Snippet #864721

[Xeranian Royal Forest, Sylvan Inn]

Out of courtesy, operating more-or-less on automatic, Alannis rose with Linth as she excused herself, a perfect iron-hard mask of blandness over his features. “Have a pleasant night, Brigadier,” he called after her, even though he was fairly sure Brigadier was not the correct title any more.

He shook his head after her; Linth was too spiky for her own good. ‘Excellent at what she does, of course,’ he added hastily in his head – one hardly rose to high rank in the Knights by being a dunderheaded imbecile – but not exactly what one would term a great conversationalist. It rather reinforced the image of the Knights among the rest of the population.

He frowned as her magic caressed the edge of his senses – the same shivering presence he’d felt, though massively diluted, in the rains that afternoon. Presumably she hadn’t meant to ruin a perfectly fine afternoon – although, considering the rather poisonous relationship between her and the High Chancellor, something that was often the talk of the Royal Castle, it couldn’t be ruled out.

If that were the case, however, then what precisely was she trying to do – and why hadn’t she asked for instruction or aid? Unless it was something good little Xeranian Knights weren’t supposed to be doing...Alannis made a mental note to keep a weather eye on Linth, back in the capital.

Purely for academic interest, of course.

He turned, suddenly startled, from his musings as another, familiar voice impinged on his consciousness. He gazed quizzically at the source over his glasses, and winced imperceptibly as the words registered. ‘Sir Contarini, I mean, really.’

“Young lady, if you are going to attach an honorific to my name I much prefer it to be the correct one, hmm?” He adjusted his glasses, although in truth he relied more on his magical sense of the world around him than his eyesight these days. The odd signature radiating from the human was a familiar one.

“But no matter. I do believe you’re the youngling the students have taken to calling the Dark Beauty as of late? You will of course forgive me; I frequently cannot remember the names of humans. You pass on rather too quickly for it to be practical in most cases.” He flashed her a perfect, apologetic smile.

“As to why am here in this benighted patch of wilderness rather than happily in the capital; that is simple. I require roc eggs and phoenix shells for an...experiment, shall we say? If you could find an adventurer who knows how to field-dress a roc and preserve her eggs, or how to get a phoenix shell at the instant of its rebirth, I would happily pay their weight in gold.” He shrugged expressively. “Since such things seem not to exist, adventurers being the idiots that they are, I generally find myself roaming the wilds for the more interesting ingredients.”

He gestured expansively around. “The Sylvan is simply the first stopover – I try not to camp outside unless I absolutely must. Tomorrow I shall be heading through the Darkling Crevices and on to the cliffs for a spot of hunting.” He smiled suddenly, predatorily, enjoying the thought of bringing a roc down in flames.

“And what of you, Dark Beauty? Quite an...eclectic...company you’re keeping.” He cast a quick glance around the inn’s main room. “But where are my manners?” He produced, magician-like and with a flourish, an elegant tulip-shaped drinking glass. “Can I offer you a drink to lessen the chill?”