<div align="center"><em><strong>Barlen, the 30th of Pasiphel, 551 MR | 1524 HC | 2039 Ma<br/>Sonnelind, Dhoesone</strong></em></div><br/><hr/><hr/><br/><div class="floatleft">(https://scontent.fpoz2-1.fna.fbcdn.net/v/t1.15752-9/92333486_603675273572842_3908732625216339968_n.png?_nc_cat=106&amp;_nc_sid=b96e70&amp;_nc_oc=AQkvNlbj8kWVIA0HNISwlIB-PJwZ0NnbgQbQgXHQC5m9LP5_rsy1SlaMizoK6OiaF3M&amp;_nc_ht=scontent.fpoz2-1.fna&amp;oh=123ceb8cf64a18f72d1ebd9c7949ad2c&amp;oe=5EB4EDC8)</div><br/>"Perhaps we will." Arawn smiled at Sarek, and this time there was a certain challenge hidden behind the smile, a certain certainty or belief in them clearly audible. "I'm sure the Barones wouldn't have people of that sort working for her in such an important capacity and for such a crucial mission." He said as a comment to Wynne about the other adventuring parties. He seemed to believe in the words he spoke although, at the very end of the sentence, he did take a look at all the other teams as if to gauge if he might have been mistaken. "As for your question, Sarek," He looked at the well-dressed man and then, directed his eyes at the people he mentioned next, "I know sir Maegar Varn, as I've already mentioned. He's a fellow knight and paladin of Ruornil. A fine man, valiant and courageous, honest to fault. If my memory doesn't deceive me, his family lives in these parts of Anuire." Wynne immediately noticed how Arawn called Dhoesone 'parts of Anuire' -- that was not incorrect, per se, but locals such as Wynne himself, liked the idea of their land being somehow... independent, somehow mixed when it came to the division between Anuire and the Rjurik lands. It seemed very... Anuirean, or southern Anuirean in particular, to say something like that. "The wizard," his eyes were now looking at the grey-haired and grey-bearded man in expensive robes, "is Cephal Dosiere, and yes, he's a distant relative of the Chamberlain of the Imperial City." He uttered the second part with some level of respect.<br/><br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">History DC 20</div><div class="spoiler_body">Caliedhe Dosiere is the Chamberlain of the Imperial City -- the greatest city on the continent and the capital of the fallen Anuirean Empire. Even though there has been no Emperor and no Empire for the last few centuries, the Chamberlain is a very powerful and influential man. While he has never claimed the title of Emperor for himself, he is the pseudo-head of the remnants of the Anuirean Empire and if anyone ever attempted to resurrect the fallen empire... it would only be possible with his blessing.</div></div><br/><br/>"Oh, and of course, a cousin of lady Halaene Dosiere, our Baroness's advisor and sword-lady of great renown." He quickly added the second sentence when he realized he probably should have mentioned the local representative of the family first, and then, looked at the woman sitting close to the regent of these lands. "The rest of sir Maegar's party I don't recognize. But I have heard of lord Hannis Drelev." He now turned his attention to another table -- the one that seemed to be composed of much more noble-looking individuals than the rest. Their leader, the man he was now looking at, was of above average height and perfectly groomed, wearing the finest silk clothes, embroidered, oddly enough, not with a coat-of-arms of House Drelev but a silver sword on a golden sunburst -- the holy symbol of Haelyn, god of justice and nobility. Despite knowing the local houses quite well, Wynne had never seen the man before. House Drelev was a rather minor house of Dhoesone, one of the bastions of Anuirean ancestral traditions, only tempered by a drop of Brecht ancestry, but, as far as he knew, all sons of the lord died and only a daughter remained. He remembered that as his mother did try to have one of his elder brothers marry the girl to keep their bloodline alive.<br/><br/>Darcassan's step through the shadows went mostly undetected -- even if some bystanders took notice, they ascribed it to the light-and-shadow play of the torchlight, or just their intoxicated minds playing tricks -- but not by the elven woman next to whom he appeared. It was not that she was unphased by the sudden appearance, but that she looked as if she was waiting for it to happen. The subtle fey charm that washed over her and the Iron Wraith mercenary sitting closest to her made her look at the shadowy elf with a certain degree of interest, respect, or even friendship. Even though her voice was melodic and her manner friendly, possibly due to the spell's influence, her face was almost emotionless, her gaze as cold as before. "We have not, dead one." She spoke in Sidhelien, her accent painfully similar to those in Darc's memories of home. "But I've seen your face and scented the sweet stench of darkness and death that surrounds you in my revelries. Now that our ill-fated meeting has come to pass, I know what needs to happen next, and for that, you have my thanks." Her words were even more cryptic than Darc could have imagined. "Be careful of the road ahead, for neither your nor our kind is welcome anymore in the lands that were stolen from the shadows."<br/><br/>For a moment, the half-elf stopped dancing, too confused by the mind-meld connection established by Godwine to devote any of his thoughts to moving his body around. The words in his mind were echoing slightly, in a peculiar but not unpleasant, manner. His emerald green eyes blinked, once, twice, thrice, and then his mouth moved and words in the tongue of the Sidhe came out. "Someone who's looking for a kindred spirit. And you, who are you, mind-bender that you speak like the fey lords and fey queens of the forests do?"<br/><br/>The Baroness's table was placed in a carefully chosen spot so that it was in central view of anyone who was sitting at the other tables, which made it easy for anyone present to take a look at the regent and her family in all their royal splendour. It likewise allowed the Baroness to observe anyone she wished -- and now she was carefully eying the approaching green-skinned man. She didn't seem impressed by him nor was she happy that he directed his steps towards her table -- in fact, she became visibly alert and even highly nervous the moment she realized that he was indeed coming to her.<br/><br/>Almost immediately, guards who were standing so as to intercept any would-be attacker from meeting with the Baroness or her family, stepped in the moment they saw her gaze, blocking the way to her. "The Baroness is not entertaining guests at the moment." A servant, most likely the Baroness's herald, came to the fore and explained. Victory's reception, however, was different -- even if he was of monstrous appearance as well, his story has been already passed on by many a nobleman gossiping about the poor cursed son of a valiant lord who fought -- and lost to -- the Gorgon. He deserved to be heard though, he was one of the elite after all -- cursed with the devil's mask but one of them nonetheless.<br/><br/>The Baroness raised her hand and said in a stern voice to her guards, "Let them through".<br/><br/>A moment later, both Vic and Nach were standing few meters away from the Baroness's table. Her whole family, all the advisors, guards, and quite possibly half of the nearby nobles, were observing every single move and listening to every single word they were about to say.