A soft snow of ash dusts the rooftops of the buildings making up the city proper of Darkveil City While many a traveler knows that the place to be in the city is the Dancer’s Den, there are a select few who know of another location where they can find respite from the plumes of smoke darkening the skies of the Ash Lands.

Nestled on the opposite side of the Town Square is an old clock tower that no longer chimes. The structure has passed hands multiple times over the decades, being used for all manner of different businesses that have popped up only to quietly get choked out by either a lack of funding or unfortunate circumstances befalling the owners. Left in a decrepit state for years, it was only recently that the property was purchased and went through extensive renovations to its many additions.

Though folks were curious, few felt comfortable crossing the threshold. This was either due to the rumors of the place being bad luck…or due to the knowledge of the new proprietors. Some see its revival and new identity as an ill omen for what is to come, while others just turn a blind eye not wanting to get swept up in any of the trouble that could be brewing behind its walls.

Stepping up to the building and crossing through the front doors, one finds themselves in a dimly lit bar located on the first level of the structure. A few scattered tables populate the main lounge and a few more private booths are tucked against one wall. The lights adorning the walls do not flicker with firelight, but instead glow with a steady warm light that gives off little motes of magic. A large dark wood bar dominates the space with rows of casks and shelves of glass bottles displayed behind it.

There are few patrons at this hour of the day despite the bar being open for business and many of the chairs are upturned onto the table faces. Sitting silently at the bar is a charcoal skinned-tiefling currently absorbed in reading a book as a tall half-elf stands behind the bar polishing a wine glass.

Sitting in a booth in the corner of the nearly empty bar, a young half-elf sits with a worn sketchbook on the table in front of her. A look of concentration crosses her face as she presses charcoal to paper and carefully brings to life the view outside the window on paper.

On the table nearby is a plate of sliced bread and chunks of cheese, accompanied by a tankard full of juice. And Iryla… Iryla pauses for a moment as she looks up and just takes in the quiet moment. These little luxuries she’s never had before.

It was strange to sit here with snacks and not worry when her next meal would come. It was strange to be dressed in clean and new clothing. It was stranger to know that just upstairs was her own small, messy, wonderful bedroom.

It was strange to know that this moment was hers. And it was real.

Out of the corner of her eye she peeks at Zarius and then at the rest of the empty bar. Then, she turns the page in her sketchbook and begins to doodle something that would become a bird. A rather cute one.

Maybe… Maybe if there were something inviting drawn on the sign outside, more people would be willing to come in.

Kvasir has, quite frankly, had enough of volcanoes for the week.

As potent as the volcanic wildlife blooming on Mount Drakolt is, from the Lux Lilies he'd gone up there to find to the Embervines that branch up the edges of volcanic interiors, it gets extraordinarily exhausting extraordinarily quickly when he's constantly having to hold tension in every point of his body to evade burning himself, especially when he's having to stay continually conscious of his tail and where it is in relation to embers and lava and various other dangers that fester and linger up on that mountain. The last thing he wants is singed fur, and it isn't like there's a lot of protective gear made with men of his species in mind, so even though he walked off the mountain with an amplitude of necessary samples on hand, he also left with sore muscles and a brutal ache rippling through his body.

So, naturally, the last thing he intends to do is go gallivanting across the continent immediately. Travel and foraging may be his eternal missions, but in the moment, his missions are a nice bath and a drink.

Darkveil City is hardly familiar territory to him-- it's... been a while since he's come up here, considering he's been avoiding Zeinav for so long-- so for a while he idly wanders, glancing around at various locations nestled together, seeking out something that may catch his interest, when a clocktower catches his lone seeing eye. For a moment, he almost passes it by, until he catches sight of the fact that it seems to be inhabited, and... curiosity gets the better of him.

Kvasir pauses for a mere moment before gently pushing the door open and stepping tentatively inside, scanning over the dim glow of low light and dark wood and--

Oh. Well, this is one hell of a coincidence.

"Oh, well, look who it is," he says simply, glancing the familiar tiefling sitting at the bar up and down. "I didn't expect my odds of running into you so soon were high. Hello, Zarius..." He pauses, glancing around at the other strangers present, faltering a bit as he stumbles for names. "...and... company."

Through the town square, the rolling wheels of a carriage echoed slightly as well as the heavy hooves of the Nightmare Steed that pulled it. Opulent and painted in the color of smoke, a scarecrow held the reins tightly under the ever-dark sky of Darkveil.

The aesthetic of the Rookery was greatly admired by Bellighul, who rose from the carriage door as the wheels came to a halt just outside its entrance. He paused on the threshold of his vehicle, gazing up at the broken clock that towered high. The pause of time, eternal and foreboding as it is, he imagined the phantom chiming and delighted in it. The owner of such an establishment, upon hearing of his once neglect and abandonment, further intensified his reverence for this locale. Bellighul himself had also taken something desolate, ignored, and broken and made it thrive. Liken to Necromancy, which he thought gave purpose to decay and needless rotting away. Purpose in cracked stone and brittle wood. The Necromancer stepped down from the short stairs hung from the carriage, high-heeled boots tapping against the road beneath. His ornate robes hung loosely from his form, though fitted about the waist whilst pampered hair cascaded down his back, once a fiery red now stripped of color entirely. Liken to a frozen waterfall, icy white. However, a pair of cat-like ears twitched upon his head, as he listened to his scarecrow drag a large heavy crate across the ground.

"Master, it is so kind of you to host an impromptu tasting, seeing that your wine is appreciated surely but it may aid in business for those you grace with your presence." The Majordomo fanning his patron's ego on a regular basis, as per usual.
The sorcerer turned to his scarecrow, unwilling to help as he looked at the wooden crate inked with his Villa's emblem and various customs information. "They were wise and kind enough to sell my products, it is only fitting." He spoke with his chin raised slightly, properly flattered.
The scraping sound continued as the scarecrow dragged the crate across the road as Bellighul strolled towards the door, taking time to further examine the exterior of the building. He adored it. The words of his manservant were almost unheard but caused him to stop in his tracks with his mouth slightly agape.
"Further, you putting your grudge with Zarius behind you for the business shows your superiority."
"What do you mean....Zarius?"
"My Lord, he is the proprietor of this establishment."

Flinging himself into a short rage, Bellighul shouted. "How could that tasteless, skin-crawling pauper have something so incredibly stunning and macabre?! This is an utter travesty Jacapo, how could you let this happen?!" His foot stomped onto the ground beneath him, as he pointed toward the Rookery and lurched over the scarecrow with malice in his eyes. The scarecrow, whose head was that of a large pumpkin, squinted his carved eyes magically but remained silent. His master's rage was not something he wished to endure, at least, not so early in the afternoon. He was tossed from the balcony only a few days prior and had only recently recovered.

"No matter...business." he tossed his fists down quickly and exhaled hard through his nose in a huff. Making his way towards the door of the Rookery with Jacapo towing along behind him.

Bellighul pushed the door open suddenly and loudly, making his presence known to those inside by volume and drama. His ruby-red eyes scanned the area, a beautiful bar that was dimly lit and offered a welcoming but slightly melancholy tone. He hated how much he loved this now but would refuse to compliment it. Jacapo finally got the crate in position and opened it with a small lever, revealing its contents neatly stacked inside tightly packed straw. Bellighul seemed to notice those inside but did not greet them until he pulled a bottle out and brought the soft green-colored glass towards a light source nearby. The straw was purposefully wetted allowing him to cast an Ice Over spell upon it; turning the bottle frosted instantly as he removed the cork. 
"I am Bellighul of Zeinav, this is my wonderful wine. Allow me to give you the pleasure of tasting many of the finest vintages the Villa of Lost Souls has to offer. Glasses all." He announced loudly across the lounge, while Jacapo began to polish a number of glassware, a fine crystal, brought directly from his master's personal collection. He stared directly at Zarius, his newfound nemesis and made no offer of peace or friendship, as he was currently envious. 

Meanwhile, his Ghoul, Ronaldo, was bellowing out in the street and wandering across the town square, cloaked in a tattered robe, a long tongue flickering out from a shadowed maw. "Rookery wine tassstings, finessst in all worldsss! Come mortalsss! Come! Bellighul demandsss its!"

There was a tension in Cyran’s shoulders as he went through the motions of cleaning an empty table in the corner. Normally, he did not mind the silence. Since he’d taken up residence in one of Zarius’s guest rooms, and subsequently began working at the Rookery- a lifetime of give and take made those old habits hard to break, and he felt the need to work whenever he could in payment for a place to sleep- he’d not seen many customers enter through its doors.

The wine tasting was a fantastic idea to drum up customers on a slow day, Cyran was inclined to agree… or at least he had, until Eameia had pulled him aside and warned him that this particular vendor was one that Zarius had a history with. She further admitted that she hadn’t told Zarius who was coming, and that her brother would react badly when they walked through the door.

‘React badly’ wasn’t quite the phrase she’d used, no, but for his own sanity Cyran would not repeat exactly what had been said. He promised he would keep an eye out and try to prevent anyone from coming to blows and damaging the bar, if it came to that, but he sincerely hoped it wouldn’t.

There were only a few customers in the bar- Iryla, sketching away in a booth, and a vulpine man who’d just walked in and seemed to recognize Zarius from somewhere- when the door was pushed open, and a vaguely familiar man strode in as if he owned the place, pulled out a bottle of wine. It was only when he proclaimed his name for all to hear that the pieces clicked in Cyran’s mind, as he remembered a flamboyant man dressed as a bird of paradise at the Marrowvine Ball. This Bellighul of Zeinav, while considerably more feline than he had been when Cyran saw him, was the one that Zarius had described as a madman.

Oh, this was much worse than he’d initially thought.

Cyran shot a concerned glance to Iryla, straightening as he wiped his hands with the rag- an idle gesture to calm his nerves- before tucking it in his belt and making his way over to Bellighul. Cyran was not sure how Zarius would react to Bellighhul’s entrance, but he would act as if everything was calm and normal and pray to whatever god up there that might take pity on him that the night did not end in bloodshed. He was struck with the weary feeling that he had undertaken a monumentally Sisyphean task as he plastered a pleasant smile on his face.

He tried to keep the strain out of his voice, though he wasn’t sure how successful he was as he addressed Bellighul directly. “Good afternoon. Is there anything I can do to help you set up your wares?”

Gerhart was not one to ever worry about rumors or insinuations about places or people. In fact, hearing the less than kind things some people might have said about this place he is only more interested in checking it out. Plus, who didn’t love a drink after sweating your ass off in the Ash Lands for a few days.

There is no subtlety or play at being stealthy when he enters, shouldering open the door with the trademark dumb and goofy grin on his face. That grin widens and threatens to split his face as he sees Cyran and Zarius at the bar. Gerhart saunters right up to the bar top, slamming his hands down.

”Well look at you two~! So this must be where you slink off to when you say you got work to do huh? Who woulda thought you’d have yourself an honest job Zar? And Cyran, this seems a bit more fitting than harpies and basilisks.”

Vakker sauntered down the street with his usual smile on his face. He didn't come often to Darkveil, the local politics often being a bit too bloodthirsty for his liking, but he did occasionally take a client from the place. He had just finished a meeting that had gone rather well, and now wanted to see something else in the area he had heard about. The establishment of an acquaintance he had made at the black harvest ball. It seemed like it would be fun to pop in while he was in the neighborhood, maybe tease them a bit about Zardines.

As Vakker looked toward the clocktower he knew to be his destination, he suddenly heard a moaning voice calling out and stopped.

"Rookery wine tassstings, finessst in all worldsss! Come mortalsss! Come! Bellighul demandsss its!" he heard a ghoul in a tattered robe announcing to the sparse crowd.

Oh no, what is he doing here? I thought Zarius and him weren't on good terms. I really don't want to speak to that man right now. Yeah, nope, I'll come back tomorrow. Vakker thought to himself and started to turn around to head away, but stopped once again.

This could be some good drama though...

His smiling perking up a little, Vakker raised a hand. A small flurry of snow appeared to hover in it for a moment. He leaned close to whisper to it quietly.

"Go listen in, would you?"

The flurry suddenly vanished, a cold breeze suddenly running across the backs of a few of the people walking through the street as the invisible spy made its way into the Rookery to listen to the drama unfold for the Satyr.

---

Call Ghost

After bringing a gaggle of orphans to Cyran for a more comfortable home than the one in the swamp, further adventures ensued, and now Astrid is wandering around Darkveil looking for things to do after she and her ooze friend went separate ways for a short time. (Blue Raspberry doesn't like the cold of Frost Gale, after all.) The nice thing about Darkveil is that she has a place to stay, -or at least people she knows whom she can stay with- so she wanders through the snow-dusted streets trying to remember her way around. Charles nearly slips on a patch of ice behind her but recovers before crashing down to the ground. Spicy Pawsage barks, seemingly frustrated by the clumsy Blixtbot^TM. Sparks jump from the hound's mouth while he boofs.

A familiar voice catches Astrid's attention just a ways down the street. "Rookery wine tassstings, finessst in all worldsss! Come mortalsss! Come! Bellighul demandsss its!" It's Ronaldo, the creepy ghoul from grandpappy Bellighul's house! And that's grandpappy's carriage! Wait, that's outside her destination. That's outside the Rookery?? Well, this the certainly the last thing she expected from the Lord of Ghouls. But that means he's here! YESSSSS!

Astrid rushes forward to the door, but pauses several meters away, waves her hands, and murmurs a magic spell in a language she doesn't particularly understand. Ronaldo freezes in place, unmoving except for his slow, sunken eyes having the slightest gleam of confusion upon spotting Astrid. Bellighul taught her this spell when she visited the manor because Ronaldo still freaks her out quite a bit. He smells weird too. Before the spell runs its course, Astrid squeezes past the ghoul and into the Rookery where it's warm and has a few visitors. Nice! Mister Zarius is getting some business. And there's Bellighul! Making some kind of introduction, so she waits patiently while the door closes behind her, and Charles nearly, very loudly, interrupts. Astrid manages to stop him from speaking until Bellighul finishes his speech. 

"Lookin' regal as ever, Mister Lord of Ghouls!" she cheerfully says once his announcement is finished. Spicy Pawsage barks in some form of agreement. Flattery goes a long way with Mister Grandpappy Lord of Ghouls, and Astrid is just devious enough to have picked up on it.

---

Halt Undead

Zarius had noticed the tension Cyran carried in his shoulders that day, though he could not for the life of him figure out what had the elf spooked. Eameia had pulled the hunter and Eirynor aside to discuss the wine tasting which she had spontaneously booked, but neither her nor her silent right hand were acting out of the ordinary. Part of him wonders if Eameia made Cyran uncomfortable somehow. He would have to ask about it after the event.

At the sounds of someone new entering their quiet space, he looks up from his book and across the lounge to the front door. A smile spreads across his face as he recognizes the tufted ears and colorful outfit of the fox-man he had met not very long ago on the blistering slopes of the looming volcano just beyond Darkveil.

“Ah, Kvasir, it is good to see you managed to avoid being burnt to a crisp by the volcano.”

He closes his book and rises to his feet just as the doors swing open loudly and another figure enters the space, also with tufted ears. There is a moment of confusion as Zarius does not recognize the white haired man, then they lock eyes and his smile instantly drops at the man’s announcement.

Cyran is quick to respond as is Eirynor, the half-elf setting down the glassware he was cleaning and striding around the bar to intercept the tiefling. He quickly signs to the brawler before he can take any actions against the unwanted guest.

Zarius looks at the half-elf with obvious disapproval as the sound of heels come rapidly down the stairs which lead to the rest of the building. Eameia enters the space, dressed more casually than she was astral projecting at the ball, but still in a very fine dress. She appears to be carrying something tucked underneath her arm. Quickly glancing about the room and assessing the situation, she strides over to her brother and deposits the thing unceremoniously on top of his head.

“Your cat destroyed another set of quills.” She comments quietly and pats him on the side of the face as the tiny black creature on his head proceeds to claw and gnaw on his horns.

Zarius seems undeterred and hisses under his breath. “What is he doing here??”

“Listen, this is an opportunity. Lady Kamille expressed very clearly that she would prefer you two to get along and she is a very useful connection to have.” The female tiefling glances at Cyran and Bellighul as the hunter briefly distracts the necromancer with the offer to help move the crates and bottles out of the center of the entryway.

She had some concerns about Cyran and Caedes due to their professions. Sure, their skills were highly desirable, but their loyalty was not something set in stone. Her brother trusted them to some degree, but how far would that trust really go? How invested were they in helping with their family's situation? All of that had yet to really be put to the test, and she couldn't help but worry that her brother would be the one to take the fall if all the knives he had collected turned their blades on him. 

“You have taken risks and trusted some very dangerous people recently. This is no different. I also think that this Lord of Ghouls could prove to be exactly the kind of person we would benefit from having a good relationship with. You were the one who said we needed all the support we could get after all.”

Zarius frowns. She wasn't wrong, he had done and said all those things she accused him of. This though? This made his skin crawl. Bellighul for all intents and purposes was a wild card. He could either make for a great hand or cause everything to fold in on itself.

“I would appreciate it if you would include me in your schemes when they involve someone who tried to kill me.”

“And I would appreciate it if you would trust my judgment on this matter, brother. Let me handle this while you focus on making friends. And for the love of Lunala, smile.” She flashes a toothy grin at him before turning her attention back to their guests. 

He takes a deep breath and nods. He’s still not happy about the situation but Kamille and Eameia were very similar– though probably more dishonest in her intentions than the Witch of Moonglade– so it was possible that his sister would have an easier time navigating around Bellighul’s pretentiousness and temper tantrums.

As the siblings conclude their hushed discussion, Eirynor heads over to help Cyran with moving whatever stock the Dark Lord had brought all the way from his macabre home to the ash covered city.

Eameia takes the lead towards the Lord of Ghouls, shadowed by her brother. Her smile is friendly as she bows to the man and she casts a respectful nod to Kvasir as well.

“Welcome to the Rookery. Thank you for traveling all this way, Bellighul of Zeinav. Lady Kamille has spoken quite highly of you.”

Honeyed words, but she had picked up from the witch that this was the best way to speak to the necromancer. Undoing the damage her brother had done to the mage’s pride would not be an easy task, but she was up for the challenge.

Zarius at the very least does give a nod strictly out of courtesy to the pale man, but then is quick to turn his attention to Kvasir. All the while, the tiny black kitten on his head is chewing on his horns.

“You have arrived at an eventful time. My apologies if you were hoping to find a more quiet place to rest. Did you ever find the flowers you were seeking?”

Eameia does give her brother a little bit of an eyeroll at his avoidance of speaking to Bellighul directly, though having him approach the man without intentions of throwing him out on the street was some progress. She glances over at Cyran and Eirynor with a smile.

"Please, assist the Lord's helpers with whatever they need."

Eirynor nods and hefts up one of the crates to move it behind the counter so they can start service. The mute half-elf leaves Cyran to do any coordinating with the Majordomo since communication was not their strong suit.

Just then Gerhart and Astrid enter the space and makes their presence known. Zarius sighs a little overwhelmed already but grins at the young adventurers. 

"Good to see you too, Gerhart. And this is a relatively new venture of mine."

He glances at Bellighul and directs Gerhart away from any ire the necromancer might throw the young man's way for his interruption. He glances back at Astrid and makes a bit of a curious expression as she indicates that she knows Bellighul as well. Surely Veliky would not approve of the half-dwarf associating with such a man.

In a short time the Rookery goes from quiet to nearly raucous as all sorts of strange people enter one by one. The sudden change in atmosphere is almost startling to Iryla as she sits in her little corner and watches all the new comers.

First, a man with dark hair and large ears on top of his head who seems to know Zarius personally. Then a strange creature and a man with… Light colored hair and ears on top of his head…?

Was… Was this a theme among Zarius’ associates…? Between these two, Snow, and even the little black cat she’s seen around..

She watches as Cyran approaches the lighter haired man with an odd tension in his shoulders and she frowns to herself. Something was clearly going on today, but she couldn’t tell what it was yet, or if it was good or bad. Her worry only grows as more people trickle in and she spots Zarius having what seems to be a tense conversation with his sister.

Iryla closes her sketchbook and tucks it away in a bag on her hip for the time being before she slips out of the booth and walks over to Cyran’s side where he is talking to that strange man.

"Lookin' regal as ever, Mister Lord of Ghouls!"

What the…

Why in the world was there some little kid here now too?

She shuffles a little closer to Cyran, not quite standing behind him and murmurs. “Do you need me to help with anything..?” She wasn’t quite an employee around here, but if they were suddenly busy she could help pull her weight.

Eameia was already talking to this ‘Lord of Ghouls’, whatever that meant, seeming to try and flatter him. Judging from his dress and the way the others were reacting to him, he had to be someone important or powerful, but for the life of her, Iryla couldn’t figure out exactly who he was or even where he came from.

With a bit of a sinking feeling that she is in out of her depth, Iryla subtly steps just a little bit more behind Cyran.

Oh. Well. Hm.

Considering the fact that the streets of Darkveil City had seemed relatively tranquil in the moments leading up to Kvasir's entrance into this quaint bar, the very last thing he'd expected was for things to explode to life so immediately; strangers practically seem to burst in one right after the other, each one more eccentric than the last, up to the point that the whole bar is suddenly thrumming with life, electric as a storm-lit night sky. He flinches, briefly, his ears twitching twice in quick succession as he processes all of the noise, but he eases a bit at the sound of Zarius's voice, at his acknowledgement, his shoulders settling.

"...well, ah, there's no worries, friend," he says easily, managing a fragile smile. "It was awfully quiet up on that mountain, anyway-- a little bit of liveliness never hurts. Sure it especially doesn't hurt your pockets, if this is your business. As for the flowers... I found all I needed up there, yes."

He pauses for a moment before slipping the latch of his satchel open, fishing one of the thin, translucent obsidian box-like containers he'd sealed one of the Lux Lilies in out of the bag, holding it up just enough so Zarius could see it. Kvasir had taken special care to ensure that all necessary parts of the flower remained intact, from the petals to the leaves to the emberlike flecks of pollen still gently sparking off the still-hot stamens. He gives the tiefling just long enough to observe it before returning it to its proper place in his herb bag, not wanting any harm to come to it. The last thing he wants is to have to trek all the way back up Mount Drakolt...

He pauses as a rather boisterous stranger marches up to the bar-top, slamming his hands down with an eager smile and joy poured into his words-- he seems friendly, certainly, but Kvasir's ears twitch all the same in response to the sudden jolt, the sudden noise. He gives the stranger a polite wave of acknowledgement-- noting that his name appears to be... Gerhart? Easy enough-- before glancing back over to Zarius.

"...How have you been since the volcano visit?"

Jacapo began to stack the crystal glassware on a nearby table, while Cyran approached Bellighul with a forced smile. Bellighul had his back turned, as he micro-managed his Majordomo on the positioning of the chalices, uttering how the lighting was necessary to appreciate both the glass and its future contents. While he turned to face Cyran, a silver-haired Moon Elf who moved almost cat-like, such movements indicated the natural grace of Elven heritage. Yet, he was betrayed by his eyes, which noted a seasoned warrior of sorts. There was no glistening innocent stare before the Lord of Ghouls. Amilcar smirked softly as Cyran spoke, scrolling down his frame from his eyes to his feet, knowing well this was no mere busser or handyman. Zarius tended to keep those of stealth around him, as it serves his business practices as illicit or legal as they may waft and wane. The necromancer made a mental note; though certainly oblivious and vainglorious, he knew a killer when he saw one.
"Good afternoon and well met." Bellighul offered his hand for a handshake, his nails extended out and painted solid black. "If you would aid me in sorting these bottles I would appreciate it. Jacapo is, quite helpful, but I prefer to keep him polishing."

Bellighul then extended his hands towards two glasses and lifted them by the stems and lingered slightly away to retrieve the now magically chilled white wine. His pride and joy, Zeinavian Coastal. He spoke to Cyran once more. "You will find the crystal to be heavier than normal, as the introduction of lead increases density. However..." Bellighul lifted a single glass to the lantern above, noting the numerous rainbow-like prisms in the object, as pure glass lacks such luster. "A little poison goes a long way, or so I am told." Pouring his wine into two glasses offering one to Cyran while he drank heartily from his, avoiding the nose and subtle nuances expected of such a vintage.

Though a certain voice struck his ears and he brightened considerably as Astrid called out to him.

Amilcar turned suddenly and lowered himself into a crouch as he nearly dropped his glass and placed it on the table nearby. Her flattery was always welcomed. "My, how Lunala continues to bless me." His hand reached out and pressed lightly into her blonde locks between her petite red horns affectionately. "This robe? I merely put it all together hastily, surely you charm me." He was lying, in that he meticulously selected his outfit with great care. Spending a couple of hours prior applying his eyeliner, cosmetics, maintaining his hair and perfuming himself.

Meanwhile, Zarius' sister approached with her brother, the Necromancer eyeing Zarius with a snake-like gaze as he forced more wine into his mouth. Kamille had spoken with him sternly about his behavior regarding the Tiefling, though she knew well he would never apologize fully for either major incidents or bury his malice towards him. But his sister Eameia was far more charming and played his narcissism against him cleverly. Her bow only solidified the sentences, a proper greeting the Lord aided in breaking his defenses.

Bellighul likewise bowed in kind, his robes flowing backward with his outstretched leg and his hand glid from his sternum outwards like a gull's spread wing in tandem with this motion. As he rose, clutching his glass in his hand and spoke to her directly, though failed to return the nod to Zarius instead focusing on their conversation. "Thank you for the invitation, I find the Ashlands far more appealing than most. The Initiative makes our glorious nations kinsmen, I am more than happy to assist in your...and your brother's...prosperity." He forced a smirk as he gazed over to Zarius now mingling with a cat upon his head that he failed to notice before. "Kamille brings out the good in me, she speaks highly of the man she helped me become. I am but a shadow without her support." He spoke the truth and his eyes projected a sense of longing, as it had been some time since they saw each other. He looked over to Astrid and smiled momentarily. "This one I suspect will be the pride of us, as her father has done well to raise her in his short sted...I find myself unable to say no, to Cantio's dismay occasionally. But, a rose blooms more when it is pampered."

He returned his attention to Cyran for the moment and spoke inquisitively. "I hope you find the wine to your liking, if you would like please open more bottles of the other varieties and sample them. I would value your input." Secretively he merely wished to have his wine praised, but did want to know a fair amount. Yet, Iryla had come within his circle and he nodded in acknowledgment. The young Elf, though had a mysterious look about her that seemed to suggest another bloodline, spoke softly and he returned her question quickly. "Perhaps allow Jacapo and the others to assist with the organizing, you can help me by introducing yourself...many new faces for these old eyes."

After shaking the man’s hand, Cyran stared at the offered wine glass as if it was poisoned- which, according to this Lord of Ghouls, it very well might have been. He swirled the glass around experimentally before taking a small sip, more out of a desire to please their guest than anything. Bellighul was clearly a wealthy man, if the way he swathed himself in fineries and decadence meant anything. His extravagance aside, he would be a beneficial business partner if he ever decided to offer his wares to the Rookery. Whether Zarius wanted such a partnership was a different matter- Cyran would not be the one to screw up this meeting.

“It’s delicious.” He said, moving to set the glass down on a nearby table as the task was assigned to him. Yes, he could definitely sort bottles, so long as he didn’t have to keep up with the flattery. “Yes, I would be more than happy to take care of that for you while your… Jacopo continues his task.”

Thankfully, Eirynor showed up not much later to help Cyran move and sort bottles, and Eameia smoothly interjected to dispense with the small talk and complements, though not before giving Cyran and Eirynor the task of tending to the lord’s requests. Cyran picked up a crate just as a familiar face popped up from behind Bellighul.

“Astrid? What are you doing here…?” The bar was no place for a child! Though based on the way Bellighul’s face softened as he ran a careful, affectionate hand through her hair, Cyran couldn’t help but wonder if she’d followed him here. Either way, he would not risk Bellighul’s irritation by asking her to leave. He was quickly distracted by Iryla approaching him from behind, asking if he needed any help. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her duck behind him, eyeing the crowd with an overwhelmed expression on her face.

“If you could just help me set these bottles on the table that would be lovely, dear.” Cyran was too distracted to notice the slip of his tongue, but before the two could get started at their task, Bellighul changed his request, delegating the organization to his servant in favor of asking introductions.

Feeling rather put on the spot, Cyran shifted his weight as he considered what to say. He had not anticipated actually having to converse with the lord for an extended period of time. “I am Cyran, and this is…” He trailed off, craning his neck to glance at the girl who was still behind him. He would let her offer her own name if she so desired to, but given how anxious she looked, he would not disrespect her privacy. “And I found the wine refreshing. I don’t often enjoy white wine, but I found that this blend had a lovely palate.” At the request to sample more wine, he figured it would be best to go along with it- this was meant to be a wine tasting, after all. “Allow me to retrieve more glasses for you.”

He scurried over to the bar, where a rather put-out Zarius was conversing with the vulpine man. He was gathering a few wine glasses when yet another familiar face entered the bar- Gerhart had picked a hell of a time to stroll into the Rookery without a care in the world, completely oblivious to the tension that had been brewing. Cyran greeted the adventurer with a quick nod and a tired smile.

“Good afternoon, Gerhart. I’ll take that as a compliment.” At least, he hoped it was meant as one. To both him and the unfamiliar fox customer, he said, “I would offer to get you both whatever drinks you’d like, but my hands are a bit full at the moment. Don’t hesitate to call for me if you need anything.”

He nodded at Zarius respectfully, hoping to convey that he would play nice if Zarius so desired, before returning to Bellighul with the proffered glasses, setting them on the table. “I would be honored to sample your wares and give you my opinion, though I warn you that I am no professional. Merely an ametur with a healthy appreciation for the drink.”

He then turned his attention to the dwarven girl. “Can I get you anything, Astrid? I’m sure we have water, or… milk behind the bar if you’d like.”

Gerhart proffers a bit of rations from his bag, smoke and salted fish, offering it to the cat. This was not an effort to relieve his friend of a nuisance chewing on his horn, Gerhart was just fond of cats. He looked around at the others in the bar with a little smile. “Certainly interesting looking folk you’ve pulled in here. Some a bit….stranger than others.” He gave a stifled laugh, giving a side glance to Bellighul and company.

Seemed strange to him to be holding a wine tasting in the middle of someone else’s establishment. Little pretentious even, but Gerhart didn’t have much of frame of reference for this so maybe it was normal. Who’s to say really?

He perks up a bit when Kvasir asks about the volcano. “You take a trip up there too Zar? Cy and I chased some scholar up the summit. Got trapped in a cavern by a basilisk, nearly got himself petrified!”

Vakker stood in an alley nearby, not wanting to be seen by anyone coming out of the bar just standing out in the open outside of it, but also not wanting to go too far away leave his summoned spy unable to return to him. Simply standing here and waiting for the ghost's return with all the juicy gossip would be quite boring though, so now seemed like the perfect time to do a bit of writing.

Leaning against the wall, he pulled a small notebook and a pen from a pocket inside his suit jacket and began to jot down notes and ideas for new novels. Maybe one that involves a bar would be a fun idea. He did find it a nice location for chatting.

He looked up when he heard more voices coming from the door of the bar. The little Dwarven girl he had played Truth or Dare with at the ball and a man he did not know both walked in behind the Lord of Ghouls nonchalantly. Oh, if only he could do that, but he'd rather the man not see him again anytime soon. Too much to deal with for this Satyr. Though, he was curious what the girl was doing here. He thought she had been recently adopted or something. Did that red Tiefling live in Darkveil?

He went back to his writing, but kept an eye and ear open for any more goings on at the door to the Rookery.