Reln dismounts to examine the pouch, glancing at the gemstones appraisingly.

"Looks like the curn might actually be legit," he grunts, impressed, as he stashes the pouch and mounts once more.

Tared shrugs, a cruel smile playing at his lips as he stares into the mist.

"I'd be happy to gut Sir Varonil for free."

Reln looks tempted to hold him to this statement, but knows better than to try it. He dutifully begins to divide the gemstones into two equal shares as the pair trot off into the mist.

By the time Falnis returns to the tavern the taproom is almost empty. Marabir and his companions appear to have retired for the evening, and all the farmers have gone home. The only patrons remaining appear to be a pair of young farmhands, who chat and laugh by the bar, quite inebriated, one of the merchants, who sits by the glowing embers of the fire, writing in a small notebook, and a new arrival, a dwarf, who sits on the other side of the hearth, eating a bowl of stew and casting the merchant's notebook a look of distrust. The bartender stands by the bar, wiping ale glasses with a wet cloth. He glances over as Falnis re-enters.

"Ah, m'lord," he calls, grinning, "Thought you might'a snuck off without givin' us a chance to pay a few well deserved compliments. I'm not usually one for gushin', but that be the finest bit o' dancin' I've ever seen. Was an honour to have you grace this 'umble establishment. I don't suppose you feel like stayin' in town for a few more days? I'd be 'appy to offer you accommodation, and we've got the Lastorn Fair 'appenin' in a couple o' days. It's not to be missed, take me word for it!"

Falnis seems more interested in the dwarf than the barman's compliments (but nevertheless, it is clear he is enjoying these too).

"Oh, I make a point of never sneaking off before I collect the compliments due to me," he smiles. "And I will be sure to grace this town more often with my presence in my future journeys to Thane, since such open-minded and discerning humans seem to live here. But as for this trip, however... alas that duty calls me North so soon. It forces me to miss what I can already imagine will be an unforgettable event. Is the fair what brings the dwarf here, too?

The dark grimace the dwarf sends his way informs Falnis in no uncertain terms that it is not.

"I'm a smith," he grunts after surveying Falnis at length, "On me way up ter Caldorn if ye must know."

Whatever interest there was appears to die at this news. Falnis murmurs the necessary pleasantries, and abandons the dwarf in favour of booking a room for one more night (definitely not three). The barman being only too happy to oblige, it is not long before Falnis is in a quiet room upstairs.

In it, he proceeds to lock the doors and windows before, upon consideration, withdrawing several more letters from his cloak and disposing of them in the small fire crackling in the hearth. He then settles himself into a chair in the corner, and allows himself to drift into a reverie. And if this restful daydream happens to feature all the possible things Tared Garn may be planning to do to a certain knight tomorrow, there is no outward sign of it except the slight smirk twisting the dreaming varim's face.
This message was last edited by the player at 05:36, Wed 23 Jan 2019.

The following morning Marabir descends the staircase to the taproom to find Aerendir and Lyria already seated at one of the tables. It is still dark outside, and the pair appear to have just started their breakfast of porridge and hard boiled eggs. There is no sign of Nod or Falnis, and the only other person in the room is the bartender, who leans by the bar, yawning sleepily.

Marabir strides over to the table, glancing at their meals and then at the bartender, who nods and heads off to the kitchen.

"Good morning, my lady," Marabir bows politely, then to Aerendir, "Nod isn't up yet?"
This message was last edited by the player at 05:25, Thu 30 Dec 2021.

Lyria, partway through a mouthful of porridge, gives the prince an apologetic look and places a hand over her mouth. She swallows, then smiles.

"Good morning, Sir Varonil."

"He's not, and I'll thank you not to wake him. I'd like to save any history lessons until after I have eaten."

Marabir seems to feel that this comment is well warranted, acknowledging the remark with a nod as he seats himself and begins his breakfast.

Aerendir seems to believe that eating is best done in silence and with full attention to the meal, and makes no effort to contribute to any conversation.

It is a stilted silence that greets Lord Falnis Orthran half an hour later when he descends the stairs to the taproom, interspersed with the occasional attempts at conversation by Lyria (clearly deeply impressed by Marabir and desirous to know more of his background and personality) and the awkward deflections of Marabir (clearly torn between the desire not to lie to fair, innocent maidens and not to reveal anything about himself or his real purpose).

"Still here, are you?" the varim says, making a beeline for them and ignoring the instant death glare this earns him from Aerendir. "I would have thought with a brother to be rescued you would not have had the appetite for breakfast. It would seem you still have some faith left in your uncle if you are making the time for a hot breakfast instead of starting an hour earlier and eating rations."

This seems to be directed at the Lady Veldorn.

Marabir answers on behalf of the lady.

"We will not get far in the dark," he says evenly, "The horses will make much better time in the daylight and the roads will be safer to travel."

He refrains from adding that they would have more luck trying to make a peace treaty with Lord Cynorian than forcing Aerendir to give up a hot breakfast in place of trail rations.

"And no," Aerendir puts in, when the dark elf opens his mouth, "Nobody cares about how easily a dark elf like you can walk around in the dark. Nobody is stopping you from leaving and doing just that now, either."

"I might point out the obvious, but I won't," Falnis replies, apparently unruffled by this hostility, waving an authoritative hand for the barman for his own breakfast. And then, in High Elven: "Not in Common, anyway. You and your friend know exactly what you need to do to be rid of me. Believe me, nothing would please me more than to part ways and be spared the company of a high elf glutton and a meddlesome, sanctimonious knight."
This message was last edited by the player at 20:03, Sun 03 Feb 2019.

Aerendir's scowl darkens.

You're wasting your time, assassin. Sticking with us isn't going to get you your incriminating documents back or your poisons any time within the next century," he sneers back, also in High Elven.

"Then it looks like, unless either your king or my Council do us the favour of voiding our treaty and allowing us to kill each other, we will have plenty of time to enjoy each other's company, won't we?"
This message was last edited by the player at 00:58, Fri 25 Jan 2019.

Aerendir narrows his eyes.

"Not like a varim, to let little things like laws get in the way of killing people you want to kill."

"But why go to the trouble when if I stick with you long enough, someone else will undoubtedly do the killing for me? With your personalities, you and your human friend must surely attract assassination attempts wherever you go."
This message was last edited by the player at 06:48, Mon 04 Feb 2019.

"Assassination attempts I am sure you will be only too happy to arrange and participate in," Aerendir sneers.

"You have a tragic lack of diplomacy. Has anyone ever mentioned that to you?"

"They have. They have not, however, criticized my judgement of character or profession, assassin."