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| - It is the Twelfth hour by the Shadow on Shadowwatch, the 2nd day of Bleakdreary in the year 628. Muri's brows knit in confusion. "Me Lady?" she says. "De Duchess ye mean? Ah cain't say dat she's displeased me goin' off on me own so much. She ain't said as much. She strikes me as de type dat would tell me so. No, tis mostly me family Ah speak so about." She looks around the room again. "Dat why ye lives here 'stead o' in Fas'held? Cause of wot ye c'n do?" Sandrim rubs the back of his neck. "It's why I came in the first place," he says. "Didn't want to be locked away in Northreach." In mid-air, a six-spoked glowing circle appears, the spokes rotating silently until it appears as a flickering gate. Taran steps through with a look of intense concentration; once past, the gate vanishes behind him. Muri nods and sighs. "Aye," she says. "Missus Meian said as much dat it was hard havin' t' move der, even wid Messer Kael wid her. Ah never much thought 'bout it bein' /people/ sent aways back den." She shakes her head. "Ah hopes never t' mistake dat agin." Sandrim grins a bit faintly. "Hey," he says, "one of /us/ made that mistake and sent us in the first place. I think you can be forgiven that." He curls and uncurls his fingers, warming them up in the fire. Taran steps out of the whirling gate, finely dressed but visibly drained - to the point that it takes a few seconds for the situation to register. He looks about to say something for a moment, then closes his mouth and just quietly heads for the door, perhaps to escape before being seen. Out of the corner of her eye Muri catches a glimpse of the whirling gate and she leans back. "Cor..." she murmurs. She glances at Sandrim just as Taran steps through. "Ah thin' ... Ah thin' we have guests..." She gestures in Taran's direction. "G'eve yer Grace," she says to Taran. Sandrim looks up to Taran, and stands swiftly. "No need to run out, Taran," he calls over, reaching out to try and grab his cloak, before giving Muri a small grin. "And no need to call him your Grace. Something is wrong, Taran?" It's not /really/ a question. Taran pauses at that. "Something is wrong, and something is ended," he says in a tired, near-dead tone. "Someone is killing Syladris, it seems." Muri stands, her hand at her throat. "Killin' Syladris?" she repeats, her voice weak. "Aesyeri...?" She swallows. "Who dun dis?" Sandrim's expression goes stony at this. "What happened?" he asks. "I hadn't heard about this." Taran blinks slowly, clearly not entirely awake. "Blackfox knows?" he says. "Celeste does not. She will be here....tomorrow, next day...we go hunting these Syladris killers." Muri looks down at her hands, then sits down again. "Tis wrong," she murmurs. "Deys never harm no ones." She looks up to Taran again, her look one of confusion and worry. "Who... who... was... who was de Syldaris dat was...?" "I'm going with you," Sandrim says firmly folding his arms. "Let me know before you go, because I'll be headed out as well." Taran blinks blankly at the pair of them. "I do not know," he says to Muri, and to Sandrim, "That is a given." Muri begins to wring her hands. "Ah was gonna bring him pie," she says, a strange useless thing to say, but said nonetheless. "Ye be hunt'in in Fas'held 'r here, ye thin?" She looks to Sandrim then Taran. Sandrim rubs the back of his head, stepping toward Taran. "Need someone tonight?" he asks, before looking to Muri. "Feel free to sleep here, by the way. I think I need to talk a bit more to Taran, don't want to keep you up." Taran blinks a few more times. "...Not Aes. Not Garis. Some other Syladris. I think she would have been a lot more upset if she knew the Syladris in question," he says to Muri. Then, to Sandrim, "...Sure. It has been a long night..." and whatever was supposed to finish that thought is apparently forgotten. "Ah don' thin' Ah could sleep," Muri says to Sandrim. "Not knowin' deres someone...doin' dat terrible thin' out dere." She shudders then looks over to Taran, visibly relaxing when she hears about the unlikely demise of her friend. "Yer Gra-- ah, Messer Taran. Ye've been travelin' hard, Ah c'n see." She licks her lips and looks over to Sandrim. "Ah c'n leave, Messer Sandrim," she says "Ah knows de way t'de tavern. He should stay here wid ye." She stands to gather up her cloak and pack. Sandrim stops and blinks, before nodding slowly. "Alright," he says. "You know where to find us if you need something. Sleep well, Mistress." Taran takes a few seconds to register this offer, as everything seems to be slowing down in sleep's siren call. With great care, the man removes his broad-brimmed, plumed hat and sets it on a hook. The high-collared velvet cloak is next...and that seems to be as far as he can remember how to go just now, frowning at the wall. Muri reaches over and squeezes Sandrim's arm as she passes. "Light keep ye both," she murmurs. "Ah wish Ah could do more..." She glances at Taran, reaching a hand to him, but stopping short of touching him. "G'eve, Messer," she says gently. "Res' well." She looks to Sandrim once more, then heads out the door. Obsidian Parlor - Eventide Keep Black and purple tapestries adorn the granite walls of this lavishly appointed parlor, which is separated from the grand entrance hall of Eventide Castle by a heavy velvet curtain and black and violet. It is the Twelfth hour by the Shadow on Fealty, the 3rd day of Bleakdreary in the year 628. Coiled on and over one of those sofas - with Sahna settling into a nearby chair - the syladris is very hastily putting aside that book, the weighty tome closed carefully and laid on the floor. He seems eager, even excited, coils moving with a bit more agitation, his smile wide and relieved and just a bit thankful. "It isss jussst Aessseyri, but it isss that at leassst. I do not mind at all. It isss very nicsse here, but it isss very quiet and a little lonely. You are .. it isss Nuzsslenosse? You are dunnybunny'sss friend who isss called Ssahna." He winks. "You had a longer nossse, though." Laughing delightedly, Sahna leans back in her chair, shaking her head in mixed amusement and bemusement. "That's exactly right. You know, Duhnen is one of the most even-tempered people you'll ever meet. So, at times, I try to pull his cord. Only, he's just so level headed that it doesn't earn more than chagrin." She crosses her legs at the ankles, adding, "Is there any more of that wine?" A serving girl enters and curtseys to Aes and Sahna prettily. Behind her hovers a slight woman, her face creased with worry. "A Mistress Muri Woodhill, your Grace," she says. "She is searching for the Syldaris lord. May she enter?" Muri tries to peek around the door and the girl, but the server is quite able to keep her at bay. "Please, missus," Muri is heard to say, her voice agitated. "Be he here? Be he well? Da's all Ah needs t'know." It's a sight - it really is - as Aeseyri reaches over to pick up that glass, his torso moving smoothly and evenly even as he unwinds from the couch in a hiss and whisper of scale, happily offering the glass to the woman. "It isss alright. I do not know if there isss? But they brought thisss to me and I do not know where it came from but you can have it if you like." His eyes are wide and warm - "You are friendsss - it isss good. I think he likesss you very much." The snake blinks at that, turning to the door - "Muri!" He calls, with a wink at Sahna. "I am being beaten and ssstarved and they will not give me pie. It isss horrible." The serving girl raises a brow and hesitates, apparently unsure if the Syldaris is giving permission or not. "Please, fer Light's sake," Muri begs. "She be me Duchess and he be me fren!" The serving girl shrugs. "Yes Mistress," she replies dryly. "But if the Lady of /this/ house is displeased, out you shall go!" She curtseys again, then withdraws as Muri cross the threshold in great haste. "Messer Aesyeri!" she says stepping quickly toward him. "Dey beat ye?" She looks to Sahna with worry on her face, then back to Aes. Her face is pale and there are tears welling in her eyes. "No... no..." she reaches her hands out Aes. "Ye be here, safe, aye? A've been worried sick Ah has." He laughs, gently - leaving the glass with Sahna and drifting back to Muri, moving easily. "I am fine, I promisse - I wasss teassing and I am fine, sssee?" He spreads his arms - and then hugs Muri, firmly. "You did not have to worry, but it isss kind that you did - thisss isss Sssahna who isss very nicsse, and very much fun." That's bright, and happy, the Syladris nodding over to the Duchess Nillu. "Ah... Ah was gonna bake ye a pie, but Ah dinae know wot ye lahked best," she says, finally breaking down into tears and clinging to him. "So's Ah went t'find ye at de Refuge. And Ah found Messser Sandrim dere and he says ye likes huckleberries which is right fine, nearly as good as apples. And den..and den..." She looks up again. "Tis horrible! Ah looked everywhere fer you at de Refuge but no one seen ye, so Ah came here." She looks over to Sahna. "Fergive me, Yer Grace," she says wiping her face on her sleeve. "Ah shouldn't be disturbin' ye." One hand holds Aes by the elbow as if the woman doesn't quite want to let go. "I am here - and I am well - " Aeseyri frowns, then - not objecting to being hung-on-to, even shifting her arm to drape it over his own, his tail coiling around her legs as he shifs to look at the Freelander woman, head tilting. "What isss horrible?" Muri turns back to Aes, her eyes puffy and red. "Deys someone..." she says. "Messer Taran came t'see Messer Sandrim and he says deys someone killin'... killin' Syladris." She puts her hand to her throat. "Ah dinae knowd where ye was. He dinnae thought ye'd been... it'd happened t'ye, but Ah had t'be sure." She chews on her lower lip nervously. Aeseyri nods. "Blackfoxss came to me yessterday and ssaid ssso, but I have not been able to ssspeak with Voreyn to get her help in going to help /them/. I am sssafe here, but I cannot leave without a night-with-a-k and ssshe will have to help me find one I think." He adds, gently - "I will not let them hurt anyone elssse if I can, but it isss not easssy for me to go back yet, yess?" Having remained silent during the interlude, Sahna cups the glass of wine she recieved from Aes, savoring a sip every now and then in amiable silence. At some length she offers, "Don't worry about me, Mistress.. It would be a poor thing to do, to deprive Fastheld's guest of a friend." She leans back in her chair, closing her eyes for a moment. "Mistress, is Taran well? He is, well, I suppose calling him a friend would be too familliar, but I haven't heard from him for a while. Who's being killed, and where, if I may ask?" Muri shakes her head. "No...No..." she says. "Ye should stay here. Ye be safe here." She looks over the Sahna. "He should stay here, aye?" she says to the Duchess. "If'n deys someone killin?" She chews on that lip again and more tears well up. "Messer Taran be alright, Ah thin," she says. "He looked tired, but he dun jus' dun dat travelin' thin he does and mebbe dats why he looked so poor." Aes is ... gently firm. "It isss not a thing I can do, Muri. I am sssorry. But I will be sssafe, I promisse." He ducks his head, and then looks over to Sahna... and actually doesn't say something. Oh, he starts to, and then stops, just.. looking down. Sahna sits up, setting the goblet of wine aside with a faint frown. "If you two don't mind.. I've been a bit reclusive lately due to some ah, house difficulties. I would like to get the details of what's going on, exactly. Is this happening in Fastheld?" Muri turns to look at Aes for a long moment, then nods. "If'n ye thin' is bes' ye go," she says quietly. She swallows, seeming to gather composure somewhat. "Ah don' know where tis happenin' yer Grace," she replies. "Jus' dat Messer Taran and Messer Sandrim plans on lookin' fer de killer. Mebbe de Lady Celes' also. Messer Taran wert so tired las' night Ah thought it bes' Ah leaves him t'rest." She takes her hand from Aes and steps slightly away, her fingers twisting around each other. "It isss outssside the Wall - in the wild ssspacssess." The Syladris, as Muri moves away, glances up at her with uncertain surprise, shifting on his own coils and - for a moment - dithering. "It iss that Blackfoxsss found a sssmall placssse where othersss lived? And they were all dead and the ssskinsss there were ssstolen and ssshe sssaid one of the Sssyladrisss wasss there and hisss tail had been taken and he wasss dead." He swallows, and looks up to Sahna. "but it isss not inssside the Wall." "Mmh. I would have expected trouble within the wall, not outside of it." Sahna considers, brows lowering. Her expression is dour now, devoid of her earlier good mood. "Well. I can't do much about things outside of the wall, but if there's anything I /can/ do, you just need to ask. I'll put out a few feelers in the markets to see if anyone tries selling some ah, er, exotic skins." She purses her lips, grimacing. Muri visibly shudders as Aes relates the scene Blackfox has described to him. "If'n de be anyfin' Ah could do," she says. "E'en runnin' messages round, Ah gots a horse." She shrugs. "Not much else a cook c'n do." She brushes a bit of her hair behind her ear and hugs herself with her arms as if to hold herself together. Aeseyri tentatively offers his hands to Muri. "I would like very much if you would be willing to sssee if anyone hasss ssseen Keiresssa in the Refuge? But it isss very much to assk." He bites at his own lip, then looks over to Sahna. "... it isss a thing thossse here would do?" that's a very small question, very low and honestly worried. Muri gives Aes a shy half-crooked smile before taking his hands. "Ah don' want t' leave ye," she says. "But if'n ye tells me where t'find her, Ah'll look for yer fren. Let 'er know not t' walk de Wilds till deys folk's found and all's safe again." She looks over to Sahna. Sahna exhales deeply. "Don't worry about work, Mistress Woodhill.. Those who run messages are just as helpful as those who cook. As for that, Aeseyri, the anser is an unequivocal yes." She reaches up and taps at the half-black, half-white circle on her cheek. "It may not be so obvious now, because things have been changing rapidly over the last few years.. But Fastheld is still very much in the grips of fanaticism. The Church of True Light has mostly crumbled, but they've left a thousand-year-old legacy.. One that says 'anything new or different is evil. Add on to that a stack of some of the more idiotic nobility who are miffed at having to be, Light forbid, polite to someone as a peer instead of their usual rude-assed selves, and you have a recipe for trouble."
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