If Dorin notices the scowl (or indeed the smile that follows after) he does not show it. He leads the way inside his home, down a long hallway of bare, cold stone to a dining room of sorts where a fire smoulders sullenly in a heath. There is a rug or two, mud-stained and covered with dog hair, in front of the fire, there are various chips and dents on the walls and doorways and furniture that bear witness to a dwarf turning around too quickly with a battleaxe on his back, but aside from this there's not much that's remarkable about the room.

Making his way over to a battered but sturdy table, Dorin sweeps the dust off a chair with a sleeve, and gestures for Lastergon to sit before pulling a chair out for himself that he doesn't bother to dust. (The moment he does, the largest of the hunting dogs slumps like a felled log across his feet.) Stretching out a hand, he takes the object, eyeing it appraisingly.

"Aye. I do. But I can't say it means a lot to me. Found it 'n the back of an estate cleanin' out a vampire nest a few years back, but I ain't seen a thing like it until now."
This message was last edited by the player at 14:30, Tue 06 Oct 2020.

"Vampire nest?" Lastergon frowns, glancing quizzically at the dwarf.

"He is what he is. if he be suckin' blood he's a vampire not a man with an 'unusual diet', like what ye friend Vard put down. Man goes to a lot more trouble than he should to make things mundane for ye magic hatin'royals, Dorin shrugs bluntly.
This message was last edited by the player at 22:22, Tue 06 Oct 2020.

Lastergon blinks a couple of times, working hard to maintain his polite smile.

"Uh, yes, of course... And, uh, forgive me, but, uh, who exactly are we talking about?"
This message was last edited by the player at 22:38, Tue 06 Oct 2020.

Dorin eyes Lastergon for a bit, before offering the condensed version. (Late Lord of these parts was a vampire, and he was successfully mobbed to death once the town found out about that.)
This message was last edited by the player at 02:06, Wed 07 Oct 2020.

"So this Lord Dranerius had an item like this in his possession?" Lastergon muses, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, "Might I examine your piece?"

"Aye, ye might," Dorin agrees, dislodging his hunting dog from his feet with a grunt and rising from his chair and leaving the room, presumably in search of the object from the rummaging noises.

He returns five minutes later, and puts the item on the table next to Lastergon's.

Lastergon lifts up the second wing, examining it with interest. He runs a gloved hand along a series of grooves on the side of it, frowning thoughtfully.

"I wonder..." he muses to himself. Picking up the blue wing, he holds it beside the other, lining up a matching series of grooves running along its inner side. There is a low click as the pieces latch together and a blue green light emanates from the item for a brief second.

Meanwhile, outside night has completely fallen, and with it a heavy mist. Standing on the porch, Zaelinor is unsure if it is his paranoia or if he senses something moving stealthily across the yard towards him. He is almost certain he can make out a dark shape in the gloom just beyond the edge of the series of rose bushes which decorate the low garden bed beside the porch when suddenly his ears detect the sound of approaching hooves and in a flash the dark shape is gone.

The hoof beats draw nearer, and after a few moments a rider gallops up to the manor, dressed in a thick travelling cloak. Upon dismounting, Zaelinor makes her out as a human woman, youthful in appearance, and dressed in a jerkin of leather. A longsword hangs at her side and a heater shield is slung over the cloak on her back. She makes her way swiftly up the steps to the manor entrance, and gives a start as she notices Zaelinor for the first time, reaching swiftly for her blade.

"What the blazes..." she curses as she draws back a pace, then, in a louder voice, her blade levelled at the varim, "Identify yourself!"
This message was last edited by the player at 03:00, Wed 07 Oct 2020.

Zaelinor, warier with females than males, takes a limping step backwards from the blade, tracking it warily, red eyes scanning the studded leather and the competent way she handles her weapon.

"Whatever you are being paid to kill me, assassin, I assure you I can double if you do not," he tries.

"Assassin?" the woman repeats indignantly, frowning as she relaxes her grip on her blade slightly, "I am no assassin. And I am not the one creeping about someone's doorstep. Who are you, and what are you doing here?"
This message was last edited by the player at 03:37, Wed 07 Oct 2020.

Zaelinor draws himself up haughtily, apparently more willing to be arrogant when there aren't females trying to kill him.

"I am not 'creeping' on anyone's doorstep. I am waiting, because my bodyguard is temporarily engaged in speaking to the putrid dwarf who owns this place, and I judged it fair that only one of us lost our olfactory senses today. Who are you, and what are you doing here?"

The woman raises a quizzical eyebrow, but reluctantly sheaths her blade.

"I am Calsia Lyran," she says with just a hint of haughtiness, "And I am here to call upon my father's good friend, the, uh, 'dwarf who owns this place'."

She shoots Zaelinor a reproachful glance as she says this.
This message was last edited by the player at 03:59, Wed 07 Oct 2020.

Zaelinor relaxes slightly as the blade is sheathed, and returns to leaning against the wall in a semblance of languid ease.

"And what about the shadowy figure who came with you?" he asks, narrowing his eyes. "Were they also here to visit the dwarf? Lord Durendil seems extraordinarily popular today."

"Shadowy figure?" Calsia repeats blankly, sparing a glance back in the direction of her white stallion, "Are you referring to Snowflake here?"
This message was last edited by the player at 04:20, Wed 07 Oct 2020.

"Yes, by 'shadowy' and 'figure' I did mean the large, white warhorse," Zaelinor sneers, rolling his eyes.

Calsia raises an unimpressed eyebrow.

"Right... Well, if you're happier out here then I won't stop you. However I have rather urgent business with Lord Durendil, so if it's all the same to you..." she makes her way over to the door to give it several loud raps.

Zaelinor's lip curls, but he seems unwilling to admit that he doesn't really have a choice about waiting out here to Calsia, so he stays where he is. He does, however, nod at her warhorse.

"Do you need to tether that thing, or is it going to be a good beast and stay where it is just because you ask it to nicely?"

The stallion in question gives Zaelinor an unimpressed snort.

"Snowflake knows how to stay put," Calsia replies coolly, before knocking on the door once more.

It's opened after a minute or two by Dorin, who greets her with a delighted "Aye, lassie, come on in," and ushers her in.

"Dorin," Calsia grins, accepting the bear hug the dwarf offers her and skilfully avoiding getting a face full of beard, horn or battle axe.

"Um, Dorin," she adds after this, pausing on the doorstep, "I assume you are aware that there is a varim lurking on your doorstep?"

"Still there, is he? Stinkin' pest," Dorin says with a dark look in Zaelinor's direction. "Claims he's an acquaintance of a knight who's here to visit me, but how much truth's in that is anyone's guess. Didn't cast any of his magic spells on ye, did he, lass?"

"He didn't," Calsia assures the dwarf, "But don't you think you should invite him in out of the cold?"