Daughters of the Damned

There it was. One didn’t need mind magic to understand there was a more unhinged element to her usual guest. She chuckled at the woman’s words. Quite, her words curt. Some of us more than others, or different runs of the same ladder, take your pick. Her family was enveloped in some sort of madness. It followed their line and she, Adaria, this generations coin to be flipped. Her final character still malleable to change. It was unfortunate that she had set a goal in mind, distractions were not usually tolerated.

A polite smile replaced the rigid indifference of before, listening carefully to not just her words, but their hidden meaning, intention. Pompous the young woman may have appeared, but she had studied under the Grandmother of the Antivan Game, her Father an equally troublesome player and a Crow Mother as models. She understood when a gift came to her too polished, too perfect that it reeked of desperation. Her own words came back to bite her, but not from Avorra’s transformation, no. That only amused Adaria.

Rabid dogs bite anyone, was she foolish enough to enter in some parlay with one?

To a point.

I already have people to do such things for me and while I… appreciate the support in sowing discord among the houses. I need the opposite to happen. No. Antiva had been splintered, stretched over lands and people who were caught up in a game of someone else's making. A unified accord was needed to re-establish order. Something which Enzo was failing miserably at. Eyeing the ‘hound,’ she chuckled, I’ll admit, it’s a nice trick, but it only reinforces my hesitancy. Information you might come across, on the other hand, I’d reward. It was always valuable to have another bird to sing the songs of other courts and notable factions.