Bythe Santyev's page

Serena's eyes narrow dangerously. "I am no man's plaything."

"Such a pity. Father will be so disappointed."

"Zokon is a friend, nothing more. You would do wise to 'ware your tone."

"Jealous?"

"No. It matters not to me."

"But no, the adventure life isn't quite as wild as the tales. That'd put me out of a job. I'm Illthir Winlow, skald and chronicler; pleasure to meet you."

"Another player then. One of the lowland nobles--brave Ser Robin it was--has a traveling coterie of minstrels. The road must be rather rough on the instruments."

Serena watches the play to its finish and contributes five silvers likewise. The long look from Zokon is not lost on her, but she cannot think of any way to excuse herself without seeming suspicious.

"Are you one of my half-brother's, elf "friends" as well? He seems to have collected a harem of you like in the play." says the man who looks like an older version of Zokon. He casts a glance around the table from Serena to Erevenywg, Alia, and Illthir and back again. "Poor Pavetta seems sorely outnumbered in this fight."

By his glower the tall Bythe seems to remember Zokon quite well and not in a good way. He snorts derisively in acknowledgement.