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<blockquote data-quote="Sparky" data-source="post: 5741068" data-attributes="member: 13681">Sitting is a luxury that Harnithael eschews.&nbsp;Wine is not.&nbsp;He leans against a glossy oaken column and stares into his goblet. Even at ease, there is tension in the man - a bowstring stretched taut. Though he seems absorbed by the wine before him, little occurs that escapes his notice. He has been still and silent, listening, waiting for the idle banter to turn to important matters.&nbsp;Yrellen's presence is powerful, intoxicating. Her voice, music. She did goad them so, though. He wonders - not the first time - if she was even aware of it. And concludes the same thing he always does. Of course she is.&nbsp;The ranger cocks his head. Outside, a harsh, high call splits the oncoming night. A rush of exhilaration fills Harnithael's chest as Kyrmanthos falls like the twilight, inevitable. Harnithael tastes metal. Blood. Victory. The feywing has taken prey.&nbsp;Good. He will be calmer tonight.&nbsp;Harnithael clears his throat and puts his goblet down. He straightens bows from the neck to Princess Yrellen. His voice is like bowsong, thrumming and resonant. &quot;Pardon my sister, Your Royal Highness, she - all of us - are on edge. This is grim business and we're in the teeth of it.&quot;&nbsp;He gestures indicating the room, &quot;We thank You for this welcome respite from the Wilds and our Quest. And for Your counsel.&quot;&nbsp;He looks around the room, hawk's gaze stopping at each face. Brow furrowed, &quot;So the next step begins. Sulannus is right, the Dragonmage is no fool. I want to know what he knows. He suspects we're to blame. I want to know if he's right.&quot;&nbsp;Harnithael purses his lips, &quot;What do we know about him? Or what can we find out about him?&quot; &nbsp;He stoops and takes up his wine again, drinking deeply. He pauses, thinking. A twinkle just for his little sister glimmers briefly in the ranger's eyes, &quot;And... what if he doesn't like music?&quot;</blockquote>

[QUOTE="Sparky, post: 5741068, member: 13681"] Sitting is a luxury that Harnithael eschews. Wine is not. He leans against a glossy oaken column and stares into his goblet. Even at ease, there is tension in the man - a bowstring stretched taut. Though he seems absorbed by the wine before him, little occurs that escapes his notice. He has been still and silent, listening, waiting for the idle banter to turn to important matters. Yrellen's presence is powerful, intoxicating. Her voice, music. She did goad them so, though. He wonders - not the first time - if she was even aware of it. And concludes the same thing he always does. [I][COLOR=sienna]Of course she is.[/COLOR][/I] The ranger cocks his head. Outside, a harsh, high call splits the oncoming night. A rush of exhilaration fills Harnithael's chest as Kyrmanthos falls like the twilight, inevitable. Harnithael tastes metal. Blood. Victory. The feywing has taken prey. [I][COLOR=sienna]Good. He will be calmer tonight.[/COLOR][/I] Harnithael clears his throat and puts his goblet down. He straightens bows from the neck to Princess Yrellen. His voice is like bowsong, thrumming and resonant. [COLOR=sienna]"Pardon my sister, Your Royal Highness, she - all of us - are on edge. This is grim business and we're in the teeth of it."[/COLOR] He gestures indicating the room, [COLOR=sienna]"We thank You for this welcome respite from the Wilds and our Quest. And for Your counsel."[/COLOR] He looks around the room, hawk's gaze stopping at each face. Brow furrowed, [COLOR=sienna]"So the next step begins. Sulannus is right, the Dragonmage is no fool. I want to know what he knows. He suspects we're to blame. I want to know if he's right."[/COLOR] Harnithael purses his lips,[COLOR=sienna] "What do we know about him? Or what can we find out about him?"[/COLOR] He stoops and takes up his wine again, drinking deeply. He pauses, thinking. A twinkle just for his little sister glimmers briefly in the ranger's eyes, [COLOR=sienna]"And... what if he doesn't [I]like[/I] music?"[/COLOR] [/QUOTE]

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