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[Ariana Lenoir]

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Ariana turned the doorknob, released it and let the door swing open on its own. It revealed the room as it swung open in a slow arch, coming to stop with a solid smack against the wall. Blue eyes as pale as glacial ice scanned the room with a disapproving look. She wrinkled her nose ever so slightly at the musty smell that wafted in from the room. The room was rather clean by inn standards, but Ariana's keen eyes caught the barely noticeable wisp of a tattered cobweb in the corner and a week-old layer of dust on the headboard. The wrinkle of her nose spread across her face as her brow furrowed and the corners of her lips turned downward. She pulled out a handkerchief from a small pouch and wiped her hands thoroughly as she pivoted on her heels and made her way downstairs and to the innkeeper.

The innkeeper, Arnold, looked up and frowned at her displeased expression. "Is there a problem, Lady Lenoir?" he asked as he closed his coin purse and put it discreetly in his pocket.

She looked at his pocket and then lifted her chin as she lifted her steely gaze to his eyes. "Numerous... problems."

"Well, we always try to please our guests here at the Wailing Banshee Inn, what are you unhappy with?" he asked as he mustered a smile.

Ariana lifted her chin higher, giving the impression she was looking down on the man despite being only 5'4''. "Try?" she inquired simply.

The innkeeper swallowed as if he felt some sort of power and entitlement in her gaze. "Try? Did I say that?" he laughed nervously. "Of course, I meant we will make sure you're pleased, " he said as his hands wrung as the nervousness dripped off him like sweat. "You're the guest of Lord Darrien Church himself. We would never dream of your displeasure, Lady Lenoir. Whatever you want, we'll do it."

She let her eyes drift over him as she looked him over slowly from head to toe as if she were evaluating his capacity to do as he said. Arnold fidgeted under her cold gaze, once again mustering a smile as if in an attempt to placate her. She sighed dramatically with a wave of one hand. "Very well. Follow me, " she said as she turned and made her way upstairs. Behind her she could hear the him let out a soft woosh of air as if he had held his very breath waiting for her response.

They entered the second floor and Ariana made her way to the center of the room. The innkeeper pulled out a pad and pencil to begin taking down any notes as he waited for her to speak. The tone she gave when she spoke carried the air of insistence to them, "The entire floor mus' be aired out an' cleaned thoroughly from floor t'ceiling. "

"The entire floor...?" he asked as he looked at the three rooms that normally held different guests.

She turned and looked over her shoulder at him, "Do ye 'ave a hearin' problem?" She turned back around, "I said the entire floor."

"Of course, Lady Lenoir. The entire floor aired and cleaned thoroughly. I can't imagine the other guests objecting to a good spring cleaning of our inn, " he said as he wrote upon the pad of paper.

"The guests from this floor are t'be removed."

"Removed?" he asked as his eyes widened.

She smirked slightly as he once again questioned her directions. "Ye are goin' t'ave a hard time pleasin' me if'n ye cannae' even hear correctly. I dinnae' stutter. I said, removed."

The innkeeper's eyes widened as he contemplated the spacial considerations, "I just... Yes, removed. Where am I going to put them? They have already paid for the night."

She turned slowly to look at him, her face void of any hint of emotion. A stoic regal expression with eyes as cold as ice, "It isn't my job t'solve yer problems. Its -yer- job t'solve mine. "

"Yes, yes... m'lady. Of course. The entire floor will be reserved for you. " he stammered. "What else can I do?" he asked.

She turned back around walking on a slow path past the room to the mirror. She looked at herself in the mirror, a delicate manicured hand reaching up to lift and tuck a strand of hair back in its place. "Ye will hire guards t'stand at the door downstairs. There must always be two on guard at a time. All hours of the day an' night t'insure my security an' my privacy. My privacy is... very... important t'me, Mister Arnold."

"Yes... I will find some and have them interviewed right away."

She gave a slight nod, still looking herself over in the mirror, "Ye will go out an' purchase brand new linens for the beds. Delucian cotton. They will be handwashed in rose water and air dried before being placed on the beds. Ye will procure new pillows and mattresses as well. I will nay sleep on such things t'at 'ave touched all manner of the underbelly of society. "

He gaped as she rattled off the new purchases, "M'lady, those items will nay.. be easy. It is quite expensive to obtain that level of quality..."

She shifted her feet slightly to turn and look at him via her reflection. "I donnae' recall askin' f'a lesson in yer personal finances, Mister Arnold. Ye aren't attemptin' t'explain t'me t'at ye will nay be able t'please me, are ye? " she said calmly as her reflection arched an eyebrow slightly. He stared at her blankly as she continued, "If these purchases will be a hardship on yer inn..." Arnold breathed a sigh of relief as he surmised that she was withdrawing her request. However his look of relief was quickly replaced with one of horror as she finished her sentence, "...ye may send a courier t'trouble Lord Church explainin' yer inability t'please his guest an' request financial support t'do -yer- job."

The innkeeper paled at her words as he shook his head back of forth, "That won't be necessary, Lady Lenoir. I assure you." He felt a spark of anger well up and before he could control it, the sarcasm bit at his tongue and left his lips, "Shall we have all new furniture brought in as well for your Ladyship?"

Her reflection smiled pleasantly and a tinge of amusement glimmered in her eyes, "W'at an excellent idea. Aye, see t'it t'at it is."

He almost choked at her reply, softly cursing under his breath. Whether or not she heard him, she gave no indication as she seemed to reluctantly pull herself from the mirror and walked on to study the portrait at the end of the room. Still softly cursing, he made several notations on the pad of paper, the deathly pale of his face flushing red with anger. He gritted his teeth, forcing his voice pleasant, "What else can I do for you?"

"Food an' drink mus' be brought t'my chambers f'meals. A table o' fresh food an' drink will be kept filled at all times f'any o' my guests o' visitors, " she stated, her eyes studying the abstract portrait.

"Of course, M'lady. The Skeleton Swill tavern is just down the road. I have a menu from it, if you would like to peruse their selection, " he said as he pulled a small pamphlet from his pocket.

"That will be most unnecessary, " she said with a wave of her hand, not even justifying the pamphlet with a glance of her eyes. "My list o' required refreshments f'the guests an' my meals is on the parchment on the couch." She extended her index finger in the direction of the bone couch as if the very gesture was a personal gift to the bewildered man. "I expect t'at the dietary requirements o' my guests an' I will be met without issue, " she said non-nonchalantly.

Arnold walked over to the couch and picked up the rolled piece of parchment. He looked at her and then down at the parchment as he unrolled it hesitantly. As if he were reading an incantation to cause self explosion, the innkeeper's face grew bright red as his eyes almost seemed to bulge from his sockets. He murmured harshly a few items under his breath as his eyes read through the long list, "Grapes from the Yew vineyards... Yamadon Seared Steak... Deviled Phoenix Eggs... Delucian Wine... "

Ariana said casually, "I'm so pleased t'find ye educated enough t'know how t'read. The tediousness o' havin' t'recite t'at list t'ye would be beyond pain." She turned and walked with a pleasant smile towards him. "I'm goin' t'go f'a walk an' leave ye t'handle this." She paused and looked at him with that calm smile that spoke volumes, "I trust t'at my accommodations will be fit t'rest in when I return?"

He looked down with a bow of his head, "Yes, M'lady. I'll start on it right away."

"That's w'at I like t'hear, " she said as she brushed past him, the sweet scent of lotus blossoms lingering in her wake.
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[Ceinwyn ab'Arawn]

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"You're looking a bit peaked this evening, Arnold. Find another corpse in one of the rooms?"

The innkeeper's head jerked upright to cast a nervous gaze into the inky blackness lurking beyond the footprint of light cast by his dim candles. There was just enough light to discern a pale face that seemed to be floating in the surrounding darkness. The once familiar violet glow from the figure's eyes caused him to start in surprise.

"M-m-m Matriarch?" came the choked response.

The figure stepped slowly forward, midnight robes seeming to bring the darkness inside from without, as if shadows clung to the very fabric of her shroud. A black-gloved hand reached up to pull back the sinister hood, sending hair cascading down her back in an avalanche of silvery white. For the second time that evening, poor Arnold found himself pinned in place by a frosty gaze. He shifted uneasily in his seat.

"I appreciate your reaction to my appearance, Arnold, but that still doesn't answer my question. Tell me what has you so distraught."

She stepped closer, her amethyst gaze deviating to the various papers strewn across his innkeeper's desk. She noted the abacus to the right, he'd obviously been busy with calculations.

"It's our latest guest," he replied meekly. "She is going to put me out of business with all of her pompous demands. This isn't the grand palace in Nujel'm, this is the bleedin' Wailing Banshee!" He whined.

Ceinwyn chuckled to herself at the man's disposition.

"Perhaps you will be forced to withdraw funds from your private account, hmm?" She leaned against the cold stone desk, folding her arms. Arnold's posture stiffened at the casual mention of his secret treasury. Years of trafficking gossip for gold had netted him quite a personal trust.

"Tell me who this guest is, that she costs so much to satisfy."

Arnold hesitated.

"She placed a good deal of emphasis on the importance of her privacy, Matriarch..." He swallowed a lump in his throat as she moved to stand in front of him, leaning menacingly across the desk. Her gloved hand shot forward, catching his throat in the span of a breath. He gagged once and became obediently still as she whispered with cold precision against his skin, almost intimately, yet no doubt clearly intending harm.

"Shall I place a greater emphasis on my desire to know, Arnold?" Her breath frosted on his cheek, though the room itself was not very cold. "You will tell me what I want to know, or I'm afraid we won't be able to remain friends, Arnold."

He could feel his bodily warmth draining from him as she held him close. He blurted out the name quickly, before she could send him into hypothermia.

"Lady Ariana.. Lenoir!" The release as her grip loosened sent him dropping to the floor, his legs too numb to support him so soon. He pulled himself back into his chair, gasping and shivering, as she straightened.

"Much better."

She paced the floor for a few moments in contemplation, the hem of her pitch robes not quite touching the cold stone floor. As she pivoted, Arnold's gaze fell on the familiar sword at her side, the silver pommel glinting in the dim candlelight. He shivered again and began to massage his sore throat and arms to restore blood flow in the silent moments as he waited. Finally, her movement stilled, she spoke.

"You will fill me in on the latest gossip, like old times."

Arnold bowed his head obediently and began to give an account of all that had transpired in the weeks of her absence. Protectorate visits, war in the streets, uneasiness between Umbra and its drow neighbors, many things swirled in her mind as she took her leave of the place. She could almost feel Arnold's relief as she exited the Wailing Banshee.

[Darrien Church]

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*The Mangled nude body of the Innkeeper was fixated just above the archway of the Wailing Banshee Inn by several wrought-iron spikes driven deep into his flesh. Blood pooled below as it trailed down his lifeless legs from the words "I AM A TRAITOR" carved crudely into his bare chest. Foolish for both the inn-keeper and Ceinwyn Ab'Arwan to assume that The Lich Lord's new guest was not being carefully watched by the wraiths or his Drow serving under the one called "The Boss"*