<div class="floatleft">(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v181/Kittenpeeler/Pathfinder%20Characters/Honeycropped.jpg)</div><br/>The ambassador for the Feylands had arrived with only a small entourage, but even that was enough to wrest attention from the locals. The eldarin herself sat astride a white hard, two knights clad in pure silver and raven-feather cloaks flanking her on black stags. On foot and on lesser mounts was the small company of gnomes, elves, and other fey that attended the otherworldy woman, all dressed in the strange fashions that somehow walked the border between earthy barbarism and haute couture. Each and every step was silent, save for the constant sound of glass chimes, somehow rising above the din of gawkers, and the snips of sylvan and elvish the group used to converse among themselves.<br/><br/>Among the "commoners," if the fey have such, trundled a badger the size of a small horse. Its thick fur was glossy, its long claws painted gold (which was already flaking away), with a vine-and-spidersilk harness around him. Clinging to this harness was Honey, barely wearing more than her mount, a cloak woven of iridescent magpie feathers shielding her body from the gaze of the crowd.At the sight of humble children scampering alongside the burly burrower, Honey waved a hand, and a carpet of fragrant, pink-flowered mint sprang up behind their heels. Others among the entourage were performing similarly, weaving light into dancing figures, for for the more cruel of their number, casting gold into the crowd only for it to turn to autumn leaves at the touch of mortal hands. In these ways, the notions of the Fey as being cold and warm, aloof and playful, were perpetuated.<br/><br/>While the main body of the ambassadorial entourage made their way to the<em>official</em>entrances of the keep, Honey and a few of her companions broke away, taking their way through the common war, for a less grand entranceway, that used by the adventurers heeding the call of the kingdom. Once through the gate - after some argument over her badger and the fact it had stolen a melon from the cart ahead of them - honey st upright and pulled the cowl of her cloak back. How odd, that a nearly-nude, horned and hoofed woman sitting astride a giant badger might be one of the least unusual attendants here! she shook her hair out, letting the sun's warmth fill it, before she slipped off the back of the beast.<br/><br/><strong>"Barkstripe, <em>stay</em>. No chasing horses! I mean it this time, they don't want to play!"</strong>The badger growled and snorted, clawing at the flagstones of the keep.<strong>"I said <em>no</em>. It's bad enough you stole from that nice farmer."</strong>More gruffling and growling, the badger's lip curling back from wicked-sharp teeth.<strong>"Good. I knew I could count on you to behave."</strong>The badger then flopped onto its back, limbs akimbo, making a demanding whuffle noise. Honey rolled her eyes and buried her hands into the thick fur, which nearly reached her elbows, rubbing and scratching the immense animal's stomach while it kicked and churred happily.<br/><br/>All while the guards at the door looked on with dumbfounded expressions.<br/><br/>Honey passed them a smile, her hooves clicking against tile as she trotted into the grand hall. The cloak wrapped around her shoulders did little to hide much of anything; it certainly didn't hide the woman's odd legs or curled horns, and only by sheer luck did the spidersilk, oak leaves, and feathers of her outfit keep from shocking and scandalizing the more sensitive in the crowd. It felt itchy and constrictive to her, but the High Lady Selashaeilu had insisted that mortals clad themselves in far heavier, so it was the least Honey could do to put them at ease.<br/><br/>Everyone within the hall received an inquisitive look, her brown eyes taking them in one by one. The sight of the centaur actually brought a sigh of relief from her. Amid so many humans, here, maybe, was someone at least a little relatable.<br/><br/><strong>"I <em>hope</em> this is the hall to meet with the Lady of Faith,"</strong>comes the response to him, as she reached back to adjust her hair. Or at least get more of it out of her face.<strong>"It's a long walk to the other entranceway, and poor old Barkstripe was starting to get grouchy."</strong>