#elsewhere

Art steps forward with a bow to the precise depth as required from squire to Countess - for those who know to recognize such. A retainer - a tall Eshu dressed in robes trimmed with beaded patterns - steps forward and accepts letter with the Silverwolf seal that Art offers out towards the Countess, and passes it up to the sidhe on the dais.

Countess Blackfeather takes the parchment, breaking the seal with delicate fingers, and reads over the note. “The Baron of Silverwolf... as steadfast as the mountains and just as inflexible. A stuck-up fuddy-duddy if ever there was one, but honorable enough for a dragon, I suppose.” But, she smiles a little.

“You are welcome to stay within Raven’s Rest for three days, as is guest right. My retainers will see to your needs. I trust you’ll find your visit both restful and enlightening.” She looks to Gwen, clearly curious. "It looks like you and I may have more in common than Fae souls and noble titles, Dame."

Overhead Citrine has settled herself atop a tall totem pole near the back of the chamber. She crouches, perfectly imitating the grimace of one of the carved faces.

One of the retainers, a boggan with skin as dark and rich as the carved wood of the chamber, notices and gasps, unsure whether to scold or marvel.

A nudge and grin at Art, for doing a good job.

Art grins back.

The African American boggan approaches with a warm, bustling energy, his hands brushing down his embroidered waistcoat.

"Good day, my friends," he says with a polite nod to Thistle and Art. "Welcome to Raven’s Rest. I’m Jorric, a steward here. If you could direct me to the Dame’s luggage? We’ll see it properly handled."

Jorric eyes Ivan, uncertain, and asks, "Is the fae beast a pet, or a companion at arms? We do have lodging for.." He eyes the dog for a moment, "Him, if needs be, and appropriate provender."

"Um. Companion. He's a fae hound."

"Our bags are still in the rental. So we can grab them if you can show us where we're going?"

The Boggan nods, "Then if the Dame's squire wishes to grab them and bring them to the antechamber, I can give you a tour in the meantime?"

Art starts to say something, then sighs with a touch of a doleful smile.

Jorric pauses, reassessing. "Ah, you're a squire, but not HER squire. Apologies."

"It's okay, I don't mind grabbing the bags. Thistle has been itching to check out those carvings since we walked in." Art nudges the nocker playfully.

"What? They're beautiful."

"Art's a scholar." She informs Jorric, full of pride and affection - making sure the boggan understands his worth.

Gladiola tries not to let the playful insults draw a reaction from here, but at the question of their mortal heritage she answers honestly "Half Iroquois, Half Cherokee, Countess. If I might ask, what tribe do you draw mortal heritage from?"

Countess Blackfeather rises and gestures for Gladiola to follow her to a smaller, more comfortable chamber.

"Aw, but... the dungeons." Eli says mournfully. The countess gives him a fond smile and a pat as she moves past. Next time, my darling." she says to the pooka.

To Gladiola, "The Audience chamber is great for listening to county petitioners, but not so much for casual conversation. To answer your question, my host draws Osage heritage. In less enlightened times she would have been called an Indian Princess, which may be what drew me to her. These days, I prefer to say that I have lineage in Tribal leadership that can be traced back to chiefs of days gone by."

She waves to Art and Thistle "You guys get settled in, I'll rejoin you later." Not about to refuse an invite like this and offend anyone.

She tips a casual salute at the trolless.

Ivan moves to her mistress, while Gwen goes with the Countess and hears her out, then nods "It's hard to be of Western Dreams and Native blood in some ways. But also deeply rewarding, Countess. Thank you for taking us in. Do you get to interact much with Nunehi? I admit to being nervous how they will react to me"

The Countess’s expression shifts, not quite readable. “We are not precisely on good terms, though neither are we in open conflict. There was some initial outrage when I chose a host from among the local native population. The Nunnehi are understandably protective of their own, and my presence was... contentious. We’ve reached a fragile détente, but trust does not come easily between us.”

"I am sorry to hear that, and I thank you for what you've told me, as I am sure it is .. somewhat private. I shan't mention you to them if I should met any if that is your preference? "

The Countess shrugs. "Whether you do or do not is of no import to me, other than I would hope that you would not barge in attempting to sow discord. It is no secret nor a private matter. I am what I am, and who I am. I am a sidhe of Arcadia, and I am Mary Blackfeather. In taking a host, I have become more than I was, in a way that perhaps only a Sidhe can understand."

"I would just advise that my name is unlike to gain you allies there."

"I am Daireann, I wouldn't treat a hostess so" She assures, the idea is ..repugnant

A small smile, perhaps a touch melancholy. "I would that they would be more open and friendly, but... old grudges die hard, as well a Dairrean might also understand."

"I cannot chastise others on vengeance, it's true" Though it is her least favorite part of the house, "Baroness, since you're so kind to see me in private.. might I inquire more about your hold's Native American touches? Do you have libraries on such lore?"

"I have chosen... or rather, Raven's Rest and I have agreed upon melding both native and Fae touches in our holding." Her voice warming as she discusses her Freehold. "It honors my host's heritage, and the land we live on. The Nunnehi see it as a compromise to sacred areas that they consider stolen... and yet, what is past is past. They also saw the commoners that held this place secure before the sidhe returned as conquerers, and I can only hope to try to build a bridge. Of course, the idea of returning the Freehold to native hands is, of course, unimaginable. But yet, they do have some claim, and as such I make them welcome here, as honored guests, would any deign to visit."

"This is all open knowledge for those who reside here, lest you worry that I burden you with hold secrets." She says, her eyes glittering as she smiles, "No, my secrets are much more interesting."

"It was my thought Nunnehi did not have the abililty to draw glamour from balefire, instead only the stones of a glen?"

She smiles at mention of the secrets "I'm sure they are, but while I won't feign disinterest, I think it might be rude to pry. " A thought "In truth, Art and Thistle are more curious by nature."

The Countess nods, considering Gwen’s words. "The Nunnehi do not draw glamour from balefire - though I suppose they could if they wished. Their power is drawn from the very essence of the land—the stones, the trees, the water. It is a different kind of magic, more attuned to the natural world than to the fire of the Sidhe." She smiles faintly, her gaze growing distant. "In fact, the very nature of this place, its deep connection to the earth and spirit, is what allowed Raven's Rest to take root here as a Freehold. The land welcomed us in its own way."

"As for lore, the Freehold does maintain a collection, though it's not vast. We have a few texts—oral histories, journals, and some academic works—regarding Native American traditions and the Nunnehi."

"I would love to see them " She admits honestly "There's a lot I want to learn of my heritage and other parts of the great wheel. I am fortunate my lieges are kind enough to give me time to pursue such" A glance around "I couln't help but notice a saddening lack of dogs. I am soemwhat biased on the subject, but do you have a kennel or the like?"

"Not particularly, no." Countess Blackfeather shakes her head. "Though your Baron has tried to interest us in such, what hunting we do is with traditional methods to honor the locals, and that is not much." She admits. "More interest had he in the wild mustangs that can be found."

"Well, there are also guardian fae hounds, more on protection than the hunt. Perhaps that would be both of use and still honoring local customs. I'll be happy to discuss such opportunities if and when convenient. They can be trained to work well with Thanes" She motions to Ivan, snaps her fingers and he assumes a position of readiness. She snaps again and he goes at ease, "Of course, Silverwolf is always on the look out for new horse bloodlines as well. I am curious to the traditional methods of hunting you speak of though?"

A laugh, her sidhe voice like the soft tinkle of bells - richer and lovelier than Citrine's high-pitched chimes. It's easy to get used to HER Nobles, and forget the impact they have on common folk.

"Spare me your sales pitch, kind Knight." Her voice amused, "For I am afraid I have no interest, though I respect your enthusiasm. It reminds me of Aiden when he was on the hunt for mustangs. He never DID manages to corral that stallion, though our storyteller spins a better telling of it."

The Countess smiles thoughtfully as she explains, "To honor my host’s heritage, we perform a ceremonial hunt each season. I wear traditional regalia inspired by my tribe, blending it with elements of the Dreaming to honor both sides of who I am."

She pauses, her gaze steady. "The hunt itself is symbolic. I pursue a chimera known as the Shadowstag. It is a creature of twilight, swift and elusive, embodying the spirit of the hunt and the balance between light and darkness, as we are all creatures of duality."

Though... Countess Blackfeather trails off, "I am more interested in your adventure. Tell me of this treasure you seek? As delightful a hunter as Aiden is, he is, as always, most brief in correspondence." A pout, clearly this Eilunid is curious.

"OH I must hear the story of this stallion while here if I may, and I understand. I am mayhaps a bit hyperfocused in my love of canines." She tilts her head raptly listening to the talk of regalia "The Shadowstag? Most amazing sounding" Then at the question she says "I'm here for a powwow going soon near the area." And that is true

"Ah, yes, the Gathering - tomorrow, is it not? We have our own emissary planned to attend. You may join our entourage, if you wish? Or attend on your own merits. But simply a gathering, no matter how delightful culturally, is enough to draw a Knight and her compatriots more than halfway across Concordia. Tell me, what brings you here?"

"I grew up in a reservation near here" She answers "One cannot live in fear of one's past forever"

The Countess's immaculately manicured fingers drum. "You are hiding something." She grins. "How delightful. Perhaps I shall keep you here and pry out the secrets like a Raven cracking open a nut - or in this case, a stone? Though, they are wise and use tools - I don't suppose dropping you from a height onto stone would help me at the treasure?"

Her brow knits in... apparent confusion "I am entrusted with the confidence of my lieges, Countess. Would you have any respect for me if I blathered Silverwolf secrets cavalierly?"

"I do not mean to stir Eiluned curiosity but what is so unusual about learning more about your past? You yourself have done so"

"Nothing at all, and yet, what respect would be had for an Eilunid who did NOT seek what is hidden?" She sighs. "Very well, you may be excused for now. But do not think you have escaped my attention. There is aught you are hiding from me, and I do so enjoy the effort it takes to uncover something hidden—it makes the reward all the sweeter."

"It truly is on matter of family and history, Baroness" She says sincerely as she can

She just raises a brow. "I did say that you are excused." The pleasant smile still lingering on perfect lips.

A low bow "Thank you, Countess"

And she withdraws

After the door closes, the Countess gestures and a retainer joins her side. "A matter of history and family. Go, find out all you can about that one's family, and history. There is a mystery here, and I would know what is at the core." They bow and depart.

~~~~

Gwen frowns. How did the woman know she was seeking a treasure? If she didn't know, then how was Gwen evasive at least so obviously? TO be fair, it was all true. Eiluned aren't Gwydions, Gwen. She warns herself, and feels her excitment for the place fall. We may need to leave here. It just went from haven to liablity

It doesn't take the boggan long to figure out that Thistle is dead gone on Art - but then, she's not exactly hiding it. No particular wariness about the hold. Mostly admiration and curiosity about the artwork.

Jorric had offered a tour, and so he walks with Thistle through the grounds, his hands clasped behind his back and chest puffed out a bit in a clear sense of pride. "Raven’s Rest is unique among Freeholds. Our Countess has worked tirelessly to honor the heritage of this land.

It is not a single large building, but a series of smaller dwellings, connected by curated pathways. Beneath their feet smooth river stones are laid, arranged in patterns resembling flowing water. Along the edges of the walkways, tall grasses and wildflowers native to the area bloom, even in Winter. "These are meant to echo the natural landscape," Jorric explains. "Every detail speaks to the bond between the Freehold and the land itself."

"Is it Spring magic, or is there a system? Not humid enough for hothouse effect..." Her hands are nearly as bad as a piskie's - not to steal, no, but to touch. Calloused fingertips grazing the stone of the walkway, the plumes at the end of the tall grass.

"My Lady has made a study of primal, as well as dabbling and more than dabbling in many arts." Even prouder than he is of the hold, he is of his Countess. "The wonders you see here are nearly all crafted by her hands."

As they walk, chimera flit through the scene, curious and watchful. Jorric pays them no mind, focusing instead on the story of the Freehold, though he does wrinkle up his brow a bit as he waves away a thick cluster of what resemble whisps, almost, or floating seeds upon unseen winds. Despite his shooing hands, they drift back towards Thistle as they go.

They approach a wooden pavilion, and Thistle notices intricate carvings in the beams—stylized depictions of animals, constellations, and spiraling designs that seem to move if looked at too long.

"Ohhh..." Her eyes light up. Her spirals are a bright, clear blue, the color of a sunny sky and robin's eggs - not far off from her hair, actually. "Is that boggan work? All the carving?"

Thistle doesn't seem to mind the collection of chimera gathering in her wake - a light touch, curiosity and appreciation for the new creatures. A kind of welcome affection.