening it all together. Honey sucks in a thick breath, suddenly longing for the sky she knows is just outside the hall. Even with that tension, the beauty is striking, she concedes to herself.<br/><br/>Her tension and fascination is broken by the Lady's voice. There's a quiet clatter of hooves as Honey remembers her manners and turns to face what she presumes is the council. Big chocolate-hued eyes gawk at the group for a moment before she steadies herself, and lets her cloak fall open, revealing her lack of much else beneath it, as she unwinds what seems to be a long, leafy cord from her left arm. Her deft fingers form this into a loose wreath, and with slow steps, she approaches the table, to set the garland upon its surface - somewhere with bare wood. It's a living vine, spear-shaped leaves having a fine silver fuzz on them, the flowers being long and tubular and pink, not very different from morning glory. A gift, from the demeanor she offers it with.<br/><br/><strong>"Lady of Lahearth, my name is Honey, from the village of Underroot."</strong>She speaks as if everyone should know where this is. Odds are they haven't the faintest clue.<strong>"I have heard your lands are troubled, and I'd like to help, how I can."</strong>Stepping back from the table, she lets her attention wander, There's an odd waggling shape beneath the cloak she wears that those behind her might notice. Not just hooves and horns, but a tail, as well?