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There are many things to say about you, Eithna, about us. Enough to fill a book, surely, with spillage.

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You remind us of something, someone, or perhaps somewhere. A bustling port, a Siren's Song, a cheery smile; The sounds of singing and dancing. To confide in, and to be confided in. We enjoy your company.

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We can't truly trust someone that would discard her closely beloved so quickly. Mostly pleasant otherwise, though.

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We enjoy your pie. An unremarkable traveler from the Valkian realm, was it that you said? At the very least, you're certainly more resilient than you think. And a delightfully vicious side, as well...

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We've seen you at your lows, from something of a distance. And like you, We understand the value and power (perhaps the danger, too) of conviction. It was a rather disappointing political display, in the end.

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We've felt your presence, primarily by your detestable wake of destruction. The spire can't quite be rid of you, can it?

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Your milky, blind eyes seem to see through us, somehow, beyond any We have met prior. Something about you loosens our lips. Worrisome, perhaps, but not by any degree something that should threaten us.

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We find your wit amusing–such a skill to be expected of an entertainer, no? And yet you are like a kicked dog, part of a set of cards that recoils at itself; We know the game that you play: Slippery in your words, yet persistent. Slightly sardonic, yet patient.

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We've seen you return after being whisked away by the fey, to a nightmarish place. And yet, a surprising resilience in it all.

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We see you oft in places of gathering, bard. A storyteller first and foremost, yet not quite a gossip... to us, at least.

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We know you, mostly in association with others. A gossip, perhaps, with the hint of mischief in your eye.

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We know the Neredas name, a rarer familiarity in this place. The drive to seek and the desire to know must spring from something. Of many hats, it would seem.

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A dreadful ruckus from the building over.

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Housemates? Only, Rhutelan seems to act more as a cat would. Sitting on tables, being a general nuisance to the other bard.

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We've finally met face to face, in recent times. A great, scarred man who lives in a cave, yes? It seems that you've caused a bit of worry with your antics.

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A man with interesting hair, a dubious past, and a sense of style befitting of the Valkian high nobility. Your bombastic facade has left us rather indifferent.

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Did they part? We haven't really seen them together, come to think of it.

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We... Much prefer your goods to Anwar's, to put it lightly. You've the skill to put to use as a baker, yet in the typical Valkian excess, you've a curious disposition towards an egregious amount of humility. You could use just a bit of arrogance, really.

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A man from a Duchy past its heyday, with a family much the same. Not attuned to the domain of the dreaming, but certainly showing an interest.

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A thriving courtship between the two, as We've heard. Time will tell.

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Something amusing seems to happen to whoever may be caught between them at a given time.

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Yes, we've met in passing. Eyes like a lake, in good taste. Well, good taste in some aspects, I suppose.

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A hungry, lecherous man from the sounds of it, and the source of no small amount of gossip.

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As We see you, in your azure plate more oft than not, We can't help but wonder: What is it that you hide, within? A purpose for an order's trek, a secret wisdom, a troubled mind?

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We've interacted briefly, but it's evident to see why others think the way that they do of you. A tactless, unstable creature who takes a peculiar pride in a lowly position, enemy of anything noble. It's a temperament that will take you far; Far from others.

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The both of us understand the need to peel back the veil, see what lies beneath, a verse of the esoteric. Your watchful gaze at every angle that peeks through suggests as much as you say, and perhaps more. One who swims against the stream.

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An uncanny resemblance between the twins.

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“Rhutelan?” We thought to ourselves, after glimpsing a flash of red hair, one eve. It was no such thing; Instead, a sloppy creature, hunched over a pile of refuse. Vile.

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It's a curious bond between them, not quite discerned.

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In passing primarily, We suppose. And yet, with time, We grow skeptical of you. Or perhaps your shadow.

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The sun and the moons. May their family thrive, I suppose.

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Tonguing each other in the doorway of the Full Cask. Come, now—have some decency.

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We've grown to trust your vigilant judgement... To an extent. And We do worry for you, at times, worriment weighing on your own shoulders--Deep in, aren't you? You won't stop, though; Not as long as you have something to prove to yourself. Yet at other times, a creeping déjà vu makes itself known...

"I need the freedom to change as I must, regardless of another's rules or expectations. If magic came without a relationship, even if I had to build the means? I'd do it."

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May next time we see you be from above,
to the bottom of a well, vile witch.
A fate befitting of a purple bitch.

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So that's your name; Rather, a name. We heard you, at times, a laugh from the woods, a reflection behind us in the water, an endless well in our restless dreams. Whisked away by some greater force.

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I suppose We were caught in your web, in the end—Not that We mind—but I suspect you've moved on from such metaphors. We're not sure when We fell for you, the times that it changed, between us, from a curiosity, to a bother, to wariness, to... To drift together, now, from a turbulent beginning. What an intoxicating love. We'd rather not think of our uncertainties.

“I've only ... room for one queen in my life.

And that's me.”

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Dubious repute, and a terribly singular resilience. I think that We'll remember him differently, than the majority of the Spire.

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The two work together--association by way of the business?

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It wasn't supposed to happen like that. It wasn't... The only thing that We can manage is to be more cautious, more prepared, lest more of us is strangled...

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But what was it? Another face worn? An underling? An incidental eavesdropper, an opportunist?

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We're not exactly sure what to make of you. Multiple threads from one root. Perhaps in time, We'll know what you are.

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Wouldn't it be nice, to say that things were smoothed over, just like that? You certainly didn't want to be in the situation any more than We did, I suppose.

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We'd thought that you'd end up resenting us, in the end; But We're not certain that it was even a thought that crossed your mind. What curious twists and turns, since that meeting on the beach. And what curious future to come...

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A thorn in our side. Ugh.

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What a splendid feeling it is, to be vindicated in our hatred. Hah.

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Well, I suppose she trusts his efficacy in some respects, at least...

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...And a useless lead on this thing.