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Lavender eyes batted open in the stillness of the morning, devoid of the cobwebs ordinarily garnered from a restful sleep. Rising upwards from the bed, the elf lord, still appareled in his garb from the previous brightening, alighted to the cold floor of Hillwillow Manor’s master bedroom. His violet eyes roamed the shadows to the equipment situated in the corner of the chamber, all of which he had assembled prior to this morning.
You are doing a great service to your people…
The Aesoteric Mage’s assurance resonated in the assassin’s mind as he accoutered his pale hands in the Claws of the Great Horn, a pair of enchanted gloves gifted to him by his father. Fitting his palms inside the masterfully crafted pieces as if they were a second skin, he continued to holster his gear about his persona, securing miniature bandoliers of throwing knives or shuriken around his thighs or arms. His ninja-to, an unsentimental sword that he utilized more so as a tool than a weapon, was slung across his back diagonally so that its ebony hilt poked over his left shoulder. Afterwards he slid on his hard leather armor and a pair of bracers that included elegantly fashioned hand-guards.
His swirling black cloak trailed in his wake as he departed from Hillwillow Manor.
Arriving at the appointed location on schedule, the assassin imparted a customary bow to the young daughter of House Luviel.
“Arwen.”
He said, his violet eyes affixing to her as he briefly regarded the grandiose fountain contained within the courtyard. As expected of the Second Elder Home, Ashwood Manor was stunning to the eye and an unparalleled specimen of aesthetic beauty. Few places in Elfhame could rival the premises of the Phoenix Clan, and the regal family withheld no expenses to assure that their facilities remained this way. Still, the Heru Mynendil did and always would prefer the shadowy haven that was Hillwillow Manor above all else.
“Yes. Let us be done with this.”
He agreed, nodding faintly as he drew both sides of his cloak closer together. The elf lord’s slender frame, enwrapped by his ebony mantle, braced in preparation for the forthcoming magical travel. He was still uncertain how Tanyre intended on bringing him back via the arcane channels but he knew enough of House Luviel’s resources to confide in their concrete promises.
And thus the assassin waited, patiently, for Sarantyr’s daughter to perform the necessary invocations and rituals that would expedite his venture across hundreds of miles to the Province of Enamoria and the mysterious forest that awaited him. What he would find, Nimavel was uncertain, but he would not come back without answers; that is why the Combine had tasked him with this vital mission. He would not fail.
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