“Aesar, what do you want?” Siril challenged the muscular wood elven ranger who stood before the Dancing Dryad as if waiting for them to exit in an annoyed dismissive tone. “I heard what you told the watch commander… and you’re going to need all the help you can get,” he replied with a defiantly confident tone; stoically standing in their path, arms crossed and muscles bulging, he cut an impressive figure… and he knew it. After they agreed to meet back at the Dancing Dryad’s common room, for what may very likely be their last good meal, before setting out for Siril’s family’s estate at first light, Coran, Kara and Sheera had retired to their room, leaving Malark to fend for himself, while she headed to the barracks to inform the watch commander that she wouldn’t be available for sentry duty for the next few days, assuming she survived to return at all. Coran eyed the formidable looking wood elven man appraisingly; recognizing his easy self-assurance and resolve as being born of many battles, he determined that he might indeed be an asset in their endeavor. But this was Siril’s quest to free her enslaved sister, and therefore it was her decision whether to allow him to join them or not, so he held his council. “You know what we’re facing… why would you want to join a suicide mission?” Siril demanded. She knew Aesar to be a skilled, faithful and loyal warrior, dedicated to defending Tangled Trees, who had no love for the drow, but, other than the almost obligatory advances nearly ever man made towards her, she had hardly ever interacted with him. “Because, with my help, it may not be so suicidal... and it’s the right thing to do,” he smirked with conviction that bordered, very closely, on arrogance. Then he leapt over that border when he added; “Besides, I don’t have anything better to do for the next few days.” “As long as he doesn’t expect a cut of what I lift while we’re there… the more the merrier I say,” Malark chimed in nonchalantly. From his point of view, an extra hand, or two considering the pair of wicked looking battle axes the wood elf bore on his back, certainly couldn’t hurt. “This is about saving my sister,” Siril asserted emphatically, still not quite sure why he would want to risk his life for someone he didn’t know, but accepting that he might be of use, “not spilling drow blood.” “Slaying a few dozen drow will not drive them from the forest,” Aesar admitted in a resigned tone, “but there may be more to gain then just the freedom of one moon elven girl. If your estate is being used as a base, there could be intelligence there regarding their plans… maybe even maps of their other strongholds. Just because they haven’t acted against us so far, doesn’t mean they’re leave us alone in the future. Knowing how, where and when, they intend to attack in advance could make the difference between them overrunning us as they have the Even Court and keeping Tangled Trees safe.” “Ryllae may just be one hapless girl to you,” Siril shot back with fire in her eyes, “but she’s all that I have left of my family… and I failed her once already. I will not allow you jeopardize her freedom. Even for something that could make a difference against the drow. So, understand if it’s a choice between her and your intelligence… it’s her!” “I understand,” he confessed with resolve. “If there’s an opportunity to gain an advantage over the drow it’s our obligation to take it… but not at the expense of your sister’s freedom. Family is the greatest treasure we have in this world… and they await to greet us in Arvandor. Your family has lost enough to the drow already… you will not lose all that remains of it… you have my word!”