#because let's let the Nurglite near the punch bowl that sounds perfect

[wayward40k]

The heiress’s smile warmed a touch at the reassurances, and she settled down with her newfound friend at the table. There was an obvious naive curiosity about how the Farseer would go about divining the future, so she was more than happy to comply with sitting as instructed. Aelinor’s observation got a touch of a blush to cross Clementiya’s cheeks under her mask, and her response was shyly embarrassed. Was it obvious? Had there been paint under her nails again?

“I am! Ever since I could hold a brush, much to everyone’s dismay at one point or another,” she admitted, smiling fondly at the joke her mother used to make. Children were much more open to what could be classified as a ‘canvas’ for their art. “I think I’ve actually painted portraits for some of the lords and ladies here…” Some of them seemed familiar to her, in the way they held themselves and spoke.

And chattering did indeed help her relax a touch. Further coached by Aelinor, Clementiya took a deep breath and tried to go of her present anxieties. Not an easy task, but the closest she’d managed in months.

The question caused the heiress’s smile to flicker, just a touch. “Ah, no, I didn’t. I, uhm… I’m here with my uncle Orswain,” she admitted, sounding a bit ashamed at that. “He says ‘the best way to get to know a party is through the drinks’.” Clementiya was clearly less enthusiastic than the alcoholic had been while saying it.

And Orswain had indeed spent a majority of his night milling around the various sources of alcohol available for the guests, socializing and drinking with anyone willing to do so.

"Nonsense, Clementiya, it is no trouble at all." Aelinor guided her to one of the many tables at the edge of the room, intended for when food was to be served later in the evening. "Please, be seated." She requested, kindly.

The Farseer leaned forward and placed her elbows on the table, her palms raised towards the ceiling as if in meditation.

"Like so." She was lying, of course, but a little air of the theatrical was always welcome in matters of fate and fortune. Or so Aelinor believed, at least.

"You have artists' hands, dear Tiya. You are a painter, yes?" Aelinor glanced around surreptitiously as she opened the pouch that contained her Seers Runes. A little small talk might help the girl relax, Aelinor hoped.

"Relax now, Tiya. Close your eyes and empty your mind of whatever anxieties flow through you." When the young girl did as she was bid, Aelinor sent her runes skittering into the air with but a thought, and they hummed in a pleasant harmony as they spun in a figure of eight that encompassed the two women.

Silently, Aelinor plucked runes from the air and set about divining their meaning.

There was grief, innocence, a plot, and a patriarch turned corrupted guardian to name but a few. The corruption was fascinating, however, it was not a moral or financial corruption, but something... something much worse. Something primordial.

"Did you attend tonight's events alone, Tiya?" Aelinor did not disguise her searching of the crowd, she was scanning for the corrupted Patriarch that her runes suggested. Was it possible that a relation had killed the young girls parents? But as she gazed upon the milling crowds, one thought shouted above all others, an instinct honed by decades of battle and leadership.

Something was not right here.