Open Chronicles An Arrangement of Stardust

Nilamani
Pomrick Bloomsfield

Lysander’s gaze lingered on the strangers a moment longer, then he gave a shrug that seemed half dismissal, half amusement.


“They don’t look like any students I’ve ever seen. I’d wager they’re Anirians. And if they are—well, that explains it. Leave it to Anirians to make the room feel like someone left the door open in winter.”

His mouth bent into a crooked line that was almost a smile.

“Since we’re speaking of the unpleasant, Pomrick: tieflings are people, first. People whose ancestors either got cursed or bumped uglies with infernal things. It shows itself in small rebellions of the body: a horn where there should be none, a tail, hooves, skin the color of a bruise or a flame. Nothing too mysterious about it beyond the name.”


He cocked his head, listening to the exchange between the horned twins and the Anirians. The corner of his mouth twitched.

“They’ve just called one of the Anirians a woodland spirit. Charming. A woodland spirit with a drab attire and a bad haircut, perhaps.”

Lysander Docatto Valestri said:

“Since we’re speaking of the unpleasant, Pomrick: tieflings are people, first. People whose ancestors either got cursed or bumped uglies with infernal things. It shows itself in small rebellions of the body: a horn where there should be none, a tail, hooves, skin the color of a bruise or a flame. Nothing too mysterious about it beyond the name.”

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Now the cursed part, he could understand - even empathise with. But his mind reeled at the thought that one could . . . as Lysander put it . . . bump demons. Was that even possible?

"O-oh. I see." Even though he tried not to see all kinds of grotesque manifistations before his mind's eye. He swallowed what felt like a lump of lead at the idea of talking to them.

But before he could stop to reconsider, the words flew out of his mouth - a part of his newer, stronger persona:

"Maybe we should . . . you know . . . go and introduce ourselves. Welcome them to El-Elbion."

Lysander Docatto Valestri
Nilamani

Nilamani gave an amused if slightly taken aback laugh.
"Bump Uglies....? If I didn't know better I would have said you sound like you've been hanging around the docks. " It was only a touch more reserved than the ways sailors spoke about it. They wouldn't have bothered to be accurate about the infernal part. 'Malakathian devils' was the sort of term they had heard thrown around.
It was something he could sympathize with albeit loosely. Nilamani found that unlike their kin, Sailors had much less strong of an opinion on if Tieflings were an ill omen.

Still Pomrick's words did stir some of that sympathy.
"You're right, it would be best if we let them speak for themselves on who they are."
Nilamani offered an encouraging smile and gestured for Pomrick to lead the way.
They figured that at the very least it might be good for them to be near should the twins have misjudged the temperament of their chosen conversation partners.

Lysander Docatto Valestri
Pomrick Bloomsfield

Nilamani
Pomrick Bloomsfield
Elyon and Eshara
Henk
Alistair Krixus
Livia Quinnick

Lysander gave a slow blink and rolled his eyes skyward, as though searching for patience among the rafters.

"Can you fault me for it? None of the men and women who drilled me at arms were given to kindness. And Maester Vaezhasar, I say that with Gods as my witnesses, when his temper rises, his tongue could paint a blush on a dockside brat."

With that, he stepped away from his companions and made his way toward the gathered strangers, his pace unhurried, deliberate. The twins stood out in color and bearing—striking, self-contained. The others, Anirians by the look of them, wore their stiff formality like an ill-fitted suit of armor.

Lysander stopped at a respectful distance, four paces, as manners prescribed, and brought his hand to his mouth in a gesture more theatrical than necessary. He coughed once, the sound soft but intentional.

“Pardon the interruption,” he said, though his tone suggested he required no such pardon. “My friends and I found ourselves curious. What exactly are you?”

He gestured with one thumb toward Nilamani, without looking back.

“The one with the snake’s tail thinks you might be tieflings.”


He waited, not with mockery, but with the open, unsparing curiosity that children, and young mages, are sometimes permitted.

Bliss said:

"Oh, please!" Bliss sighed aloud. "What's wrong? Made no friends in your class, you have to bother me?"

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Calixtus tilted his head, her words rolling off him as though they were nothing more than a mild breeze. His smirk, however, only grew sharper.

“Friends?” he echoed, voice dripping with mock amusement.

“How quaint I would have to be to cling to such schoolyard comforts. No, Bliss I don’t collect friends.”

He shifted his gaze back to her, eyes gleaming with mischief at the fury in hers.

"I suppose architecture is an achievement. Not that it makes worthwhile art on canvas."

“Perhaps you would go bored without my lessons. Maybe I enjoy your company."

He let the smirk linger, leaning ever so slightly closer. “As for bothering you… don’t flatter yourself, Gradimir. I’d call it a public service - keeping you from fading into the wallpaper.”

"Dreadlords!"

Both twins parroted the title as if sampling a new flavor. They were unfamiliar with its weight, or even its meaning.

"It sounds as foreboding as we thought, sister."

"But the others are Lord and Lady, brother. Married?"

"Mm mm, different second-names."

"Of course, of course."

The twins brief discussion between themselves was first interrupted by their own realization that the Anirians had just introduced themselves, and that manners dictated they do the same. The two smiled brighter, moving from Henk to stand beside each other. They gave a polite bow in unison and began to give their names, but were interrupted by a loud cough before they could begin.

Both turned to regard Lysander and the group of students that had wandered up behind them.

"'...Tea fling?' We have done no such thing. Today, anyways," Eshara huffed, confident that neither her nor her brother had thrown any liquids on anyone recently.

"No no, he asks what we are, sister," Elyon stated thoughtfully. So it was time for introductions after all, they supposed.

"We are Ely'Esha!" they announced in unison.

"I am Elyon," the brother greeted all.

"And I am Eshara," the sister continued.

"And we are delighted to meet you all!" they finished, both neglecting to note the difference between "what" and "who."

Pomrick huddled up behind Lysander with Nilamani, tilting his head, looking hypnotised by the horns of the siblings. But inevitably, his head turned in the direction of the cluster of Dreadlords, in equal number to their own little triad.

Two muscular men - one looking like a torn pincushion with the assembly of piercings in his face, long scar competing for mutilation, the other swathed in black, eyes misting into the colour of fog - and a young woman with something rather . . . harsh running through her features. They looked like three pieces of shaped steel rather than people - bent and dented in places, but unbroken, and still very sharp and deadly.

He waved sheepishly at this unnerving assembly, first at Elyon and Eshara, then drifting towards the Dreadlords before the gesture died like a bird mid-flight. His shoulders hunched protectively over himself.

"Hello. P-pomrick. My name, that is. Um . . ."

The pause hung for an awkward spell, as if he wanted to say more, but didn't know what else to summon up.

Nilamani
Lysander Docatto Valestri
Elyon and Eshara
Henk
Alistair Krixus
Livia Quinnick

*Clack... clack... clack*
The sharp sound of a cane came from down the hall as a figure robed in blue and yellow with a face, scared and older in the hair than he actually was, limped an approach like a tide that did not wish to touch the shore.

Salak had been away for a very long time and for very good reason and he did not ever expect to return to face any of his old students or Anirian associates ever again.

*Clack... clack... clack*
The travel had tired him and he was already weary from the ache in his bad leg. His life away from the College, from the life of a Dreadlord, was peaceful if not good and on his best nights he hoped that out in the great beyond of the wide world that Everleigh had found her peace as well.

He had not said her name since she left.

*Clack... clack... thud!*
Stopping filled him with a kind of damned energy that coiled in him like the muscles of a serpent about to strike. He did not lift his hood, he did not smile from his pock marked face and his green eyes darkened on all whom he saw.

Yet when he dismissed the offer of a drink and his eyes fell on Alistair he remembered his fondness for the man. He had not expected him to be there and suddenly he felt the tension in his muscles lax a fraction but it rose again when he saw Henk. He had never gotten the measure of him even after all their travels.

They were engaged with two Teiflings, twins or relatives at least if he was any judge and it was as good an opening as any.

*Clack... clack... clack*
His cane heralded his approach behind the other Dreadlords.
"Master Henk, Master Krixus and the talented Mistress Quinnick, forgive me for missing your Graduation. I hear you were outstanding during the final exam. Please pardon my intrusion, I was delayed."
The gentle indication of his bad leg with his hand was only part of the truth. One he was sure all three of them would divine in an instant. He had been reinstated to Government Service after his disappearance.

"Where are my manners?" He addressed the Teiflings and other students of Elbion, at least whom he assumed to be students of Elbion's college.
"Ely'Esha and Pomrick was it? I am Salak, Dreadlord of the Fourth Rank and at your service."
Now he smiled and for a man who only had half the muscles in his face working it was almost genuine.

Nilamani
Lysander Docatto Valestri
Elyon and Eshara
Henk
Alistair Krixus
Livia Quinnick
Pomrick Bloomsfield

​

Alistair Krixus said:

"I will admit my surprise that anyone managed to convince you to come to an event like this, Henk. Does not seem like your...preferred haunt."

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Henk let out something caught between a scoff and a chuckle. "True enough." he smiled, "But given that my usual 'haunts' are battlefields and fortresses, can you fault a man for seeking reprieve?" If Alistair had wished to imply that he was uncultured, he could simply say it outright. Krixus had certainly said far worse of him in the past. "Lest we forget, there was a time when I was one of the minority who enjoyed events like this over sparring and combat missions."

Judging by the frost edging Livia’s words, whatever admiration she’d once held for him had long since thinned. Fair enough; she’d grown into her own strength, far beyond anything he’d taught her, and her name would be remembered long after his faded.

Henk took no offense.

He did startle, though, when a pair of horned folk seemed to bloom out of thin air on either side of him. Eccentric, even by Elbion’s standards. They chirped back and forth like birds, questions from one answered instantly by the other, the three Anirians reduced to stage dressing for their duet of curiosities. Logic seemed less a guide to them than whimsy..

Livia—miraculously—managed to work in introductions. Henk bowed politely at the mention of his name, only for more curious arrivals to press in: a boy with the smooth cheeks of young nobility, a disheveled man stammering toward the group, and a striking young woman shadowing him with a bit more composure.

What had begun as a quiet reunion swelled into a small crowd. Sliding his hands behind his back, Henk let his gaze drift from face to face; the twins, the noble boy, the bedraggled man and his companion. Rather than stumble through greetings one by one, he lifted a hand and addressed them all at once.

“Good evening. I trust you’re all enjoying yourselves?” Despite the scars and metal that marked him, his voice carried its old warmth, the same gentle timbre that once pleaded for pacifism as a wide-eyed and naive Initiate. A smile softened his face. “I’m not here as a Dreadlord, so please, just Henk will do.”

That was when he caught sight of Salak. The older man’s presence surprised him even more than Alistair’s. Henk hadn’t seen him since the Bayou.

“I should apologize if my attire unsettles. My attendance here was on… short notice, and I’ve not had reason for finery in some time.”

Kilien Basmarc said:

"Ladies," Kilien greeted them warmly, "are you locals? We're a bit out of sorts."

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Yue turned her gaze to meet the Anirians. The man was oddly friendly in tone and the woman, she didn't seem to have any intentions of being in sorts. Was he....her servant?
She wasn't sure what there was to be out of sorts about. One could hardly get lost in an art gallery. Ah well, making idle chatter seemed the main purpose of this event.
"Yes, We are students here. Though...I suspect neither of us are from Elbion." She had only just been asking where the other girl was from. Of course she could be wrong. Perhaps the Elf was an Elbion native and Yuebing understood even less about the city than she thought.
Yue didn't even know the name of the Elf yet.
"I am Yuebing." She added realizing she hadn't given her name to Fea yet either.

Feä Mindalië
Vittoria Larrainth
Kilien Basmarc

Whether Yuebing would inquire further of Feä's family was left to mystery. Hardly had Feä given her answer when two Anirians approached both of them. And they were Anirians, of this there could be no doubt, for—the man, at least—spoke in a manner Feä had never heard before, and his very question gave proof to his country of birth.

And so now within Feä would come the terrible push and pull. Immediately the fires of rebellion, of impetuousness, arose in her heart, giving strength to defiance of Arunwë's command, that she should speak to and look at what Anirians she so pleased; and yet, she knew as well that it was not her father Arunwë alone, not even an evil harbored solely by the Mindalië Clan, that the Anirians were said to be so accursed. From the lips of good men, even from those of her Mentor, did the Anirians have a reputation for being brutal, cruel, merciless.

Now faced with Anirians in the flesh, there would come the inevitable question, more a feeling of dread than a thought composed of these words: could her father be right? Should she fear and scorn their entire race?

And Feä, inexorably, met eyes with Vittoria—this before the latter turned her head. A chill ran down her spine, and it smothered those fires of rebellion in her heart. Her face paled. And now even what warmth Kilien had spoken with was lost on Feä, as the man himself in her eyes took on a more sinister silhouette, standing in league with Vittoria as he was.

Feä said nothing, staring as though helpless at Kilien, eyes wide and alert. And even did she take a small step back.

Yuebing Coquelicot Kilien Basmarc Vittoria Larrainth

"Learning from the Anirians?" Came a voice.

Kian Heller stepped up beside the young College students, an easy grin adorning his face. "That's the sort of thing Initiates would learn."

The blonde girl turned, apprehension crossing her features seeing the Dreadlord, but his smile disarmed her. "I... yes. I read books about how the Anirians were trained for warfare and..."

"It is rather intuitive to do so." Heller commended. He looked up at Calixtus, clearing his throat. "Kian Heller. You are the spitting image of your brother, has anyone ever told you that?"

Of course he knew Emrys Blodwyn. Heller had made it his business to circle around the neighbouring large cities of Vel Anir, even taking some time to travel to Epressan cities.

Calixtus

"I like fading into the wallpaper." She argued

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Calixtus gave a low, incredulous laugh. The sound carried just enough to draw a glance or two from nearby patrons.

“Fading into the wallpaper?" His smirk widened as he leaned in, his words meant for her alone. “You call it clever, but you can't get ahead without anyone noticing."

He turned his head toward one of the canvases, studying it with all the disinterest of someone who knew people were watching him rather than the art.

“Who remembers the quiet?"

"Kian Heller. You are the spitting image of your brother, has anyone ever told you that?"

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Calixtus’s smirk faltered only for a heartbeat before he recovered, drawing himself up with an almost lazy elegance. His pale eyes flicked over Kian Heller, sizing him up as though he were some curiosity on display rather than a rival intruding upon his evening.

“Yes, yes,” he drawled, waving a gloved hand as if swatting away an insect. “I’ve heard the comparison before. A tiresome truth when one has a brother so very… visible. Though, I prefer to think I’ve inherited the better qualities.” His gaze sharpened, the words a velvet-wrapped blade.

He shifted subtly closer to Bliss, making the gesture look casual, though the message was clear.

His eyes flicked between Bliss and Kian, enjoying the tension like a fine wine. “But by all means - educate us. Bliss adores a lecture.”

A smile graced Alistair's face at Henk's comments, one that did not hold the typically sharp edge of the man whose intellect and words were just as deadly as his blade. No, instead, the smile was polite and tired, almost bordering on warm if a person did not know Alistair better.

Then came the whirling dervishes. For Alistair, who only saw the two by their magical auras, the arrival of the twins was a tornado of chaotic colors as their strange cadence of speaking only further added to the chaos. They had called them dryads...He had met dryads, and he was not one of them. The two had a way of speaking that warned Alistair that if he let them completely control the conversation, then he would inevitably fall into their nonsense.

He shot a glance at Livia, one he knew might share his own proclivity for social interactions, at least to some extent. Maybe she could help maneuver this unexpected flood of faces.

At their introduction, he remained silent for a long time, his glassy eyes just staring into them with that smile that never reached those very mirror-like eyes.

"Ah, imps, a pleasure. I presume students of Elbion?

Of course, this could not be the only chaos that inevitably forced its way upon Alistair as more and more new arrivals appeared. The new battering of colors threatened to overwhelm his senses. At least the appearance of Salak was enough to put the man at ease as he offered him a nod.

"Good to see you, my friend, too long."

The rest of the students quickly followed, or at least he would assume they were at least of their age. Their magical auras did not have the development that came with old age in any given race. The brashness of the young man who quickly interrogated the twins was refreshing and meant that Alistair would not have to ask.

Finally, there was the shy one and the snake.

"Greetings, Pomrick...and madam. I am Alistair Krixus, and these other associates may introduce themselves if they wish. Thank you for welcoming us into your city."

Livia Quinnick
Henk
Salak
Pomrick Bloomsfield
Elyon and Eshara
Nilamani
Lysander Docatto Valestri

Henk
Salak
Livia Quinnick
Elyon and Eshara


Lysander pinched the bridge of his nose, the old, steadying habit that kept sharp words from slipping free. The twins’ reply slid past the question he’d asked, as if he’d tossed a stone into a pond and watched it skip away instead of sink. “That—” he caught himself, let the breath go, “isn’t what I was asking. I wanted to know which particular race you belong to.”

Slowly, he let his hands rise and fall in a small surrender. “Ah, forget it. I’ll have time later to pester you about that.”

He turned his gaze to Henk and then to Alistair. The gallery smelled of varnish and dried ink; voices carried oddly under the high ceiling. He tried to meet Salak’s eyes and failed. A glance was all he could offer the ruined map of the man’s face before his stomach clenched and decency told him to look away. Some sights asked more courage than he was willing to expend.

“I’m Lysander Docatto Valestri, of House Valestri,” he said at last, hearing the formality of it and accepting it anyway. “My friends and I are freshly enrolled. First-year students.”

"Yes. W-we're all, that is to say--" he paused, grasping for words and looking apologetically around, as if uncertain if he should be allowed to speak or if he could keep going - or indeed, if he could remember what he wanted to say, against all the new names jumbling around in his skull. "We're as like to get lost as, ah, as you are around here." He realised he might have insulted them inadvertantly, assuming they would get lost as easily as he did in the college. "I mean, possibly. Though y-you might be better - I mean, have better luck, perhaps, maybe, if you-- yes, or something. But Elbion College is really, uh, confusing. I think."

After this painful stumbling of words, like his train of thought had taken a tumble uphill and downhill before being rolled in tar and feathers and thrown on awkward display, he swallowed and tried to change tact. Tried to say the one thing he had heard about Dreadlords. He turned to Henk, who seemed the most affable of them - or at very least, less threatening, for the moment, his smile blunting his edge of battle-scars.

"So is it true that, you, um - eat exclusively maggots and worms -- and wear armour made from orc teeth?"

Back home, that was a story his old grandfather had told him. An old peasant's tale, sure and sound as the earth they ploughed.

Livia Quinnick
Henk
Salak
Pomrick Bloomsfield
Elyon and Eshara
Nilamani
Lysander Docatto Valestri

Elyon and Eshara said:

"I am Elyon," the brother greeted all.

"And I am Eshara," the sister continued.

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There simply were too many now gathered, an unfortunate thing for the Dreadlord who possessed magic that was a living compass. The pull of her magic's focus was hard to ignore, and always often had a hand in turning her to being overstimulated quickly. It had been Henk that trained her to hone it, to control, but there was always a price she had to pay.

"Elyon and Eshara." Livia nodded to them each after affording the Elbion students a rushed half smile accompanying her name, Lady Livia Quinnick. Her magic darted between them, directly between them as if in that space was a singular core. "Would you like to accompany me and my friend, Alistair, to find some refreshments?"

Her magic kept flickering towards the blind lord, and it took her a moment to realise that if she had trouble with a crowd so close, it would be entirely disconcerting for him too.

But her eyes found Henk's. He had been a mentor to her. Had become her friend. Their story was not done, even with the distance and quiet between them these past months. She would find him, and the old Proctor Salak, later.

"It was lovely making your acquaintance." Livia bade the Elbion cohort with a practiced farewell. She looped an arm through Alistair's arm, as if he truly were blind and unable to get around. "Come along, Elyon and Eshara."

Perhaps she could piece the puzzle of answers to questions with Alistair's help.

Elyon and Eshara
Alistair Krixus

So they weren't just different in appearance, they had a way of speaking that almost made it seem that might not live in the same reality. It was amusing enough watching Lysander Docatto Valestri 's face scrunch in frustration at this riddle like answer, that they didn't bother interjecting.
It seemed that their approach had ruffled some feathers. Several of the Anirians seemed to be doing their best impression of cordial but there were subtly tells that they were feeling anxious. Well subtle compared to Pomrick Bloomsfield 's nervous attempts at conversation.

Nilamani let their eyes fall on each in turn as they spoke. The conversation bouncing in all directions.
Another approached, their face and figure more afflicted with ill fate than some old sailors. It was obvious from the looks of deference that the other Anirians gave him that this one had quite some impressive history.

Pomrick asked a fairly bold question, or perhaps it would have been a joke coming from anyone else's mouth.
Before a response could be given the dark haired woman had deftly split their growing group.
It seemed the mystery of the horned twin's origins would have to be put to rest another time.

That left the older scarred one and the younger spiky scarred one, Salak and Henk they had said.
With the chaos clear Nilamani's eyes drifted back to Henk to see how they would reply, if indeed the question hadn't been lost in the shuffle of coming and going.

It was as he expected.
Few could stand his face. There was power in that, in being obscene in eyes of others. If anyone was watching him as closely as they should they might have noticed the pull of a grin on his lips as Lysander averted his eyes from Salak's grim visage.

"Charmed, Master Lysander."

As some left and some stayed he nodded at his comrades and noted who stayed listening to the question asked by young Pomrick. One he found greatly amusing.
The reputation of Anirian ruthlessness was hard shaken it seemed and rumour mills had ground their own produce into the minds of all manner of folk.
How delightful.

Aside from Pomrick and Henk and between them the unanswered question Salak noted also another who had escaped his notice until now, a rare quality for anyone, he must have been more tired than he thought.
The girl, no... not a girl, not wholly at least now that he looked at them hard and drew in how the proportions hung on the clothing, the stance they took and the way they wore their copper hair. The body did not display the soul, being disfigured he knew that reality well and it let him look at others with eyes that saw what many often might miss in their haste to fit folk into neat little boxes.

Neat little boxes labelled friend and enemy.

His thoughts hit on Everleigh again and he dashed them away with a flick of his long grey hair as if it blocked his vision. Whoever the other was was he could feel the venom in their body, it sung to him as a rare thing, new and untasted by his perverse venomancy.
Whatever they were, they were not human or elf or any mix of the two despite appearances and they were waiting with intent on Henk to answer the foolish boys question.

He too would wait and watch all reactions though he could not help a smirk at just how outlandish the idea of orc tooth armour was.
It would require a lot of dead orcs to make.

Henk
Pomrick Bloomsfield
Nilamani
Lysander Docatto Valestri

None of the three foreigners refuted Ely'Esha's assumption, and so dryads they must have been. Success! The pair's deduction skills grew with each day, and this delighted the both of them. Oh, and then another scary fellow joined in on introductions! Alas, the twins' attention was on what this "Alistair" had just said.

"'Imps?'" Ely'Esha asked, each cocking their head to one side at once.

And before they had much else time to react to anything, the "Livia" one very pointedly invited the pair along. Both twins blinked at her in surprise, but their smiles returned in short order. They began to follow Livia as she dragged Alistair away, but not before reciting the name of each person that was to remain behind (or the one's they'd learned, anyway), and bidding them all a genuine:
"Farewell!"

Now among a much more manageable company, the Ely'Esha could slake their curiosity with much more focus.

"To answer: yes, we are students," Elyon started.

"And yes, we wish for something sweet to drink!" Eshara continued, clasping her hands together and smiling.

"You called us 'imps,' but these are...mmm..." Elyon pondered the term, recalling a book a fellow student had once left with them.

"Little devils? This is wrong!" Eshara realized and let out a pouty "hmph."

"Yes, we are--"

"Yan'Katma!" the duo announced, looking far too proud for uttering a word that was unlikely to carry any drop of meaning to the average person.

Alistair allowed himself to be pulled away, offering a polite nod of farewell to the others as Livia led their extraction. As they drew further away, Alistair whispered under his breath to her, "Thank you."

A nice drink and some more controlled conversation were just what the doctor ordered, even if he doubted that any conversation with the twins would be considered 'controlled',

With a skilled perception that gave away that Alistair was no ordinary blind man, he picked out a waiter passing by and ordered four drinks—wine for him and Livia, and then something a bit sweeter for the twins.

"Alas, and we are not dryads, so forgive my mistake...and my ignorance, but what are the Yan'KAtma?"

While he considered himself well-read, unfortunately, he could not know everything, and apparently, he drew the line at knowing every species in the world. However, he may do some reading after this encounter.

Drinks were soon delivered to them with quick speed, Alistair taking one glass and then offering the other to Livia. She also seemed curious about the two, so he would let her lead in the questioning.

Livia Quinnick Elyon and Eshara

"I am not sure if I should be worried that you know so much, or impressed that you do." Heller didn't bother to hide the charm in his expression.

Even when he looked to Calixtus, he could see the resemblance to the grouch that was Emrys. They had the same frown. Uncanny...

"Well... lovely to make your acquaintance... I best be off. I have an Initiate I must keep an eye on. Duty calls and all that toss."

Heller scanned the room, a performance as he did not look around for long. The Dreadlord nodded to them both, deciding to play with fire and award Bliss with a lingering smile before sliding into the current of guests milling about the room.

Calixtus