Flipout6

Sybille grinned when she was presented with her costume. "Great! I liked this get-up, myself." "I don't understand how you could. It looks like it tickles." Marie interjected. "And that it makes it really easy to trip over your own ankles." "Not really." Sybille shrugged. "If you want to carry it, I guess." Amendale was both surprised and unexpectedly excited at the prospect of owning a new horse. His last steed, and a trusty beast it had been, lost its life drinking from the river near Earthheart despite his efforts to heal it, so he was also apprehensive of putting a new mount in danger. Once they were shown their way to the stables, Amendale's attention was captured by a light, swift-looking creature, coloured- for the most part- a pale white, but with somewhat-darker grey patches speckling its muzzle and painting the bottom half of its legs. It looked very muscular for its small size; this one was definitely a runner. It beheld the moon elf with big curious blue eyes. "This one's name is Mahzin." Reported Imhiros. "He's not strong, but he's fast." "What do you say, Mahzin? Ready to hit the road with us?" Amendale asked, petting the steed. "The horse's name is 'mazing?" Arland asked, looking on the verge of laughing. "Mahzin." Imhiros corrected. "Mah-zeen." "Shame." Arland snortd. The Greys, meanwhile, saddled themselves upon their own horses and were ready to ride rather quickly. Marie's new horse was a reddish-brown blood bay hunter, and a rather cantankerous one at that. It flicked its head irritably in her general direction as she approached...but wasn't above taking the apple she offered. She grinned. He was right up her alley. "Rohit is his name." Imhiros informed her. "He's a feisty one." "I like him." Marie commented. Rohit snorted and let himself by petted. Annette got a courser, solid-grey with no patterning, a black mane, and milky brown eyes. She nuzzled the alchemist lightly as she approached. She was a pretty stocky horse, thick and hardy, but she was a gentle "giant", so to speak. She loved being scratched behind the ears, as Annette quickly discovered. "She is Adina. She's quite friendly, as you've noticed." Imhiros told her. "Nice to meet you, Adina." Annette cooed, petting the courser, which almost knocked her on her rump with its nuzzling.

For Arland, the dancing ended on a high note, but that high note was quickly soured once the Mulhorandi upper-class began to stuff and otherwise spoil themselves to the point of outright and blatant embarrassment. Arland was fine with people drinking until they passed out on their faces; people did that everywhere. But even years ago when he was running around on a killing spree and butchering the more corrupt and oppressive nobility (and other criminals) he'd never seen something this.... this....appallingly excessive. He'd never seen someone eat an entire feast on their own, throw it up, and then keep eating. There were people here eating more food in one sitting than many peasant families could hope to afford in a week and then puking it up just so they could have more, which to him was a good as throwing it off the table and trampling it into the dirt. "Stlarn. You seeing this.....I don't know what the word for this is." Arland seethed, gesturing out to them. Marie curled her lip in disgust. "How.....gluttonous." "Whatever that word was, yeah." He shook his head. "Barbarians don't do this. Poor people don't do this. Tluining rats don't do this. They might as well just feed the food to the dogs, at least they'd actually eat it!" He snarled. "I can't watch this rot. I'm going inside." "I think I'll go too." Annette added. Naturally, that meant Marie was going inside too. "I might as well sleep. No bar for me with them. I'm not sharing a bar table with them. That'd be reducing myself. You two do your thing." He stormed off. Further down the hallway, Sybille came out of the dressing room right behind Rhaine, clad once again in a simple white shirt and leather pants. "Man, that was fun!" She exclaimed to the Doomguide as she exited. "You looked great out there!" Of course, then she spotted the spectacle that was Amendale and Zorica, and she grinned even wider, since that was apparently within the realm of physical possibility. "First my brother and Dri, now you two? Lots of snogging going on tonight!" She laughed, and then whispered to Amendale, "Don't forget about the tongue!" She laughed again and walked off. Arland stopped Rhaine in her tracks for a moment when he ran into her, holding his arm out to stop her. "I wouldn't head outside if I were you, Wings. Savage enough to piss ME off. People throwing their food up just to eat more. Stay away from the crowds, just trust me." And then he veered sideways and shoved the door to his room open so hard it hit the wall, and then slammed it shut behind him. Amendale grinned as he saw Zorica's reaction to the news. Honestly, Zorica being Zorica, he wasn't even surprised when she turned around and whapped him on the mouth. He was surprised when she leaped on him like Ser Meowsalot might a mouse and slammed her lips into his. Rough, perhaps it was; but it was also intoxicating. Her anger made the kiss feel like it was on fire. Amendale's heart went a little haywire in the face of such electric energy. It got to the point where he had to stop himself from getting dizzy....though he was still coherent enough to give Sybille a thumbs-up when she went by. She guffawed and went along her way. When they finally separated long enough to breathe, Amendale grinned like a fool at Zorica. "I knew you'd both love and hate me for that little stunt." He rested his forehead against hers. "I could have used magic to give you a helping hand whenever I liked if you'd turned out to be half as bad as you feared you would be. I was there the whole time making sure you got through it okay. I didn't need to do a thing. You were never in any danger of failing." He smiled at her kindly, looking her right in those lovely amber eyes of hers. "...But you stunned and riveted completely of your own ability. There was nothing but you up on that stage....and damn if you didn't look absolutely beautiful doing it." Then he chuckled huskily. "Ah, looks like my inner romantic is coming out. Not that I mind." His expression suddenly shifted. "That reminds me..." Through some magic or another, a bouquet of yellow and purple flowers appeared in his hand. In reality, he'd simply turned them invisible and held on to them in his hand, keeping them from getting crumpled or damaged. "Weyland and I were on the same thought track with flowers today, but....here. Purple's your favourite colour...and the yellow ones are the closest I could find to the colour of your eyes." He grinned and his face flushed red. "I know, that's corny, even by my standards. But if you like them, that's all that matters."

Sybille was incredibly excited for the dancing to start all throughout the festival, and went as far as helping her costume designers with her uniform in her eagerness to get going. She quite enjoyed the overall look of her costume and how it felt as light and nonrestrictive as air. She tried to encourage Rhaine and Zorica (mostly Zorica) with her bubbly attitude and off-the-wall jokes and comments, but it seemed that they were having none of it. Of course, her favourite part of the night besides the dancing itself was when they left the dressing room and she caught her lovably awkward big brother and the quiet girl that was always glued to his hip....well, this time she was glued to his lips. "'Atta boy, Weyland! Don't forget a bit of tongue!" She cheered. Weyland laughed even as his face felt like it had been lit on fire and simply grinned at his sister. "Oh gods, all four of them saw." He whispered. "....Not that I care." Then he brought his lips to Dri's again before they went to watch the dancing. She didn't say anything coherent and simply sent him her flustered excitement to him telepathically. Later, after the dancing began, Sybille began to feel light and progressively more carefree, until she was so into the dance, into the complex subtleties and graceful rigors of her dance that she barely remembered that she had to exit the stage at all, and did so with great regret. Before she did so, however, she glanced the Ordain sisters in the crowd. Marie had managed to drag her sister away from her alchemy set to come watch and she was beaming at Sybille, grinning from ear to ear. Sybille shot the two of them a dazzling smile before she made a graceful exit just in time for Zorica to make a spectacularly rhythmic entrance. Amendale, of course, enjoyed Zorica's dance greatly, more so than the others. He sat there and smirked through most of it, watching with unbroken interest as she absolutely nailed every liquid movement, every flowing step and twist. It was almost as if it were a magical illusion.... "That was something, alright. Something spectacular." Amendale commented, once it was all over. "It sure was!" He heard Weyland comment. He was just behind them, with an arm slipped around Dri's waist. Amendale shot him a knowing grin. "That was amazing!" She echoed to nobody in particular, the closest she could get to shouting. "Hells, I've never seen anyone move like that." Arland commented, standing beside Marie. He'd been one of the noisier members of the crowd, whistling and cheering his (surprisingly not intoxicated) encouragement to the dancing women on the stage. Sybille hadn't seen him, but he didn't care. "I didn't know Sybille could dance like that!" Annette exclaimed. If Marie didn't know better, she'd say her sister was enjoying herself despite the crowd. Marie herself didn't say anything; everyone else had covered it for her. After they took their bow out and left the stage to head to the changing room, Sybille couldn't help but excitedly babble on about how she couldn't remember the last time she'd had that much fun, especially doing anything like dancing, or how it was incredibly satisfying once she started really getting into the dancing. When she left, she found Amendale leaning on the wall opposite, at an angle where he couldn't quite manage a peek into the room. No doubt he did that on purpose. He raised an eyebrow at her, congratulated on her performance, and waited for Zorica as Sybille went to seek out the Ordain sisters. Amendale still had a cheeky smirk on his face when Zorica eventually left the dressing room. She smiled a little smile when she saw him, and his grin widened. "Bet you're wondering what was in the vial?" He asked. She looked at him curiously and nodded a little. "Peach juice. There was nothing special about it, and I didn't whisper a single word of magic tonight....but there certainly was something special about your performance. As if you weren't already special enough." His grin widened from a cheeky, impish curl of the lips to a genuine, kind smile as he spoke, and he looked meaningfully at her. "That was all you, Zorica. Nothing but your own skill and your own courage. There's more to you than you think." He'd been dying to reveal that information all night.

Most if not all roleplays will have an out-of-character (OOC) forum where you can create a character sheet (format is usually provided) and present it. Once that character sheet is approved by whoever's running the RP, you'll be allowed to start roleplaying. OOC forums can be found right here in the "RP Announcements" forum. Just remember that character sheets must be approved first. Hope this gets you speeding on your way :cool:

Sybille patted her maul. "You bet I can. I've taken undead Thri'Kreen with this bad boy before. Only lost to one of them." She wrinkled her nose. "He was something like fifteen feet tall and twice as thick, though, so I guess you can't really blame me for it. But yeah, I can swing this around like a dead cat. Comes with a lot of training and conditioning. It being a bit "much" is....well, most of the fun!" She giggled. Turning to the newcomer, she added, "Business and a good bit of pleasure, of course." As Llhunara was whisked away by Doshkin, she gave the rogueish woman a wink and a grin. "Could be a....lot.... of pleasure for you. Good talk!" -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Marie found Arland stuck guarding the library, of all places. He looked completely and utterly bored out of his mind and more than a little irritated. He leaned with his arms crossed against the wall, sipping out of a "water" flask that she suspected he'd filled with something other than water. "Are you really drinking beer on guard duty?" She asked, looking at him incredulously. Arland started. His exclamation of, "Nope!" was almost a yelp. He looked at her with an annoyed frown. "It's juice." "Really." She asked drily. "Made of what?" "I don't Tluining know, some sand fruit they grow around here." He shrugged. "Servants'll get you some in a minute flat if you want some. What are you doing back here, anyway? I'm stuck here on guard duty. Because the book-barn is sooo important, you see." Marie snorted with laughter. "Whoever put you back here knows what they're doing. If you were stuck with the duty your brother's got, not even Rhaine would be able to fix the damage." "Why, stuck-up fat pigs everywhere?" "Everywhere." She confirmed. "....I'm still bored." Arland complained. "So am I. That's why I'm back here, I don't have anything better to do with my time than talk to you." Marie griped. "Ouch. I think I'm bleeding." Arland's lips curled just a little bit. "I thought you'd be right at home with all the stuffy bastards in frilly dresses." He raised an eyebrow and smirked obnoxiously. "Ah, no. I don't like it when someone's nose is higher in the air than mine." Marie grinned, and Arland laughed. "That's damn hard to pull off." He sniped. "These people make it art. They draw shapes in the clouds with the tips of those long beaks of theirs. I'm amazed Argyros even has any room to fly." "I guess it's good I'm back here. I'd want to hit everyone there." "Even I wanted to." Marie snorted again, this time with distaste. "I came back here mostly to get away from them. You being here's a bit of a bonus." "Really?" Arland looked like someone had just presented him with a complex mathematical question, he was so confused. "Yeah." The Ordain girl answered with (false) sincerity. "You're less likely to put on a needlessly-complicated mess of colourful rags and call it a fashion trend. Or speak with any modicum of civility." "I don't know exactly what you just said but I'll take it as a compliment." Arland shrugged. "I'm a bit more likely to want to strangle you, though. Seems to be an Ordain family thing." "Hey, that's too far." Marie warned. Arland glanced at her and the put-out expression on her face and sighed. "Sorry. I guess. Uh.......I mean I'm....more likely to....something." "Smooth." She teased. "It's okay. I'm already quite aware of your general lack of intelligence." "Smarter than you..." Arland grumbled, taking another sip of juice as Marie laughed loudly. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- Amendale, meanwhile, was perusing the various caravans and merchant wagons. The heat of the crowds and the sun was nigh-unbearable, hence his casting an Endure Elements spell on himself. He wasn't used to these kind of temperatures. He was lucky it was a Divine spell, because most Mulhorandis were suspicious regarding arcane magic. He didn't want to get mobbed or kicked out of the market simply for wanting a reprieve from the oven-like conditions. He tried not to make it too obvious, but the moon elf was browsing the various flowers on sale, from hardy desert wildflowers to colourful foreign plants and souvenirs. He honestly didn't have much in the way of a plan regarding what he was going to buy, simply that he planned to get something. As he looked around he glanced Nawen near the animal cages, though he wouldn't have been able to do so if he hadn't seen Aodh fly to her. She looked like she was up to something, so Amendale summoned his owl. "Long time no see." He greeted. "I need shade. Feathers aren't meant for this kind of abuse." It replied. Amendale gave it its own Endure Elements spell as well, explained that it still needed shade because it only felt cooler, and then sent it to transfer an invisibility spell to Nawen, along with a message explaining that it would only last a few minutes before fading. Then Amendale went back to flower-shopping. Weyland appeared in the crowd a few minutes later, having finished up his shift in the dining hall. He was looking at the exact same stores Amendale was, so the moon elf slyly sidled up beside him. "Flowers for Dri?" He asked casually. "Yep." Weyland answered, cheeks reddening a bit. "What about you, flowers for Zorica?" "Yep." Amendale frowned. "Wait, how'd you figure it out?" "You're joking, right?" Weyland laughed. "I walked in on you two in the bath house." It was Amendale's turn to blush, but he grinned and took it in stride. "We were-" "You didn't even have a shirt on, you stlarning rascal!" Weyland grinned and thumped Amendale on the shoulder. ".....It didn't go farther than that, did it?" "No, no." Amendale grinned. "....Well, in a way. We were in the courtyard a few minutes later." "Ha!" The Grey almost doubled over with laughter. "So now you're going in for a second one, huh?" "Just trying to make her happy." Amendale replied meaningfully. "....But I wouldn't complain." "Got any idea what you're getting her?" Weyland asked. "Just ideas." "Well you're farther ahead than I am, then. I don't even know what kind of flower Dri likes." "What about colours? She got a favourite colour?" The moon elf asked. "Blue." "I swear, if it's because that's your eye colour, I'm going to have to burn you." Amendale's finger flickered with flame for a fraction of a second to prove his point. "Why, is that something that happens in those terrible, terrible books of yours?" Weyland jabbed him with his finger. "How would you know they're terrible when you can barely even read?" Amendale sniped. "The pictures on the front tell me everything I need to know." Registering a hit, Amendale's ear twitched in a vaguely canine fashion. Eager to change the topic, he gave Weyland his advice. "Get her some blue ones, then." "But what if she wants bright blue instead of dark blue?" "Get her two or three different types of blue, then. Think outside the box." ".....Thanks. Good luck with your lady, my friend." He clapped Amendale on the back after buying a few bouquets and vanished into the crowds. Amendale, meanwhile, was torn. He couldn't quite decide between purple, which was Zorica's favourite colour, or amber for another, deeper reason.... -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- It took Weyland quite a bit longer than he would have liked to find Dri, as she'd left the dining hall and was now casually keeping back and watching the chaos from her various pranks and shenanigans unfold and remaining as inconspicuous as possible. Weyland received a few dirty looks when he walked in from the two fashionably-challenged men from earlier, particularly the one that wore the purple undergarments. He just shot them his best "innocent" smile and went on his way, trying not to crush the bouquet beneath the tunic of his robes. "Try not to turn the whole place into a disaster zone. You might start a food fight amongst the prim-and-propers." He teased her, grinning from ear to ear. "That'd be funny." He heard her internal giggle in his head through the amulet. "Let's head off somewhere quieter for a minute. I got something to show you." He grinned when he knew he had her curiosity. He beckoned her follow him and then lead her to one of the quieter hallways. There was nobody around, so he stopped her once they got around the corner. She looked at him with a curious gaze that made his heart flutter. He adamantly refused to acknowledge this fact. "I got these for you." He presented her with a (only slightly ruffled) carefully-patterned group of flowers, arranged so that the colours seemed to pop out and each stand on their own. "I know you like the colour blue, but I wasn't sure which shade of blue, so-" Dri smiled broadly and sniffed them, letting out a little squeak of excitement that registered in Weyland's mind with no small amount of glee. Just as he smiled bashfully she threw her arms around him. "When did you get these?" She asked, "voice" trembling with excitement. "About fifteen minutes ago." He admitted. "Amendale came up with the multiple-shades idea." "It's the thought that counts, right?" She asked, smiling affectionately. And then she gently pulled his head down for a long, soft kiss.

"Anxious? You?" Sybille teased. "You've got nothing to worry about! The rest of us have busted our rears this whole time trying to learn how to use our dancing wings, you've already got that covered!" She flashed the Doomguide a cheeky grin. "If you're nervous, I'll be sure to steal the show to take the attention away from you. It'd be trivial." "I'm out of Westgate, along with Weyland, Arland, Marie and Annette. Lot of Westars in this bunch, actually. I think Shalena might be, as well." She shrugged. "Can't say I've ever been to Memnon myself. What's it like?"

Sybille gave Llhunara a smile. "Pleasure to properly meet you, too. Might as well get acquainted if we're traveling companions, yeah?" She shrugged. She took Lllhunara's question in stride when she asked what else Sybille would like to know, not missing a beat when she replied, "Whatever you feel like telling me. I won't try to pry, but I'm curious. Let's go with the basics: where are you from?" To answer Rhaine's greeting and question, she simply responded, "Morning to you too, Rhaine. I'm excited! Aren't you?"

Weyland paced restlessly around one of the common rooms, shield resting on his back and his blade in its sheath on his belt. Already there were a great number of people lounging about in an arrogant manner. Some of them carried themselves haughtily and kept their noses near the ceiling. Others simply sat down and drank from their mugs like they owned the place. Suddenly he understood why Menarses had decided to assign Arland a more secluded area: he's blow a gasket in here faster than Weyland could point out the snot in someone's nose, since they seemed to enjoy presenting their nostrils to anyone that wasn't a Mulhorand native. The heat was horrid, which seemed to inflame tempers, but unfortunately for Weyland, there hadn't been any fights for him to break up so far. As far as he could tell the only thing an incensed Mulhorandi did was sharpen their dagger of a tongue. With all the talk being thrown around the room Weyland tuned out most of the conversations he heard, but the snippets he caught (aided by some sort of spell that let him understand languages, Weyland couldn't figure out for the life of him what it was) were enough to make him almost- almost - want to instigate a few fights of his own. But he was better than that. Besides, if any of them got a little too barbed with their comments, he shot them something in (temporarily) fluent Mulhorandi. The embarassed shock on their faces was worth it every time. Still, spending any more than ten minutes on the job quickly got boring, and soon Weyland had to motivate himself into even keeping a proper eye on anything. He wished something would happen to alleviate the tedium of the job. He was just careful not to wish for anythign too bad. Some cheeky deity just might throw it at him to mess with him. Then, right on cue, two people shouted simultaneously and stood right up from their tables. Their eyes caught sight of one-another from across the room and narrowed, and they started towards each other. Only to trip on their boots and fall on their faces....after their pants slid down around their ankles and exposed their undergarments for the entire room to see. One of them was wearing a bright purple silky thing. He was especially laughed-at. "Oh my, I wonder how that happened." Weyland heard Dri's "voice" in his head just as he stood up from his spot leaning against the wall. The mischievous laughter she shuddered with was undeniable. "You know, I'm supposed to find the cause of such a disturbance." Weyland had trouble swapping back to Common after he had been speaking Mulhorandi for most of the morning. "After a detailed search and investigation, I have discovered that they're too dense to do up their belts properly." "And accidentally put the wrong rings on this morning. It seems they mixed them up." "Oh, my. It's just not their day, is it?" He grinned and looked at her, where she'd appeared from nowhere beside him. He adamantly denied the fact that she filled his stomach with butterflies. "No, but I think it might be yours." The mirth in her voice turned to warmth. And then she presented the large plate of bacon she was carrying. "As long as you don't eat more than your half, at least." "You're a lifesaver, Dri. Don't mind if I do." He turned to the fashionably-challenged victims of Dri's mischief and went back to Mulhroandi to say, "Please sort out your valuables- and your pants- between each-other before presenting yourselves again. For everybody's sake." and for all of their haughtiness, a few people in the room renewed their guffawing. He got a glare in return from the victimized....but he just shot an unimpressed, deadpan expression right back at them and waved as pretentiously and infuriatingly as he could for them to speed along on their way. Then he looked back at Dri. "Yep, it's my day alright. Wouldn't be if it weren't for you, though." He planted a kiss on her cheek. On a completely unrelated note, that was when Dri turned beet-red and almost choked on her bacon. "Hey now, choking to death is a sure-fire way to ruin my day!" He teased. She swallowed, laughed in silence and swatted him harmlessly on the arm. He laughed and ruffled her hair affectionately....making sure not to use his greasy bacon-fingers, of course. Her cheeks maintained a rosy pink pigmentation for a little while longer after that. "Wouldn't want that." She fired back once she'd regained her breath. Weyland wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close. And then ate some bacon. ------------------------------------------------------------- Sybille, meanwhile, was sitting bored over breakfast. She saw Llhuna slinking around and shrugged, not particularly caring about what she was doing, as long as it was mostly harmless. She decided, however, that she'd yet to properly introduce herself and decided to remedy that. Next time Llhunara came by, Sybille was leaning up against the wall by the doorway. "Good haul?" She asked, smirking. "Just try not to let the jingling give you away. You don't strike me as an amateur, though." She raised an eyebrow. "You're fine, though, I'm not the type to care about it if it's got to do with these snobs. Any Westar can spot the pattern a mile off, though. You know, I don't think we've been properly introduced yet. I'm Sybille Grey, merc that's a little far from home." She grinned. "I caught your name, but not much else. If you're the talkative type, at least."

Amendale took the hand offere to him and gave it a solid shake. "Think nothing of it, Nydeshka. I'm Amendale, as I've said. Good to see you up and about at last."

Over the course of the next few days Amendale alternated periods of reading with spending time with Zorica, exploring the estate to find quiet spots to himself, and occasionally checking up on the patient, whose name he did not yet know. Amendale was in the room when the unfortunate (and unwise) wanderer they'd pulled in from the desert began to awaken. He made sure that the newcomer didn't exert himself too quickly, saying little the entire while....though he did have something to say about his logic. "Monks," He began. "-go through extensive training for a significant portion of their lives. And even with that, this concept of "not needing water" you're talking about was likely magical in nature. Don't believe everything you hear in tales, my judgmentally-impaired friend." He raised an eyebrow. "You're quite lucky not to be knocking on your favored god's front door without a single grey hair on your head to show for it. I'm Amendale, a healer...though not the only one around here. Don't do anything strenuous for a few days while your body recovers." Sybille, meanwhile, was thoroughly enjoying the dancing practice that Menarses had them participate in, laughing and smiling through much of the choreography. She took the time to rib some of her fellows about how sore they got, or their displeasure at having to wear makeup, but her wide, mischievous grin made it clear that she was just having fun with them. Annette occasionally popped in to watch....and slipped them all muscle relaxants and paint-dissolvers she'd brewed in her spare time. Arland spent much of his time finding something to do, which usually amounted to drinking at the bar or swimming in a pool. More than once he could be found bickering with Marie, or snarking back-and-forth with her, often to the amusement of Weyland, who was often there to see it....though he avoided the water. Dri was joined at the hip with him, and the adoration which they shared for each-other was obvious. A few days later, suddenly somebody else reached the estate, carrying half-dead victims of the desert. Amendale, understandably, was exasperated. "What, more of them? Menarses, your estate is a magnet for these people." He sighed. "I'll get to healing them. Weyland, help me carry them, would you?"

Annette rolled her eyes at Connall. "Unsurprising." Amendale, meanwhile, was still busy teasing Annette. "Just because one's never danced in front of a crowd doesn't mean they're no good, you know." He quirked a sage eyebrow as he offered sage advice. Sagely. Arland grinned at Menarses. "See? Told ya every man needs bacon." Then suddenly someone went by on a stretcher. "Who in the hells is that?" Amendale took a glance at the individual on the stretcher before he muttered "Excuse me..." and got up from the table to follow them. "I'm a healer, I can take a look at him." One of them nodded, and they took the patient to the infirmary and laid him down. Amendale was quick to get to work, laying a damp cloth on his head and administering sips of water, careful not to give him too much lest he throw it all up. He exposed the traveler's feet to the air to help them cool off and flipped the cloth over. He considered using magic, but decided that he'd save it for if it was truly needed, as the victim was likely to make a full recovery without. Still, heatstroke was nothing to mess around with, so Amendale kept an eye on him and kept up the treatment. Now all he had to do was wait.

Arland zipped off to the kitchen, and from the ruckus that was quickly created it became immediately apparent that Arland did not mesh well with the prim-and-proper, orderly operations of the kitchen. Once he mentioned that he was there on Menarses's orders to show them how to make something he got to work. It involved a lot of improvisation and demonstration- "But that's the fish pan!" Someone whined in protest and was ignored. -but he managed, somehow, to get several pounds of bacon made. Perhaps it was shaped a little differently from the usual (he had to use meat not specifically made to be bacon.) bu it tasted mostly the same. He used one of his flaming blades as a stove to get it heated quickly, leading to a brief panic until he promised that he wasn't going to use it on anyone. "How...unsanitary." The same cook commented. "Shuddup it's worth it, trust me." Arland shot back. Amendale came downstairs clad in loose pants and a plain shirt, gifts from their host. He yawned, stretched, and grinned hugely at Zorica, like they were sharing some inside joke instead of feelings for one-another...though it was mostly to prevent the less perceptive amongst Rhaine's little posse of suspecting anything. He sent her a questioning look to try and get a read on whether she cared or not. Sybille raised an eyebrow at the disastrous-sounding racket coming from the kitchen. "I can't tell if he's cooking or destroying the place." "Probably a bit of both." Amendale commented, and Sybille smirked. Once the scent of bacon wafted throughout the building, it didn't take long for Weyland and Dri to appear, hands touching. They both looked like they'd slept in a pigeon's nest if the colossal bedhead-hair was anything to go by, but the groggy smiles on their faces indicated that they didn't give a care in the world about their hair. "Mornin', everyone." Weyland greeted. Dri's greetings were incoherent barely-conscious jumbles that were half greeting, and half her smelling bacon and pursuing it mindlessly. A clang from the kitchen woke her up pretty quickly. "What's happening?" She chittered. "It sounds like Argyros tried to go full scaley and didn't fit." Was Weyland's response. Dri giggled. "Arland's showing them how to cook bacon." Sybille explained. "Oh, and Rhaine and I are gonna be dancing in a festival. Maybe Zorica too. I get to be Hathor." Weyland raised his eyebrows. "Sounds like a lot of fun." "Waitwait...Zorica, you're going to dance?" Amendale smiled. "It'll be awe-inspiring, I'm sure." "Me, I'm hopin' to see which between Rhaine and I are the better dancer." Sybille raised an eyebrow at the Doomguide. "Although I'm calling an unfair advantage, what with the dramatic-looking wings and all." She grinned mischievously. Annette silently made her way down the stairs and investigated the noise in the kitchen without a word, before sitting beside Connall with a thump. She swung her legs and followed the conversation with amused amber eyes, but didn't contribute. Marie was one of the last people down, and she sat quietly beside Sybille, also opting not to contribute to the discussion. With any luck, she wouldn't be picked for dancing, but she got the feeling that being agile and lithe she quite possibly could be anyways. She just hoped that wasn't the case. "Connall, why's it sound like the mansion's under siege?" Annette piped up, looking at the werewolf with an eyebrow quirked. Arland took that opportunity to arrive with all five-to-ten pounds of bacon either in his arms or in tow. "Because of this semi-improvised masterpiece!" He declared. "Menarses, behold.....a Grey family delicacy." "I don't even know where we got the meat to eat as much as we used to." Sybille said, frowning in confusion. "Oh I usually stole it." Typical Arland statement. "Tuck in before it's gone!"

As the dinner progressed, Sybille- in-between giant mouthfuls of quail - proceeded to explain that herself, her brothers and the Ordain sisters were from Westgate, and went on to comment that it was apparently a hotspot for both criminals and dracolich-slayers. As the dinner wound down, suddenly Sybille found herself eager for a bath and some rest. The attitude seemed to be shared amongst everyone in the group. "I ought to shave, too..." Arland muttered. "Can't have myself looking like Azuris..." "Or someone who's never heard of a razor. Which is what you actually look like." Marie commented, thumping him on the arm. He shot her a grin. "Greasy enough to fry bacon." "Bacon..." Suddenly Arland's eyes were distant. "Oh, great. Now he's off in la-la land. Nice job, Marie." Sybille jabbed. "He's probably imagining you wearing nothing but bacon, sister." In came Annette on a blazing saddle. Metaphorically. "There are worse things to think about." Marie shrugged, raising what Annette hoped was a sarcastic coy eyebrow. "Damn right..." Arland murmured. Sybille thumped him. "Mind out of the gutter please." "But it lives there!" Arland protested.

Weyland narrowed his eyes at Menarses as his eyes raked the women of the group, Dri included. He felt unease- whether it was his or Dri's, he couldn't tell - faintly in the back of his mind. It was a brief moment, however, and then his servants appeared. Beside him, Arland mumbled, "Oh, this one's a character.." but shrugged and played along. Both of the Grey brothers couldn't help but look a little bug-eyed at the luxury within the mansion. Sybille, having lived in a decent-sized house for a few years, had a less pronounced reaction. Even the Ordains looked impressed, however. At the table, Weyland sat beside Dri, to nobody's surprise. Rather unexpectedly, however, Marie actually took a set beside Arland. Sybille sat beside Annette, and Amendale beside Zorica. The Greys were quick to dig into the fish, with Sybille grinning at Menarses and praising it. "It's been years since I've had a great piece of fish like this." Weyland said, impressed. "Compliments to the cook!"

"Might as well have him along, if he can help us out." Weyland stated with a shrug. "Whatever gets us closer to killing Valthanarax for good." "And if all else fails, it's twenty against one." Arland interjected. "And if all else succeeds, we take out another phylactery....and stlarn if I'm not getting damned sick of these phylacteries. And this dracolich." "As long as he knows I'll have my eye on him." Marie warned. "Same goes for you, Llhunara." "I guess that settled it, then." Sybille declared. "Unless you have any objections, Rhaine?"

The journey along the road was hot and tedious. Amendale's black cloak had been sitting at the bottom of his pack for days, as had Annette's nearly-identical one. None of the Greys wore any armor, opting for simple clothing and then, later on, Annette and Arland even switched into white desert robes. Amendale inconspicuously slipped Zorica a book and grinned at her. Weyland and Dri, as usual, rode side-by-side, not saying much but communicating with warm smiles or touches of the hand. Occasionally Amendale would opt to fly, lazily flitting to and fro in the air. He offered to teach Annette the spell later that night, an offer she eagerly accepted. When two newcomers appeared on the horizon, both Marie and Arland subconsciously rode out to the exterior of the group, intending to take action quickly if they turned out to be hostile. While they didn't seem it (yet), it never hurt to be cautious. "Hello there!" Sybille greeted the newcomer from a distance. "We're friendly too!" "Most of us, anyway." Arland commented, raising an eyebrow at Marie. She kicked him in the shin. Gritting his teeth, he muttered, "....Some exceptions, though!" "Only if it's you." Marie snarked, and Annette stifled a laugh behind her. Once this newcomer announced her lack of directional sense, Amendale drifted up to the front of the group to speak. "We can at least help you with directions, if you'd like. And if you're short on rations I can provide some myself." "Amendale, you're still airborne." Weyland commented. "Damn showoff." Arland muttered. Amendale planted his feet on the ground and shrugged. "He's one of our sparklefingers. He'll wave his hand and get you some grapes or something." "If he gets bacon Dri and I call dibs." Weyland interjected, and then told Dri, "Most of it'd be for you, of course." Arland looked at Marie and made a gagging motion. "Pardon the bantering." Sybille rolled her eyes, but smiled nonetheless. "I'm Sybille Grey. The idiot that's never heard of a razor is my brother Arland, the lovebird's Weyland. This is Rhaine-" She gestured to the Doomguide. "-she leads us by kicking arse and doing her best imitation of a black swan what with the wings and all." She shot Rhaine a cheeky smirk. "Flyboy elf's Amendale, Shalena's the redhead without the wings and....oh, I probably oughta not hit ya with so many names." "You confused me." Arland declared. "Not hard to do." Marie sniped.

Ooooh, Silithus is gonna LIKE this guy :devil:

"Some sort of disease or sickness." Annette reported to Nawen. "Whatever it is it's something that you'd probably be able to identify. I can brew potions; I can't do much with regards to nature or the wilderness. I don't think Amendale would be more suited to the job than you, either. She's got a curative potion in her, so she should be alright for a while." "What's going on?" Weyland asked. "Who's she? Is she alright?" "I think they used to know her." Arland pointed out. "Can't be that bad a sort, then." Marie murmured to herself. "Well I've never heard of an evil dryad." Sybille commented. "But then, I've never met a dryad." ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ The Kryptgarden was dead. Perhaps not all of it, but a sizable percentage of it. Miles by miles of leafless trees and yellow grass, withered plants and toxic water. Blackened soil, dead wildlife, even the birds, diseased and feral and curled up in death. Some had, in a rabid frenzy, torn others apart before themselves falling to pestilence unnatural. Silithus looked at the carnage with a twisted, crooked smile plastered on his face. A showy, billowing black cloak fluttered in the stale breeze. Ravenna had given him a new outfit, one much more practical than his old one. A set of robes coloured as black as midnight, embroidered with scarlet trimming and rope-like patterns, he wore a dark-grey tunic with a violet gem embedded in the chest, with emeralds the colour of moss flowing down the lapels. His staff was the same one he'd used since the beginning of his life, with a cat 'o' nine-tails on one end, rusty and slimy, and barbed points topping the end of the staff. He wandered aimlessly around his wondrous painted canvas of misery, spreading his arms with joy. Between his cracked laughing he muttered fervent prayers and praises to the Ladies of Pain and Disease, gripping his jagged staff so tightly that his hands bled, letting his viscous, diseased blood flow down the shaft and fertilize the dead soil at his feet. He ran his tongue along one of the tails on the end of the weapon, and black fingernails tore at his cheeks. "-Oh witness this shrine of agony I did build for you-" "You're the one who did this." A woman's voice snarled. Something behind him growled. "Isn't it glorious?" He shrieked, his mind gripped in the throes of perverted dementia. "A wonderful little art piece I have made! Beautiful..." Then a lightning bolt slammed into his chest, and thousands of volts seared their way through his body with a boom a thunder. Silithus stumbled backwards with a howl...of joy. Still twitching, he sighed with pleasure even as he gnashed his teeth in pain. And then, Elaril Del'Ferrill found out just how demented a psychopath she had to face.

Annette blushed in the face of Rhaine's praise. "I-I don't think....Nothing they couldn't have done-" "Oh, just take the compliment!" Sybille rolled her eyes and clapped Annette on the shoulder, lightly enough that she didn't knock the girl over. "I think this makes you an official hero, Annie!" "As if she didn't already outstrip us by a mile." Marie smirked. "Your potions made us more money than all of our merc work combined." "It's pretty good, but I've made more than this in a day before." Arland brushed his shoulder off nonchalantly. "Illegally, of course." Marie countered. "Of course!" He agreed. "Murdering and stealing for the most part. Like you did from us." She glowered at him. "Never had to work for it." "Not that you'd know anything about hard work, princess." Arland snarked obnoxiously. "I'll bet rich parents and some light merc work was so hard. How ever did you not pass out from exhaustion? Us peasant farmers don't know a thing about hard labor!" ""I've killed your type before"? Do you not care that some people you cut down actually have loved ones?" "Am I still not forgiven for that? Last time you got a little heated up over it....well, you were heated up, alright. I lit you on fire." "And I put a hole in your lung. Maybe that can be arranged again." "You wouldn't. I really don't want to light you up again. I really, honestly don't." "Enough." Sybille ordered. "Marie, don't argue with an idiot. He'll bring you down to his level and beat you with...a lot... of experience." She smirked. "Yeah, take tha- wait a minute..." "She called you an idiot, Arland." Amendale stated bluntly. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- On the way out of Eartheart, Sybille stooped down and squeezed Dagny into a tight hug, giving her a wistful, bittersweet goodbye and a warm smile before they went on their way. She hadn't been with the group long, but she'd grown quite attached to the young Defender. Once on the road, it took little more than a few hours for Arland and Marie to gradually seem to melt the ice between them and ride side-by-side. Amendale flipped and looped lazily in the air as he used an Overland Flight spell, occasional flying circles around Zorica, Nawen or Weyland. Every now and again he'd disappear to the edge of the horizon and fly back again, much more somber before his mood picked up again. Then the process repeated itself. With the mules having been hasted, they made extremely good time. Two days into their journey, once they hit the Council Hills, Amendale vanished into the woods. He found a spot overlooking miles of land as the sun began to go down and kept to himself there. The Greys set up shop in the cabins. Arland sat beside Marie at the campfire after they both disappeared behind one of the cabins for a few short minutes. Things between them were obviously tense....but Arland inconspicuously slipping his hand over Marie's and receiving a warm smile in return was something not lost on Sybille, who gave Marie a wink and Arland a warning crack of the knuckles. Zorica went off into the woods, seemingly to look for Amendale. Annette, meanwhile, noticed the flash out of the corner of her eye and looked at it curiously. She was quick to notice the humanoid figure, an impressively-endowed....Dryad? But something was wrong. She stumbled and fell to the ground. Annette rushed over, brushing aside Ianthe as she went. "Are you alright?" She asked, but the dryad was out cold. Her foliage-hair was yellowed and dying, and her breathing was labored. Annette reached into her pockets, looking for a healing potion. She found one and supported the dryad's head, tilting her head back so she could administer some of the powerful but foul-tasting mixture. "Somebody get Rhaine. Go on!" She barked. The potion, a leftover from the ones to cure disease she'd made to counteract the poisoned river's effects, was exactly what she needed. It began the process of helping flush toxins from the dryad's system. As she began to stir, Annette kept her still. "Help is here, have no fear. We've the means on hand to heal you, just give us a few seconds." -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- He heard her coming from a good distance off, but Zorica seemed to appear out of the trees from nowhere. The steel dwarven breastplate she'd received in Earthheart glittered fiercely in the blazing orange light of the desert sunset, but even then he didn't spot it until she stepped out into the clearing where the soil of the forest turned to stone before plunging down a sheer cliff face to the grasslands below. "What brings you out here?" Amendale asked loudly, an eyebrow raised. She carefully picked her way around the scrub brush and into the open, crossing her arms atop her chest with a sigh, "Just thought you shouldn't be going anywhere alone." She paused before adding, "And...I kind of wanted to talk with you." She looked out over the sprawling plains that eventually transitioned into even drier and sparser land, "Pretty in an odd sort of way, isn't it?" He nodded, and followed her gaze out towards the plains that ultimately stretched onto the horizon and into Mulhorand. The sun was setting over the mountains to the west, casting colossal shadows that stretched for miles, and lighting the sky up in a blaze of glory. "Especially during the evening, yes." He looked back at her. "What'd you want to talk about?" The half-drow shrugged, "Just...seeing if you were doing all right. Are you?" She glanced at him quizzically, the sunlight reflecting gold in her eyes. Amendale's expression seemed to drop and he looked back over the cliff face as he thought about it. "...Far better than I'd ever have expected. I'll recover. I guess at this point that's all that really matters." She frowned, "Are you all right with the notion we might never find who did this?" "No. But if I dwell on that idea I'll never heal." He looked her in the eyes. "I can't help anybody if I'm obsessed." Zorica glanced away abruptly and visibly swallowed hard, her mouth set in a thin line, "But how else will justice be dealt, then? If people stand idly by and let villains get away with their wrongdoing, then we allow it to happen to future victims...future generations." He nodded. "That's true. But on a similar note, if we let our metaphorical wounds fester instead of letting them heal, we're no good to anyone, be it now or in the future." He frowned, thinking over her words. "...But you have a point that I can't counter. Maybe I'll talk to Rhaine about hunting down whoever did that. She's probably eager to tear their throat out herself as-is, anyway." Zorica chuckled, "She is. This I know. Whatever happened to her during that battle...that was...awe-inspiring to say the least. And she is certainly not satisfied knowing that the culprit is, for now, beyond our reach. Knowing her, she won't rest until she finds them...albeit, for a different reason." "Sounds like we both get what we want, then." He stated, shrugging. "What about you? How've you been holding up? Are you okay?" "I'm," she hesitated, not meeting his eyes, "I'm all right, I suppose. As good as I can be. Probably better than you. I guess." She looked down at her toes, "Thanks...for asking, I mean." "Anytime." He replied with a warm smile. "Say, that reminds me..." He raised an eyebrow. "You asked what I'd be protecting when I said I wouldn't let a blade touch you. Called yourself a worthless half-breed, drow-blooded piece of trash." He shook his head, stood up from his seat and leaned against a tree. He wasn't wearing his usual black cloak, leaving his dark hair to sharply contrast the kaleidoscope of brilliant hues around him, as well as the white desert clothing he was clad in. "What makes you think I'd judge you for your race? I don't think any less of you for it. So why do you?" She snorted, "Hmph. I'm the daughter of a prostitute and a Drow mercenary, an orphan for much of my life and a thief just as long. And the one person who gave me a purpose other than thieving is now dead. I'd say I don't have that much going for me other than a bullheaded determination and the desire to try and do something good for once." "A winning combination." He grinned. "That's all you need to make something of yourself. Who your parents were doesn't matter so much as who you are." She cracked a small smile, "Glad you think so." He kept smiling. "I absolutely do." "You're too nice." "Well I suppose if you want rude you could always go and talk to Arland." He shrugged, bemused. "Personally, though, I enjoy your company too much to endorse such a course of action." She raised an eyebrow, a bit taken aback by his compliment. Of course she'd known Amendale to be nice...he was always nice...but this was...really nice. Her eyes narrowed, "Do you, now? And what exactly do you like about my generally boring, dry, sarcastic, and pessimistic company?" That caught him off-guard. "I-uh...wait, wh-" He shook his head, his grin reduced to a curl of the lip. "Dryness and sarcasm aren't things to dislike, I assure you. I protest the very notion of you considering yourself boring, and pessimistic? That has its own charm." He felt colour go to his cheeks and his (rather visible) elven ears and wished dearly that somebody had invented a spell to prevent blushing. His expression, however, turned serious. "Other than that...I'd have to say that at least some of it is empathy. I see you feeling forlorn, and I want to help. As well as your own compassion." Her mouth split into a grin, "You keep calling me that...compassionate. Am I, really?" He nodded, raising an eyebrow. "Well, twice now you've asked me if I'm holding up alright, you want to do good for the sake of it, and- sorry for bringing this up- it grieves you that you didn't defend your friend to the death. I'd call that compassion...and I was raised by bards. I read a lot of literary texts." "Well," she looked away, "Don't want it to look like I'm trying too hard." "Why not?" He asked. "It's nothing to be ashamed of." Zorica huffed and hunched her shoulders, "Many people find their end in being too kind." "Well, I can safely say that at ninety-one I haven't met my end just yet." He stated flippantly. She snorted again, "Obviously. Unless you're a damn good-looking zombie." "I think if I was I'd catch fire every time I used a spell. It'd be funny until I started dying. Again, as the case would be." She smirked, "And then I'd have to run you through, you know." His lips quirked with amuement. "And I'd be trying to chew on your pretty face. Can't have that." A blush crept unbidden into her cheeks, tinting them a rosy lavender, "Are you calling me pretty, Amendale?" "Well, considering you flattered me by declaring me good-looking by zombie standards I decided to return the favor. Just with a lot less sarcasm." A short, awkward silence passed. "...Yes, I'm calling you pretty." She chuckled, "Well...I...haven't heard that one in a while is why I ask. Last time I heard that, I'd just pickpocketed the drunk who said it. Came away lucky that time." Amendale snorted. "Pity they never put stories like that into any of the romance tales. They take themselves too seriously." She raised an eyebrow, "Have a lot of experience with those romance tales, do you?" He blanched, having had her stop him in his tracks for the second time today. "Well....okay, fine, I used to read them by the dozens. Happens when you're borne of Bards." Zorica's blush deepened, "Well...I'll be honest...when I was younger...so did I. Used to steal into rich folks' libraries. Kind of funny how many of those are in places like that. But anyway..." she trailed, and then gave him a sly amber wink, "I won't tell if you won't." He winked back. "Cross my heart, hope to die. Except for the "hope to die" part." He smiled at her. "Weyland knows, nobody else does. Actually, he used to embarass himself perousing through a bookstore to get one for me every now and again. So if he finds out, don't worry about it. Anyone else, though..." "My lips are sealed," she grinned.

"Sure." Amendale croaked, and gestured towards the seat. They sat there in silence for a minute, with Amendale biting off a small chunk of apple. Once he swallowed, he looked her in the eyes. "I just wanted to say thank you. For supporting me, I mean. It meant a lot to know that you care." He tried to smile at her, but only succeeded in a curl of the lips. Then his eyes were downcast again, and he said nothing. Arland, sitting at a table, watched Tannin with some suspicion as he followed the troubled Nawen upstairs. He wasn't sure what had Nawen to upset this morning, but evidently it did indeed have something to do with the half-drow, and Arland was not pleased to see her in such a state...though he'd never admit it. If he wronged her, Arland decided that he'd join Rhaine in teaching Tannin a lesson. Of course, he'd never admit to agreeing with Rhaine on something, either, so he didn't say anything on the subject. Fahlgrod's arrival, thankfully, gave Arland something he could direct his anger towards. The old dwarf's words threatened to ignite the extinguished flame within him that had led to his becoming a fugitive wanted from Westgate to Shadowdale. He turned around and glared at the prissy pile of beard in front of Rhaine. "Oh, this one's a piece of work..." He muttered venomously. He was well-aware that Rhaine stood no more than a foot to his right, but he was more than willing to face her wrath this time. "The Flamehearts here are certainly more respectable than other dwarves I've met, present company included." His eyes narrowed. "Certainly more respectable than the puffed-up, useless sad sack that just walked in the door and accused us of poisoning an entire city. The useless wrinkle who, might I add, failed to notice an entire village of Bodaks and Devourers not five miles up the road, letting them run around and kill people. Does that sound like someone respectable to you, Chosen?" He directed the question at Rhaine. "He's certainly not as respectable as the two Drow amongst us, who've proven themselves a lot braver and better than this fat, entitled pig." For the sake of not being forced to kill Fahlgrod and his guards in self-defense, Arland didn't spit on him as he was sorely tempted to. "Do the robes and beard compensate well enough for your other shortcomings, Stumpy? Or is that what the guards are for?" Rhaine opened her mouth to speak but was interrupted by Falhgrod, whose face had reddened to a brilliant shade of crimson, "Why, you insolent little beardless spawn of human filth! I hope ye realize ye aren't helpin' yer case, any!" Dagny and her mother stared open-mouthed at the dwarf and at Arland, both of them shocked at Falhgrod's behavior, which was nothing like him...or what they had thought was him. Both were certain that something had changed him... "Can't even take an insult like a real dwarf could. Bet he couldn't take a hit, either." Arland squared his shoulders. Marie appeared behind him, wondering what all the shouting was about. Arland didn't notice her. "I've killed your type before, dwarf. Other lumps of stlarning filth that thought they were better than everyone else. Especially us "filthy" peasant-born." He gestured to himself, leering at the wizened old man. "Let's hope you don't make the same mistake, Fahlgrod. Or your wipers won't stop me from lighting that beard aflame and seeing if poisoned water can put it out." Marie disappeared upstairs again. "Arland, that's enough!" Rhaine barked, "Keep digging a hole with your mouth and we'll all pay the price!" She turned to the dwarf, "As for you, I would keep silent before making such foolish assumptions ever again. No, Eartheart is not home to any of us but Dagny, but we owe it to her to aid her kinfolk, whether we help the whole city in the process or not. This water problem, as I understand it, has decimated her clan, and you throwing around insults and pointing fingers is entirely useless. Unlike what we have done." "Not enough for me, it's not." Arland shot back. "I'd be more than willing to dig a hole for him, too, if he tries anyth-" "If I might interrupt!" Marie shouted. "My sister's been studying a sample of river water all night now. She says she's found something." "I have." Annette stated. She held a flask in her hand half-full of a viscous black liquid. It seemed to shift and move of its own volition. "This is the toxin in the river." She held the flask up to show them. "I've never seen anything quite like this before. It's some kind of black magic, highly potent. A quick sip from this flask can kill three men. Only somebody with a lot of experience and skill weaving the sort of magic that makes a virulent illness such as this could be responsible. This is a curse from Talona herself, perhaps a creation by one of her priests. The only way to extract this from the water was to evaporate the water, which is now safe to drink." "I assure you," Amendale stated. "That nobody who travels with Rhaine has the capacity within them to perform an act so foul. I know not if any of us have the ability to do so." "I'll bet you feel like a real fool now, don't you, dwarf?" Arland crossed his arms and gave Fahlgrod a baleful stare. "Anything to say for yourself, or shall we bring this information to someone useful?"

Arland gave Argyros a quick summary of the day's events in the form of, "Something killed the elves, raised them from the dead, and almost killed us all. There were these really big ones, too. Rhaine called 'em Devourers, they eat souls. Rest of 'em were Bodaks and ghouls." Amendale quickly disappeared into his room, after which Arland explained, "It was Amendale's old clan. He's freshly orphaned, now." Weyland shot him a stern look that told Arland to start treating the matter a bit more respectfully, and the clenched fist showed him the consequences if he failed. The youngest Grey hid a scoff and went to find the nearest alcoholic beverage while Weyland, too, went back to his room. He removed his armor and got changed into a clean set of clothes consisting of a beige button-up shirt (the sleeves of which he quickly pushes up past his elbow to help cope with the heat) and dark-brown pants, and a fresh pair of socks. He sat on the side of his bed with his sword in its sheath leaned up against the frame and rested his head on his hands, just glad to be able to sit down and rest after the battle. He decided that Amendale needed his space and left him alone for the moment. He heard the door shift open, and his eyes darted to the doorway and found Dri slipping her way in with him. He gave her the best warm smile he could muster given his weariness and sorrow, and the changeling sat beside him on the bed, radiating concern. I heard what happened. Are you okay? She asked him, eyes wide. "Yeah." He told her. "I'm alright. I got knocked around a little, but I'll only have a few bruises to show for it. It's Amendale I'm worried about, personally. He took the biggest hit in every sense of the word. All of the people he grew up with we just had to kill, and during the battle he had his entire side shredded right through his mail." Weyland sighed. "It just makes me all the more glad you weren't there to witness it, Dri. It was terrible. Amendale even had his mother's spirit speak to him before she drifted into the afterlife." At least he had the gift of closure. She replied. Weyland felt her wistfulness. "That he did." He nodded. "I think Amendale needs his space right now, so I'll talk to him later. For now, I'm just glad to have you safe and sitting here beside me." He smiled at her, slipping his arm around her shoulders and pulling her into a hug. I'm happy you're safe, too. Her thoughts echoed, cuing Weyland to cup her face in both hands and press his lips to her forehead. He both saw and felt her flush. They were inseparable for the whole night, and eventually the two of them fell asleep together on the bed, curled against each-other. ------------------------------------------------------------------------- Amendale was the first awake in the morning, awake after a fitful, restless sleep. He awoke sweaty, having long since kicked his blanket off of himself. He wearily crawled out of bed and rubbed his eyes, shaking his head to clear it of the haunting images within. He sighed, keeping quiet, vaguely aware that he was sharing a room. When he glimpsed Zorica, asleep on the too-short bed across from his, memories of the night beforehand suddenly came back to him, and he smiled at her sleeping form. He draped her blanket back over her as gently as he could. At breakfast, Amendale found he didn't have an appetite. He grabbed an apple and nibbled on it, feeling exhausted but unable to sleep. Nawen appeared a few hours later, a forlorn expression on her face. He couldn't find it in him to speak, so he stared blankly ahead of him, dark bags under his eyes as he took another small bite of apple. When Weyland appeared another hour later, he shot Amendale an encouraging look and patted him reassuringly on the back, but he left Amendale alone, for which the elf was grateful. Weyland brought back an entire breakfast to his room and left it on the nightstand beside the sleeping Dri, complete with eggs, bread, and half a plate of bacon. It took a few minutes, but the smell eventually roused her from her sleep in her typical trance-like state. She sat up- this time still clothed - to follow the smell and grab some bacon for herself, but Weyland lid his hand on her shoulder and kept her there. "No need to go wandering off." He smirked, and handed her the plate. "I brought your bacon to you this time." Confused, she looked blankly at the object he held in front of her until suddenly her brain started working again. She shot him a big smile which- combined with her sleep-tousled hair - made Weyland's heart skip a beat, and dug in. Even in the natural form she'd reverted to after she'd fallen asleep, Weyland found her absolutely adorable. He had to laugh at her eagerness. "Careful not to take my hand off while you're at it, eh?" He mocked, grinning.

Weyland helped retrieve the bodies of the elves that were scattered about, lugging them to the pile in the center of the clearing and arranging them so that they looked as peaceful as he could arrange in their often-mutilated state. After a few minutes even Amendale stood up and helped, moving corpses with telekinesis and- for the lighter ones - muscle power. He looked empty, robotic. Weyland tried his best to convey his sympathy; Amendale nodded his acknowledgement and moved on. He moved out to the outer fringes of the village, gathering bodies from there. It was when a tree spontaneously exploded that Weyland decided to talk to his friend. Amendale stood, shaking with rage, in front of a flat stone slab. Atop it lay a body with black hair, pronounced cheekbones and golden eyes just like Amendale's. If Weyland hadn't just seen her spirit pass on into the afterlife he wouldn't have been able to identify her as Amendale's mother. "Look at what they did. Mystra forgive me for my outburst, but...look." Indeed, the body on the slab had been tied down and mutilated. The lacerations were covered in various substances ranging from salt to alcohol, as the nearby containers identified. Disease had withered her frame until she was skeletal, and her eyes stared blankly into the sky. Without going into further detail, it was quite obvious she'd been tortured to the brink of death before her soul was drained from her body. Amendale vanished behind a building to throw up. Weyland paled and felt his own breakfast turn over in his stomach, and he barely forced it down. "Ugh...Rhaine, can you give us a hand? I don't think Amendale's in any state to cremate her himself and....we can't move her." "No." Amendale barked, wiping his mouth and standing up again. "I do this myself." "If that's what you want." "She's passed on." Amendale stated. "But I'm not leaving her body here to rot." With a wave of his hand, the entire slab caught fire. "I only wish we had a blanket to lay over her." He added despairingly as the body was disintegrated. He made the work as fast as he could...he wouldn't draw this out any longer than was necessary. He knew his mother wouldn't want him to. A gust of wind carried the ashes away. Once the bodies were gathered in the center, Amendale lit them aflame as well, head bowed. He grieved for everyone, not just his mother...they hadn't found his father's body anyway. The implications of that- that he could be one of the unrecognizable undead- nearly led him to detonate another tree. It was finished quickly. "Let's go." He stated, and walked stiffly to the horses.

"Ow! What- how- when- where- oh!" Arland jabbered in response to the slap, bolting upright into a sitting position so fast he came an inch from knocking both of them out with an accidental headbutt. He grabbed the two unwillingly-discarded Anarchist's blades he'd lost and hopped to his feet, ready to keep fighting, but the final threat fell to pieces- quite literally - moments later. Even Arland had to gape at the sheer savage efficiency of Zorica's relentless assault. In the wake of such skill and despite the enchantments he saw glowing on her own blades, he felt his respect for her fighting ability increase sevenfold. Afterwards, his eyes followed the spirit of an elven woman, translucent and glowing with a pale silvery light, with long hair flowing in slow motion, defying gravity just as the spirit itself did. Amendale looked up into the spirit's eyes as it- she -caressed his cheek with an ethereal hand, wiping away the tears silently streaking down his face and whispering to him in Elvish. "Don't cry for me, Amendale." She told him. "I lived a happy life. Now it's time for you to go live yours, with all its adventures and bumps. I'm very proud of you, and I'll always love you." She kissed him gently on the forehead and faded until nothing remained where her spirit was. Amendale whispered his own love for her and slumped, sagging onto his knees and staring blankly in front of him. Suddenly he felt completely numb, like a shell. He couldn't put together a coherent thought or feeling, nor could he move. When she approached him, he only felt the weight of Rhaine's hand on his shoulder, none of the warmth. He heard her words, not the empathy behind them. She asked if he was all right. "That was my mother." He spoke hollowly, and fell silent once again. Weyland stared at his friend, having absolutely no idea what to do. He wanted to comfort Amendale somehow, but nothing he could do would ever make him feel better at this point. He shuffled over and clapped Amendale on the shoulder, unsurprised at the lack of a response it garnered. Helpless, Weyland looked forlornly at Rhaine and walked away.

"Connall, move." Weyland ordered. The werewolf obliged, and the warrior lunged forwards and plunged his sword through the Devourer's forehead and buried it up to the crossguard. Even so, the creature attempted to claw at him before the electricity that raced through its body incited muscle spasms powerful enough to prevent it putting up any kind of defense while its brain burned as volt upon volt arced through at the speed of light. Only when he was certain that it would move no more did Weyland yank the blade out with a squelch and a zip. "I love lightning. It kills everything." Weyland laughed shakily, not out of emotional fallout but rather exhaustion and the soreness of his ribs. "Let's go finish this." Amendale threw spell after offensive spell at the Devourer in front of him, scorching it with fire and holy magic alike, ripping at it and tearing it to shreds, peeling muscle from bone and reducing flesh to ashes. And yet still it did not go down; in fact, it closed the distance between the two of them with blinding speed and hit Amendale so hard that it claws sailed right through his mithril chainshirt and plating and sent him flying ten, twenty feet in a spray of blood. He landed in a heap in the dirt, squirming and delirious with pain. Lifeblood gushed from his side and pooled in the dirt around him. Without even the air in his lungs to gasp with, Amendale shuddered as he struggled to force air into his lungs and complete the casting of a healing spell, but he could not. One lung had been pierced and deflated, and he desperately tried for even the weakest healing spell to no avail. Then he remembered a snippet of his training. He cleared his head, focusing as hard as he could, and completed the motions to one of his most powerful healing spells without uttering a word, casting silently. The gaping maw that had been the hole in his side closed for the most part, but most importantly, his lung reformed itself and suddenly the sweetest air he'd ever breathed he sucked in greedily. His vision pulsed even as he finished his own healing with a second, weaker spell. He was too weak to stand and lay there in the grass, kneeling down and trying to recover. He was out of this fight. The other downed combatant, Arland, came to as healing magic coursed through his body. Jolted as he opened his eyes to the grey skies above and blinked to clear his vision. Rhaine's fiery hair was the first thing he could properly make out, followed by the rest of her rather angry-looking features. "You know, the last time I opened my eyes to find you hovering over me like that it ended.....much, uh....differently. You tried to stab me right afterwards, though, so I guess this is real life. Shame."

Arland growled and charged the pack of bodaks rushing Rhaine, coming in from the side and slamming into the first one with his shoulder. While his siblings perhaps would have made a much more powerful entrance, the force was still sufficient enough to send the bodak stumbling away while Arland tore into the pack, slashing and cutting and impaling with both blades in a whirlwind of fire and mithril. He set several of them on fire, and those ones in particular he tried to force into others so the flames would spread. Spinning and swinging at roughly head-level, Arland lucked out and instantly slew two of them when the Anarchist's blades sailed through their rotten flesh, shattering skulls and destroying brains. They toppled over and landed in the grass; one was aflame, but with no grass to burn the only way the fire spread was through contact with other dry flesh. The bodaks were quick to counter, attacking him as a pack that battered him severely. He was thumped and clawed and punched and scraped, but he hit right back. The fire took its toll on the crowd; one of them burned so badly that it collapsed on the spot and died there with another quickly following. Arland sliced a chunk out of an arm that reached out to grab him, leaving it hanging on by a few putrid hamstrings and a lump of bone and forced another back when he pivoted around on his ankle to watch his rear and kicked it squarely in the chest, sending it tumbling. Another came at him from the side so blindingly fast that Arland barely had time to prepare a defense before it raked its claws across his face, a blow that cut him wide open the temple to the jaw. Arland shouted and stumbled backwards into the grabbing arms of the pack. He managed to throw one over his shoulder and stomp its brains into the dirt before he was dragged to the ground by the rest of them and swarmed. Quickly disarmed of one of his swords, he used the other to cut the hamstrings out from one of them and hit it squarely in the temple with the pommel of his remaining weapon twice, killing it, before one fell on top of him and kept swiping again and again at him. He let go of his second blade and grappled with it, wrenching its head sideways and snapping its neck. It fell on him, pinning him to the ground. Out of the half of them left of the original ten, three of them were still trying to kill Rhaine instead of him. That left two of them for him to deal with instead of five. That's where his luck ended, however. The two bodaks still trying to kill him did some damage in the attempt. An unseen blow hit him in the head and his head snapped back, slamming into the hard ground, and suddenly his entire world went black. Amendale did not allow his sudden shock at the appearance of a second Devourer faze him, and immediately he reacted. Muttering the makings of a spell through gritted teeth and moving with jerky, almost erratic movements, he summoned a vortex of fire from the very sky, much like he had with Sana. It descended instantaneously upon the massive creature, wreathing it in flames through which its silhouette was barely visible...but it kept coming. His eyes narrowed to slits as he ran through his options. Weyland, meanwhile, having had anything assailing him finished with Amendale's Undeath to Death spell, turned his attention to the biggest threat he saw: the behemoth that had attacked Connall. He raised his shield and challenged it with a shout, taking the brunt of a swipe from its claws with his shield and stumbling a few steps. It hit him again, sending him reeling; it was incredibly strong, even stronger than its immense size would suggest. He shook his head to clear it just in time to see its foot snap out and connect solidly with him, knocking him onto his back and sending him sliding so far through the dirt that he actually crashed through the underbrush at the edge of the clearing, dazed. It took him a moment to recover, and when he did, he knew immediately that his shield arm and several ribs had been broken. He forced himself to his feet, seething with pain, and continued towards it. "Amendale, I need healing!" He announced. The elf nodded, and began casting again. Weyland's limping charge towards the Devourer turned into a full sprint when Amendale's magic washed over him, and he ducked underneath another swipe of the creature's claws and managed to maneuver his way behind its legs. He drove his sword through the Devourer's kneecap, wrenching it from side to side in an effort to do as much physical damage as he could, and pulled it out just in time to dive out of the way as it tried to step on him and squash him like a human would a spider. But his damage had been done; it was much more unsteady on its feet. Under the relentless assault given by Connall, it actually toppled over and crashed into the ruins of a house, crushing and mutilating the burned body beneath it with its sheer weight. With a cheer, Weyland rushed it, blade raised.