Málean enters through the manor doors, and a big smile lights up his face as he sees High Lord Fennix. A dark smudge, perhaps soot or oil, is streaked on his light purple cheek. Similar marks can be seen on the Night Elf's hands. He is clad in well tailored clothes of a style one would expect to see in the artisan workshops of Asphyxten. Running fingers through his messy scruff of navy hair, to little effect, he approaches.
“Ah, High Lord Fennix, a pleasure to meet you,” he remarks as he stretches out a hand. “And the lady, how nice to meet you. A beautiful house, uh, rustic but with class. You don’t see this kind of style back in Asphyxten, and I have to say it’s refreshing.” Málean reaches out for a sandwich on a passing tray, which he proceeds to entirely forget in his hand as he continues the conversation. “An honor to be invited to dinner, and by a tiny dragon no less. Remarkable creatures. Though really, I must commend your taste in architecture, quite the workmanship. Oh, but, aah.... Why am I here?”
Fennix chuckles. “I’ve heard of your work and your arrival in Haleford. I thought I might invite you on the chance you were looking for some work. Not your normal sort, but possibly still enjoyable.” His wife reaches into a pocket on her dress, drawing out a handkerchief and holding it out to Málean. She makes a polite gesture to his cheek.
“Oh, thank you” Málean quickly wipes his cheek. “And for the work too. I am indeed looking for work and, depending on the work you’re looking, for I’d be happy offer my services”. Remembering the sandwich in left in his hand Málean takes a bite while looking excitedly at Lord Fennix.
“Excellent! I appreciate your enthusiasm.”
In a dangerous political climate, several expeditions are made to the infamous Wilds in hopes of expanding the country, Urbane, and avoiding an all out civil war. But, when the lord in charge of the excursions is almost assassinated, tensions increase and put new pressures on the brave explorers.