After a day spent wandering about town, replenishing their supplies at various merchant shops, Coran, Kara and Sheera found themselves back at the Dancing Dryad in time to meet Siril when she returned from sentry duty; eager to find some diversion after a long and uneventful day perched alone above a seldom used trail. Finding a table in a quiet corner of the common room, where the cougar wouldn’t put off the other patrons… at least not as much… they settled down to a dinner of delightful roast fowl and ale, quickly delving into one of their typically bawdy innuendo laced conversations, when Siril attention was caught by a roguish young man at the bar, the very type she would normally look to for an entertaining dalliance; but then she saw something that had her suddenly bolted from her seat and lunge at him like a mad woman. “Where did you get that!?!” she demanded in a near murderous rage, seizing the bejeweled necklace he was apparently trying to sell to another patron from his hand with her dagger poised at his throat. “I… stole it… from… some drow,” Malark stammered at the clearly insane, if alluring beautiful, moon elf that slammed him against the bar, sending every near-by patron scattering for their lives. He had just been minding his own business, trying to sell some of the trinkets he had recently acquired when she had shot across the room at him like an elf-shaped arrow. “Siril!” Coran asserted in a strong commanding tone, gently, but firmly, capturing the wrist of her dagger wielding hand and pulling the blade away from the terrified man’s throat. “That’s my mother’s necklace,” Siril explained in a moderately less outraged tone, as she reluctantly sheathed her dagger, and gently cradled the jewelry like the cherished heirloom it was; her eyes glazing over with barely restrained tears at the memory of her father presenting the custom-made piece to her mother on the one hundredth anniversary of their bonding date. “Exactly where did you steal it from?” Kara demanded of the mildly relieved man, as she calmed Sheera with a gentle rub behind her ears; the startled feline had lunged after Siril toward him seemingly ready to rip his throat out before the druid had reigned her in. “A manor in the Elven Court,” Malark divulged with a bit of bravado, trying to restore at least some of his dignity. “It was probably abandoned in the Retreat, and the drow have taken it over as some-kind of military base… It’s literally teaming with them. I snuck in and relieved them of a few trinkets… it’s not like they were rightfully theirs in the first place… I presumed they had stolen them from the poor wench they had chained to the bed.” “What wench!?!” Siril snapped with renewed fire in her eyes; the obvious, but awful, possibility of who it could be was too horrendous for her too even contemplate. “Some unfortunate little moon elven waif their leader must have taken a liking to… not that I could blame him… even in that unkempt state, she was hard to resist. But I’m afraid I didn’t have time to dally with such temptations… I barely made it out undetected with what I could grab as it was,” he replied off-handedly, truly regretting that he didn’t have more time to plunder more of the drow’s misbegotten goods, and completely unaware of the reaction his statement would provoke. “Ryllae!” Siril announced in stunned disbelief, overwhelmed with successive waves of sadness, guilt and abject rage as she could no longer deny the realization of who it was. Then, with murderous intent fueled by her own shame, she seized his throat growling; “That ‘wench’ is my little sister… and you just left her there… at their mercy!”