"Having run afoul of vis not solely aligned with the realm of magic in the past, I would be leery of using such for any research, unless I had some skill in Faerie Magic... Which I do not." She sits down and joins everyone in the feast hall. She looks like she might have been crying.
"Fae, and those aligned to their realm, often need new ideas from mortals, such as ourselves, since many, if not all, lack true creativity. Having seen the works of the Tuatha De when I was a girl, I would say they are like many other craftsmen, wanting to improve their techniques."
As the covnversation begins to wind down, a rather stocky man, covered with grime, walks into the feasthall, with 2 similar companions, carrying someone between them, and securely tied. Sleibhin, the mine boss, is rarely seen around the covenant, preferring to stay at the mine with his men.
"Beg pardon, good masters," he says, in passable vulgate latin. "We found this 'un snooping around the mine, writin' stuff down. " With that, he sets a satchel down on the table, along with a solidly crafted shortsword. "Tried to run when we noticed him, so we caught 'im up. Didn't think it'd be right to kill 'im, so we brought him up here for ye."
The indicated person is unconscious; He is better fed than most. His hair is cut somewhat short, and his clothes are in good repair. The satchel contains a small exemplar, in which there are sketches of the mine and covenant, and notations, written in english and latin.