“Are you unwell, Aranwen?”

Aranwen blinked as the words reached her and she refocused on the present. She averted her gaze and nodded, "It's just a ghost," she offered as an explanation, "Something of the past I thought I left behind. Names I never thought I'd hear again, even if they're not the same," she looked back, and her golden eyes lingered on Kithran for a moment before she gave a gentle smile to the both of them, "I must remember that I am not in the past."

I am here, with two people who have their own troubles yet ahead of them. I should not bring my troubles from the past.

"Forgive me, that is not a topic best talked about over a much needed meal," Aranwen added, her voice recovering its warmth as she regarded both Kithran and Ch'dau, "Thank you for keeping me grounded. And Kithran?" She gave the half-Syl a smirk, "Yes, I did see you take one of the eggs from my plate."

What a handful you must have been in growing up, Aranwen mused as she examined Kithran once again, And where exactly did you learn to be so deft with those fingers? Let alone your affinity for shadows...

With the colour returned to her eyes, she tried eating again.

This time, the food didn't catch in her throat.

I didn't have any particular locations in mind, but I figured it would be easy enough to gather after breakfast at the same table, essentially after the elderly woman had left and foods were consumed. At that point whether we stayed at the tavern or moved back to the wine cellar is an open choice. 

I'd rather not run the meeting myself. I have a harder time grasping Mosic in writing it feels like. My limitations at play there

I can provide Aranwen's input easily enough though if needed  

“Oh, he's a Samuel.” Kithran felt her stomach rumble, the beginning of the storm, and tried to distract herself with this useless conversation, “Dooooo, you have a name?”

“Yes!” The girl beamed.

“Great.”

“Wanna know what it is?”

“I definitely do.”

"Saina," The girl offered cheerfully with a wide smile. 

* * *

When Aranwen returned she frowned at the little girl who had taken her seat, "I thought I told you to find your parents. After last night they'll be even more worried about you if you wander alone."

"Not yet!" the girl protested, "I wanna know your name!"

Aranwen sighed. She was familiar enough with children to know they were incredibly persistent if they wanted something, "If I tell you, you will go find your parents then, won't you?"

The girl scuffed a foot as she fidgeted, clearly unhappy with that suggestion, but she finally nodded, "O-kaaaay" 

"Aranwen," The Syl offered to the girl. 

"Aran- Aran- uhhhh Aran-" the girl buffed as she struggled with the foreign name, "Can I just call you Ara?" she asked. 

Aranwen flinched as if struck, taking in a sharp breath. Her golden eyes were distant but she made herself nod, "If you must," she replied, her voice a bit strained. 

"Yay! I'm Saina! Call me Sai! I'll be off now, Ara!" the sandy haired girl hopped off the seat and quickly made her way towards the door. 

Aranwen didn't so much as take her seat as she fell into it, a hand going to her face, her other hand clenched tightly as she forced herself to keep her breathing calm, "Just a coincidence," she mouthed in silence. 

"I-I'm sorry about that," she offered, finally, subtly wiping her eyes before she sat back up straight and taking one more breath, "I talked to the Cidal, Mosic by name. He'll meet us after breakfast. Given he talked of the Right Hand and was treating an elder to breakfast, I've no doubt he is a devotee of Falloes," she reported, before taking a bite of the nut bread she had received. Her appetite had left her, but she knew she needed to eat. 

"I've not shared much more than saying we needed healing, but he may be willing to lend more aid than that if we share more of our situation," Aranwen continued, "That I leave up to you two, since it isn't my place to speak on your behalf."

The Syl woman resumed eating in measured bites, neither hastily nor slowly. Doing what she could to keep the meal down. 

I'm over here giggling at how that turned out. You got what I had imagined of her nature exactly. Poor Kithran

The endless wait for food while trying to appease an inquisitive child. That's like it's own kind of encounter

Depends on the how really. If it's a sort of intimidation, her eyes would go wide with equal parts fear and fascination, though the fear would win and she'd cry before running away probably mumbling "meanies" in her hasty departure

Does that help?

Kithran "You are no girl, you're a spy!" 

Girl "Then mesedge for you, meanie. Bleeeeeh!" *she blows raspberry at Kithran and runs*

Kithran "Why you little- get back here!" 

By the way, if you tell her to leave, she'll pout at you, but she will leave out the front door if told to.

Aside that, it's very much the curious little child who is too curious for their own good. And with a clear sense of wanderlust...

May or may not be modelled after behaviour I have been told I exhibited when I was that small

Though size wise she's not that tiny, could mistake her for a Cidal if she had less childlike proportions 

You didn't think that girl was just a one-off post npc, did you?  

As they progressed down the street, Aranwen felt a shiver down the back of her neck. Subtly looking over from side to side, she tried to identify the source of that feeling. She let Ch'dau ahead of her as she briefly paused mid step. But she could see no one who had stopped with her. Frowning, Aranwen moved to catch up with Kithran and Ch'dau.

“I didn’t notice anyone following us, here,” Kith said quietly as they seated themselves, “so I believe we should be okay for now. Did either of you two see anything?”

Aranwen shook her head, "I didn't, but I thought I felt eyes on me in the street. I could see no sign of anyone looking, however. Mayhap nerves are getting the better of me."

Aranwen smiled, stifling a giggle as she watched Kithran and Ch'dau make their plans to teach each other. By her eyes, Ch'dau didn't look that bad in the streets, but she had a vague suspicion the two were more keen on spending time together. Then Kith turned to her, “Have you noticed the Cidal priest a few tables away, Aranwen? Will he do?”

Aranwen looked over, seeing her eyes meet Mosic's in that moment, "It seems he has noticed us too," she smiled, "I'll find out more of him."

A flaxen haired human woman, clad in a green blouse, dark skirt, and pale apron stood at the end of the table. “G’mornin’ an’ welcome ta The Countess an’ Cock’trice,” she said, “Fer breakfast this mornin’, we’re offerin’ a selection o’ meatballs, chicken or quail eggs, fresh pears, an’ nut bread. What can I get fer ye folk?”

“Meat,” the cat-man said, trying not to speak overmuch, “and eggs.”

"Nutbread and eggs sound lovely to me," Aranwen replied with her own order. 

After Kithran made her order, Aranwen was about to stand to go to Mosic's table when a voice spoke beside her. 

"Are you hide and seeking?" 

Aranwen nearly went to her blade in reflex, but stopped on recognizing the voice, "Dear goodness, don't scare people like that," she sighed. Beside her was the little girl she had helped the previous evening, "Did you find your parents, little one?"

"Yep! They said you pro-teckd them and we went inside like you said. I saw you and wanted to say thanks!" the girl beamed at Aranwen.

"It was no trouble," Aranwen shrugged her shoulders, "You should wander back before your parents worry," she observed, before she stood from her seat, "I'll be back in a bit."

Aranwen moved towards Mosic's table, but the girl instead of leaving hopped onto Aranwen's chair. Looked human, sandy and messy hair and a round face, "Are you her friends?" the girl asked. 

* * *

Aranwen approached Mosic's table with a hint of trepidation. She certainly recognized the cloth of a priest, but what kind of priest, and of whose domain? She needn't have worried. Seeing the older woman seated with him, she relaxed.

"May I borrow of your time?" she asked with a gentle voice. 

"Certainly," Mosic offered, "What might I do for you?"

"Am I really so transparent?" Aranwen chuckled, taking a seat beside the Cidal. 

"Oh, I wouldn't say that, m'self," the older woman snickered, "But if your eyes are open to seeing what comes your way, you can see some things before they happen. You young'ns don't mind me. My ears aren't what they used to be. Can't always be sure what gets into them."

Aranwen smiled, "I suppose that's true, there's only a few reasons to visit another table," she looked to the Cidal, "I am Aranwen Galandel," she offered, "I would ask for healing or aid on a friend's behalf. Our situation requires some discretion, but you have my word as a Bladesinger that in this venture we seek to make right something very wrong."

"I am Mosic," the Cidal replied, "Now, very wrong?" Mosic repeated, lifting a hand to his chi in thoughtn, "What kind of a wrong are you talking about?"

"I speak of the undead outbreak last eve," Aranwen replied, "Among other things, though those are not mine to tell."

"I see," Mosic nodded solemnly, before giving a kind smile, "Well, I go where the Right Hand leads, and it seems it has led me to you. Pray allow me attend the Mother here, and I will be with you soon,"

Aranwen returned the smile, "After breakfast then," 

If that's her reaction over spilt milk and a few tame words, I can't wait to see her reaction to what Aranwen will say.  just got to get there... 

No harm in attempting to as far as I can imagine. Whether the attempt will be successful is another matter entirely! 

It's why Aranwen has a lit torch - she is suspicious of the green light so has supplied yellow light  

Bumping because it's Halloween!

And my costume is in the post above  

I tend to use this track for fairy music if I want to let my mind wander and imagine fae realms we cannot comprehend

Here's some tentative details I'm thinking of in regards to the fae, now that I've done as much as I already have within the Journal

• The "fae realm" is not quite the right name to call that place - it is a blend of all of the realms of the various A'nia, each with a domain that they preside over


• As noted, "A'nia" has no direct synonym, but loosely speaking corresponds to 'queen', 'dreamer' and even 'mother' in equal measure - this relates to how important the A'nia is to their domain. The domain is their dream, so to speak, a place they design and a place whose inhabitants are born by their thoughts and emotions


• It should be noted that the key difference between a deity and an A'nia is that the A'nia cannot grant spells, nor can they indirectly influence places outside of their dreams, they gain nothing by worship, nor can they give anything to their worshippers from afar, and their dreams collectively make up the fae realm; they don't have their own true outer planes


• Each domain can be vastly different from the next - you can have an A'nia of winter, an A'nia of summer, and really any other kind of possibility. This is a Wyld realm, where nothing can be taken for granted because no one dream dominates their reality


• If I figure out more of their language, their world would have the name that translated to something like 'the realm of dreams'


• This world is where the majority of the magic of Audalis has left to, resulting in a place with an excess of magic - feats otherwise impossible in Audalis are not impossible in the dreams, pending the imagination of the A'nia whose domain the feat is attempted in


• The A'nia are not entirely disconnected from Audalis - the fairy rings are their way of investigating Audalis, sending lesser fae forth to learn of the world beyond their dreams, and perhaps to see if they might return to walk that land once more, or to learn how they might do so


• The A'nia that guards the islands varies, but all are content with dreaming of water rather than land; the mist of that particular location indicates where the boundary between Audalis and their realm is weak


• The fae creatures in the monster manual don't necessarily belong to a single A'nia - just as creativity is shared among works, these creatures are more common because they are in more dreams, known to the A'nia for their greater resilience to Audalis


• Fae creatures in general cannot survive in Audalis for a prolonged period of time; they are magical creatures entering a world devoid of the magic in the environment, and they will deplete their magical essence by persisting
  
  
  
  • Certain fae creatures may work around that limitation by creating particular arrangements suitable for their longevity, usually on the 'other side' of highly reflective surfaces, such as high quality gems, lakes or mirrors, and by leeching life or magical energy of other beings
  
  
  • Whether a fae creature leaves a body or not in Audalis is best handled on the case by case; I'd rather not stifle the needs of any particular GM's story where fae are concerned
  
  
  
  


• Similarly, an Audalian that consumes food (not necessarily water, but that's almost a splitting hairs level of detail) of the dreams gets imbued with magical essence, which turns foul and rotten if they leave the dreams and return to Audalis, typically resulting in death

I'm drawing heavily on inspiration where the fae are as beautiful as they can be terrible, benevolent or malevolent by their whim... these thoughts and ideas are subject to change before I write up a proper draft to put forward for the Audalis entries but this is what I have started with

Page 11

The script is very untidy Sylvari, as written by a shaking hand. At points it's nearly illegible.

Dear gods. I can never go back. Martin's dead. They keep calling me Windbell.

I need to pull myself together. I need to

If I could stop having my quill stolen while I'm writing that would be a good start. Fireblossom keeps trying to get my attention, by any means necessary. Snowbell has decided my head is comfortable to sit on and is amusing herself with trying to read what I'm writing. Lightbloom is watching me intently, I think with a worried expression, keeps suggesting I eat more. The way he's talking you'd think I was starved, but we only just ran out of food.

Why do I know their names? How can I understand them? How can they understand me?

I just, I can't.

Waterpetal arrived with a message. Someone they call Theanya(?) wants to see me. By their reactions, it's someone very important.

Dear gods, what is happening?

Page 12, 13 and 14

There are no quill markings on the page at all, only ink, generally neatly formed into Sylvari script, but there are clear splatters where emotion overrode the concentration to make formal text.

I can't believe this works. Decades without being able to cast a spell, but now, here, I write with neither tool nor ink. No wonder the sprites were so amused by my writing earlier. It's archaic to where it is completely foreign and unknown to them.

... Where do I even start trying to wrap my head around what has happened? I guess the beginning of when things went bad. We had tried to spread out our food intake as much as we could, make it last. Then we arrived here, in A'nia Starflower's domain.

Windbell's home.

The sprites came to us. They seemed... very enthusiastic about seeing me. Martin, not so much, and he began to suspect me for leading us here. I could not blame him. We stopped here at my suggestion, and he couldn't understand the sprites even if I could, nor could he understand the words I directed at the sprites. He had every reason to be suspicious, and his hunger only added to his temper. I was only able to prevent complete hostilities by telling the sprites and Martin that he was my guest here, and explained he was hungry.

The sprites were confused at the problem, and told me to make some food, like it were the easiest thing to do, and were equally baffled at my confusion on how to do it. They seemed very concerned for me, worried about my health - and what they presumed to be memory loss. Concerned for Windbell anyway - they would not call me by any other name.

Somehow I managed to do it, and a bush sprouted bearing blooms of pastries I had been craving since departing the Sylvari kingdoms. Many of the sprites shared in the food, finding it delightfully foreign to them. I had one piece, and Martin had another. It was exactly as I remembered it, if not better, with a strange sense of nourishment that I cannot recall the like of.

With that done, I asked the sprites about returning him to Sylvari. They replied that was a more complicated matter, but a gate was actually possible right now, and once again gave me an expectant look. I tried, but nothing happened, and Lightbloom shook his head noting how frail I looked to them. Fireblossom opened a gate before our eyes, a sphere like a water droplet folding in on itself and bursting into a luminescant column that opened to somewhere in the Sylvari forest.

Far beyond done with this place, Martin went through with no hesitation. I was just about to follow him when I saw him double over on the other side in pain not four paces from the gate. I saw him collapse, twisting in agony as Fireblossom closed the gate. Seeing that happen to him, I just knew that the same thing would happen to me. I was panicked after that, and at some point Waterpetal had left to tell the A'nia about what had happened. I met with her in this building floating above the lake of mist, something between a castle and a cathedral, beautiful, but eerie. The front doors opened to a large central chamber, with a raised platform like a ballroom stage, columns and stairs to either side leading to places that aren't visible from the outside.

The A'nia... I've no idea how to translate the title. It's loosely somewhere between ruler, dreamer, and... mother?

Like the others, she called me Windbell as well, but where the sprites are creatures no larger than a Cidal, she was taller than me. She seemed serene, floating in place with beautiful wings providing contrast to the stained glass behind her. She welcomeed me back to her domain, her flower field, and expressed her hope that the other sprites, my siblings, were not overbearing with me. With gentle smile she suggested I take some time to myself to rest and recover, directing me to take one of the stairs. I thanked her as I expected I should, and she smiled as I ascended the stairs. I found this bedroom waiting for me. Everything is the right size for me, despite no one else here seeming to be my size.

It looks a bit like my old bedroom. I try not to think about that.

If I think too much, I think that, somehow, it felt as though her smile wasn't entirely gentle. There seemed a hint of cold to it. Maybe it just my nerves meeting such an important being here in a realm... a realm that doesn't seem to have rules, but has rulers nonetheless. And if I think too much...

I think... I think she knows what happened to Windbell.

I'm trying not to think about it.

Mayhaps Kithran found some... light reading beside those mushrooms

I jest

That is something I saw as well with regards to devotees of Falloes. They are given a vague sense of where they are needed. If I recall, I was considering a Paladin of Falloes at some time a while ago. I normally avoid paladins, the class doesn't resonate with me, and there's no lack of examples of poorly done characters which makes it daunting to try to do a paladin right, but a paladin of Falloes is one I believe I could do properly.

No matter how things end in HC, I've a good mind of how to incorporate that ending in what may happen here, so I can offer suggestions on that if the need arises

It seems our small Cidal has been attracted to the glint of gold - by which I mean Aranwen's eyes. I am really happy that my mental image of her gave her such noteworthy eyes, which paint a very sharp contrast with her unkept and haphazardly cut oaken hair

Page 10

The script is in Sylvan with an informal hand, almost with distracted mind with some strokes longer than others, and a few spilled dots of ink.

This place... I could have sworn I heard my name just before we came here
How is it possible for a place I've never been before feel like home?
And yet, this place, a wide open field of flowers with a shining silver cathedral suspended over a misty lake in the distance...
No matter how many times I look at it, it's so familiar, somehow, and I can't make any sense out of this feeling
Keeping a hold of this feeling anyway... I might as well... it's like a sense of belonging, finally finding some, vague sliver of certainty in this chaos of a world

Yet, even as I express having this feeling to him, Martin says he doesn't feel the same way
Of course, I shouldn't expect him to, and we've still our lack of food to worry about
Until we find a proper path back, maybe we'll be able to better understand 'here' by not roaming around so much...

Worried about what to do from here... it's impossible not to be
I've wracked my mind around these domains for as long as we've been traversing them
No pattern to be found, no entrances or exits, just places and unseen paths between
Domains of creatures, realms, so wild and chaotic, it feels like some kind of a dream
But I doubt we've ever seen any of these places in any of our dreams in Audalis
Even though I certainly can't remember every dream I've had, and neither can Martin
Like a puzzle with the pieces thrown out in a storm, how am I supposed to make sense of this?
Looking ever on, and on, searching for a way back that we can't see

Just some poor teenager that fell in with the wrong crowd, but cults are supposed to be cool, and it's far too late to back out now so he has his yearly subscription to dead4lyfe magazine and has a small friend group in the crowd... they just hang out on level two and keep their hoods down so they don't get volunteered for icky duties like actual work, probably with some Audalian herb they smoke for relaxation and entertainment, outsourced from the weed cult in Coria because you just know there is one there lining their pockets with gp. What the heck is he supposed to do with actual invaders, that doesn't happen except in bard tales!

Dear me, my mind can sometimes race off with the smallest of hooks into a far more detailed scene, silly or otherwise... it can be a bit overwhelming

I have three Aranwen in my head - one in the past with our precursor story, one in the present storming the fortress, and one in the future where she is in a position to talk to Davena directly...

There are answers she wants, answers that I have no doubt she does not want to hear, but answers she desires nonetheless.

To the Aranwen of that future, this is all feeling too familiar, and she would rather not retrace the same steps she's taken before.

Aranwen nodded with satisfaction seeing the zombies shambling away. She placed a hand on Cedric's shoulder, "You see?" She offered softly to his ear, giving a gentle smile, "Do not doubt your worth; that you can call on Solanis' blessing and radiance is no small feat, and it takes a strong connection to bring such miracles forth. You can do this; you already have."

She looked forward, towards the western passage, then the northern.

"I may not know the details of this place," Aranwen mused as she recalled, "But in any fortified location there necessitates passages to bypass other defenses and dangers that would otherwise slow an attacker, while letting a defender retreat. Does this match your memory as well, Gib?" She asked.

((Presuming the affirmative))

Aranwen nodded, "I suspect our robed adversary made good a retreat by one such passage, with the hope that a gate would suffice to force us down the other," she continued, before giving a smirk to Ch'dau, "Shall we prove them wrong, dear friend?"

How did the lifting capacities go in 2e?

Page 8 and 9

The writing is more relaxed, Sylvari script without the extra effort put in to make it look formal.

It's strange. Just before arriving here I'd have given anything to no longer be called. To have a reflection again. To return to some sense of normality in my life. But now that my name isn't being called, I feel even more uncertain than ever. Especially in this place.

A place where we cast no shadows, a place where you can fall into the sky and land in a bed of flowers larger than trees, or take a turn and find yourself in the middle of an underwater savana and still be able to breathe. There's no sense of direction to be found here. One place blends with the next without reason or transition. There are no steps or paths to retrace to find where we were.

This is a place where shadows are spirits that fly into the sky as balls of black, battling balls of light until the sky is painted black as a starless night, before the bubbles of white take their positions as stars, or descend to the ground and make plants glow. Then the white returns to the sky some time later. Sometimes the black doesn't win. There's no guarantee what happens.

I wonder why we haven't been noticed. Or are we so faint in our presence that we are as insects are to us, beyond their threshold of notice?

It rains with or without clouds. Thunder is accompanied by splashes of light and colour instead of lightning. In a few select arcane tomes I had read of the positing that there are worlds comprised of a single element. Could this be a world comprised of chaos?

Doesn't matter much. Finding a way back seems more and more impossible. Much less finding one in time. We will run out of food soon. Turns out survival training does not help survive a wilderness you were not trained to be in.

But what manner of training would even help you survive this place?

Flora that looks familiar is almost assuredly not. Fauna may look familiar at a glance but are often creatures of a loose form. What may look like a bird one moment may unfurl butterfly wings and fly in a burst of shadows. A stag may look normal until you realize that it has a face like a human. And in all of them, you can see in their eyes an intellect far beyond those of common fauna. 

Martin once suggested hunting, but I had to point out the truth - even if I could slay one of these creatures, would it even be edible? We just don't know, and I would sooner avoid drawing attention to us here. In this place where we are as insects to beings I cannot fathom despite my knowledge of nature. At least, of the nature back home. We'd best not see ourselves get stepped underfoot.

Page 4

This page also has several crossed out words and sentences at the beginning.

The past six years have generally been one misfortune after another. Untangling the mess of what She had done with my face took the better effort of those six years. At one point I had considered taking on a new name, a new identity, but the thought felt anathema to me. Wrong. To give it up at that point would be truly to relinquish that name to Her. Or so I felt. She may have died, but I wasn't willing to let Her win.

I was not going to let Her replace me.

That was the one thing that kept me going. But ever since that fateful day, I could hear it... I am being called. A whisper beyond the edge of hearing, calling my name. Most audible on windy nights, trailing behind the echoes of the wind outside. Calling me.

Sometimes I find myself wandering in some direction it may be from without thinking.

Am I going mad?

No one else can hear the whispers. Only me. Perhaps that's why they're sending me off, allocating me to a journey to misty islands to the northeast. Get my senses readjusted, tuned once again to the land, the forest, and in this case the sea. My sense of direction isn't dulled at least - I know my training, and I can read wind, skies, and stars.

We depart tomorrow.

Page 5 and 6

Most of these pages are too damaged by water spray to make out what is written here. There is one drawing of what is presumably a man, a form shrouded in kelp and water.

Page 7

The writing is with a shaking hand, tarnishing the otherwise elegant Sylvari script with sudden jerks.

Somehow we survived. And we're here, wherever 'here' is. The sky is bright. We're on a grassy plain that spreads as far as the eye can see. Weather is clear sun. If there were a sun. I keep looking for it in the sky, following the shadows backwards to where it should be. It isn't there. I can't guess what direction is what.

Martin is in worse shape than me. In shock, I presume. He's sitting next to the wood crate that ended up with us, rocking in place like a scared child. I've half a mind to join him. We didn't even expect to land with the ship in the state it was in, much less end up here.

Not even sure where the shipwreck is or where we came from. Crate has food in it, so we won't starve at least. Best I can gather, if we follow where the shadows point to, or where they come from, we'll be bound to find something. Martin doesn't have any ideas.

We still can't wrap our heads around it. One moment we're on the water, clinging to a wreck of a hull being thrown in the air like some garbage being discarded without a thought. Then we're on the ground. Here.

I've half a mind to wonder if we've passed beyond death, but this isn't Adaron's forest. There's no trees. Just a grassy plain, no sun, and a cool refreshing breeze.

The breeze makes a melody in the grass, as though the grass blades were chimes playing in sequence. I don't know how that is possible, but it's faint. Martin can hear it too. A three beat rhythm, of some sort. Too faint to make out properly. It's the right sort of rhythm that desires dance to accompany it. Yet for what we both hear, there's something I don't.

I don't hear my name any more.

Kithran 'she has an ulterior motive I just know it'

'her ulterior motive is to help people'

Kithran 'she can't be that simple, there's got to be more to it'

In some ways the well-meaning are the most suspicious

“I should have perhaps brought this up earlier, but before I rely on you, I have to ask, where do your loyalties lie, Bladesinger? Not just for this task, but overall? Mine are to my well-being and to finish my jobs. Ch’dau is relentlessly devoted to me, which I cannot help but have come to accept, but Sylvari . . . well, you are a very loyal lot in my experience, sometimes to a point at which I am very uncomfortable with, so I would like to know where yours lie before we proceed.”

"My... Loyalties?"

For the first time in present company, Aranwen truly faltered, the smile fading from her lips and left slightly agape as her brow furrowed ever so slightly in confusion, unable to keep the uncertainty from her eyes. Were it thirty years past, she'd be able to answer such a question with ease and without hesitation. Now though, here in this wine cellar, alone among companions, she looked almost lost.

Then she shrugged her shoulders, offering an apologetic smile for the delay, "All bladesingers are trained to work with the other groups that uphold law in Sylvari, so by nature of that upbringing we hold loyalty to the well being of all Sylvari, and the Crown."

Though, presently I'm on leave, Aranwen noted to herself. 

"I do not know how much you know of bladesingers, but there is something else as well, loosely unique to each of us," she offered, "Oaths we take when we complete our training, which we adhere to from then on. Mine is to care for well-meaning folk, to look to their well-being beyond the present where I can. Perhaps naive to your ears and experiences, I'll admit. But, as you called it earlier, this can be a dismal plane to be on, and I'd be glad for making it less so for those people that generally don't wish ill on others."

"Does that answer your question?" Aranwen asked.