Game: The Ends Justify the Means.

The short, child-like half-elf curtsies graciously upon admittance to the king's presence, and dutifully takes her indicated seat. She smooths her petticoat and frock, tucks the locks of ash-white hair behind her ears, and clasps her gloved hands delicately in her lap before arching her back in a posture speaking to years of courtly etiquette. Throughout the king's briefing, her smile graces the corner of her lips, part of a serene expression that might border on cheerfulness were it not for the intense and direct stare from eyes the color of an overcast sky.

As the king's speech ends with his request, the youngest daughter of the Curtis-Mirasandoral family stands and curtsies once more, bowing her head. "I am yours to command, my liege," says Eliesannor, remaining in her humble pose until acknowledgement.

The slender elf clad in leathers pads into the throne room. Despite his swagger, his feet make no sound on the stone floor. Gliding into his designated seat, he scans the rest of the group seemingly more interested in them than the monarch addressing him. One arm over the back of his own chair, slouching irreverently, he seems to barely pay attention to the royal request.

His eyebrows raise and a brief smirk plays across his lips as the half-elf gets to her feet and declares herself the willing servant of the King. Although he doesn't stand, he sits up a little straighter in his chair, says, "For as long as coin finds its way from your treasury to my pouch, you can expect the job do be done."

He sits back and observes the other party members and their reaction to the King's question, hoping to learn something of each one in their responses.

Sif sits in her home, idly jotting notes in a heavy, worn tome bound in thick leather. The knock on the door punctuates the tap of her quill on paper as she dots the end of her latest sentence, and she sets it down to face the door. The woman blows gently on the page, drying the ink, then closes the book and pushes it to the back of the desk before standing.

Answering the knock, she finds nothing but an overly ornate letter at her doorstep. Recognizing the seal immediately, she picks it up and carefully reads it over, her expression showing no reaction until she reaches the very end. In all her many years of service to the Raven Queen, Sif had grown accustomed to the moments she found whatever it was she was looking for - And this was it. Her lip curls into a faint, wry smile, and she sets the letter inside as she goes to gather her things. It had been just over a decade since she began her service to this monarch, and already she could smell the trappings of a powerful moment in history, a memory worthy of the Queen's library.

Upon arriving at the castle, Sif waves her letter wordlessly in the guard's face, and gestures for them to lead on. Finally in the throne room, she makes a cursory glance around the room - Eliesannor, she recognizes, though couldn't claim to have any real relationship to her, and the other figure is unknown to her. The king has to be truly desperate, she thinks, if he's pulling resources so far from his usual company.

Observations done, she bows to the king from the end of the hall, then goes to take a seat at the table. "I was summoned, my liege? And not me alone it seems. The situation must be truly dire."

Graelmyrra stands near the back, listening to the situation, aware of the presence of each of her daggers stashed on her person as the situation is laid out before her. Her hair is caught up under a soft cloth cap and a smudge of purple-gray shadow under each eye.

Aye lord, my services are secured for whatever purpose you have of them. Is there some means that your duke will know the order to return is given by your own wist and not the machination of whoever may be threatening him as a means to draw him into a more dangerous situation? Likewise the staff of the sanitarium may be wary of a band of not-liveried people arriving with an aim of removing a - ah - guest from their premises.

Lorn, an orange skinned tiefling with short horns that point straight back only slightly angled off the curvature of his skull, is led into the room, he quietly takes a seat and listens with respect to the King's request. When the time comes to provide his answer, Lorn simply stands and bows slightly at the hip, Family in need requires little more motivation as far as I am concerned. I will do all that I can.

Tlannatar Haldreithen, ranger of the Horizon Walker Conclave, is never in one place for very long, and was just about to depart the city after investigating what tuned out to be NOT a portal to hell but rather a quite mundane ruptured sewer pipe. And so he is surprised when the letter arrives. The king's intelligence network must be very efficient indeed to pin down Tlannatar's location like that!

In the king's audience chamber Tlannatar bows formally and respectfully, but not as a subject. The Horizon Walkers do not owe fealty to any monarch, earthly or otherwise, but lend their aid equally to anyone in the mortal realm against threats from the other planes of existence. Exuding an otherworldly air himself with his soft, exotic garb and the slender sword sheathed at his hip, the elf looks the king in the eye. "Your Grace, my presence here tells me you believe this danger comes from outside this mortal realm. You say attempts to teleport into the Sanitorium have failed?"