The guards seemed to have a concern with the Raiaeran, far more so than he felt towards the guards. The cautious face of the once cheerful guard had shifted as if gauging the danger of the man before him. Arphenion had seen the expression many times. It was the look of a mindless wolfhound slowly brining its haunches up and realizing it should have begun growling much sooner; the beast it had come into contact with being one to intimidate instead of greet. His lips had pursed tightly and his eyes squinted as he glared at the elf over the letter in his hand. As he began to speak and the others thick gloves found the pommels of their weapons, the lovely lady of the house appeared.

For a human of the frigid wastes of Salvar, Juine was a burst of spring energy. Her voice carried on the breeze with a subtle warmth, her tone and words a melody that made the Bladesinger smile despite himself. Her bright emerald eyes were piercing but invitingly so. Juine’s slight frame was not one that Arphenion would have associated with the cold winters. She loosely wore her thick fur, open cloak that billowed as she hastily walked towards the scene.

The elf swiped his black cavalier hat from his head with a thinly gloved hand to behind his back and began to bow. He was able to get only a very curt nod before the hostess was on top of him. She swept between Arphenion and the guard Belgrad, and a thin arm was wrapped under his. He rose as he felt the tug and found his feet. It looked as if she was being lead in a courtly fashion by the Raiaeran, but it was very much the opposite as he felt her tugging him along and chatting away.

Before the dumbfounded Belgrad was left behind entirely, Arphenion snatched the letter from his hands. The guard’s head turned with his mouth a bit agape. The defensive dog had become a confused pup. The elf was not going to leave his invite with dumb brutes who could not read anyway. Before he turned to move into the small mansion, he gave the posse of guards a cheeky wink. The door closed behind him, and he was on his way.

Arphenion could feel the eyes of the help on him and the Lady Juine as they flowed through the stone halls and ironwood floors of the Revellier Estates. A few of the attendants began to bob in the wake of the pair as they made their way up a flight of stairs and into a study – he assumed there were others but the one she had brought him to was the primary of the estate. As he entered the room, he was engulfed with a blanket of warmth that felt as if he had walked through a portal to another world. Juine was gently giving orders to a young man, asking for nanny and the boy was gone.

The servants of the estate came in politely with platters of fresh roasted meats, smoked Slavic fish, an array of different breads, honey, and other dried fruits not native to Salvar much less the north. As they arrived the elven visitor found his baroque frock was handed off, his cavalier hat was whisked away alongside, and he was seated in a plush chair. The array of hors d’oeuvres was being politely arranged on a sample plate for the pair as they faced each other before the fire.

“It is fantastic to see you again, and thank you for coming,” Juine said with a pleasant smile and a gentle hand extended to the elf. He took it and kissed the back of her hand with a gentle squeeze on her fingers. “How was your journey here?”

“It was long, but pleasant,” he replied, his voice clear and crisp with the distinct accent of a high-elven tongue.

“I’m so happy to hear.”

“Salvar can be such a beautiful land when you have the time to appreciate it.” The pleasantries as sweet as honeyed wine and stained with lies. If the Lady Juine noticed she did not flutter an eye. Instead, she laughed coyly behind her hand. “Your letter said you were having some concerns with a local village?”

The pair took a prepared plate of finger-foods and sat back. “You are eager to jump right into business, aren’t you?” Juine took a bit of a fig drizzled in a balsamic reduction. “I have another I would have you meet to discuss that particular piece. Until then, let us enjoy each other's company.”

She raised an empty hand and a frosted, fluted glass appeared from a gloved hand of an attendant. As a decanter appeared Arphenion raised a hand. “If, Lady Juine, you would permit I have brought a gift,” she nodded politely with an inquisitive smile.

The mage opened his black vest and at first put just two fingers into the interior pocket, then the tips of all fingers, then his entire hand. As if impossible, a quarter of his arm was gone without a single indication as to where from the outside. He absently looked up moved his head about, as if rummaging blindly and seeking his query by feel alone. A moment later, with the wide eyes of not only the lady of the house but the servants too, he pulled out an old bottle. The neck had a green tint of the glass, a red wax seal covered the cork, and the label was weathered with age but showed the image of a griffin.

“Lady Juine,” Arphenion said with a flourish and presented the bottle, “may I offer an old vintage I have recently discovered at the Shargath Estate? It is a well-aged, yet simple fruity vintage from the south of Salvar near the border of Raiaeara. If you could please?”

A servant took the bottle and worked to open it. “Dear Arphenion, please just call me Juine, and I would be delighted.” She looked to either side, as if checking for prying eyes and ears (as if the servants did not count). Then, in a hushed tone she questioned, “And you must tell me how you did that little trick...”