The Bonds That Tie Us

Sindarin does not know these strange people. He does not know who they are, or what they are doing in his mill. He stands there, watching as the angry-looking woman carries him to a horse, holding him as she climbs on too. Registering the presence of the man who had accosted him outside, Sindarin glances over towards him. He does not yet know what to think about the man or his strange behaviour. Just as he does not yet know what to make of Valerie and what happened outside.

Sindarin shakes his head. It is all so much to take in -- so much to think about. And if he tried to do all of it right now....unpick the many, many strands that were weaving this convoluted series of events in front of his very eyes, he would surely go mad......

Looking to the young man, the one the unconscious burned man referred to as Illian, Sindarin quickly deduces what happened. The stench of magic burns in the air. Pulling his hood over his head, he walks over to the young man. Staring at him with unblinking golden eyes, Sindarin asks simply, "Is this your magic?"

His eyes move over to the unconscious man, now held up on the steed with the woman. His unspoken meaning was obvious.

Was this your doing?

The words were not accusing. They were not meant as a weapon, nor were they spoken as such. They were merely the words of one who was curious as to the series of events that had unfolded here, in this place that was once a temporary home but was no longer.

At Elise's words, Sindarin turns that golden gaze upon her. He nods his head before responding simply, "Mine is not a life of acceptance in any case. I am outcast. I have no home, and choosing to be on the run is nothing more than what I already had." he says before subconsciously looking over at Valerie.

Do you have what I seek? Do you hold the key I look for?
 
Valerie sighed a heavy breath, one laden with uncertainty and disbelief along with a general acceptance of the situation she had been thrown into. She felt a certain tugging in her stomach, a thrumming in her chest that told her that she was heading in a direction she wouldn't like but needed to follow nonetheless. She sighed again, running a hand through her hair as her ears perked up once more. She looked up in time to see Stavros being helped onto his horse and held up by Elise, the woman sharing words with Illian and Sindarin.

What now?

The thought was two simple words, but they filled her with a restlessness that could not be ignored. What would she do? Where would she go? She knew she had fulfilled her requirements of helping Elise find her sister. Somehow they had had another young male mage, a stranger that talked in riddles and an enemy-elf-who-was-not-the-enemy thrown into this already chaotic mess. Stavros was injured, Illian was angry and sulking (as per usual) and here she was, far away from home, hopeless as to what to do next and without a clue as to how she would help those suffering back in her region.

The choice we make to help others usually comes around to help ourselves in the process. A double kindness, you see.

Atylis' words came to her once more in a time of need, the female elf gritting her teeth together. She knew what the words implied. What she needed to do. She just hoped that her mentor's teachings would prove to have aided her rather than hindered her in the long run. She stood from where she had been kneeling beside Stavros before he was moved, the elf's mouth forming a thin line. She brushed the dirt from her pants, wiping a thin sheen of perspiration from her brow, walking back over to her grey steed and pulling herself up without too much effort. Her muscles still shook though, the effort from the magic she had used combined with her fading adrenaline becoming apparent. She spoke, her calm exterior back in place.

"Show us where to go Elise. Take us to the two. I recognize the name Myrellion, I might be able to find where he is if things aren't...ah....worse than when I left." Her noticeable hesitation towards the end of her sentence made her easy smile falter, the elf placing her feet in the stirrups and the reigns adjusting in her hands. She would help these people

_______________________________________________________________________________________

Atylis’ head lolled forward, waking him up from whatever blackness he had sunk into. He felt the darkness ebbing away, being replaced with a searing, mind-numbing pain that leaked into every part of him. It was almost unbearable, the older man with grey beginning to speckle his hair opening his eyes to blinding light. He soon adjusted his vision, the light fading to a single source of an illuminating crystal lighting the underground room he was in.
The heavy sound of mining machinery made the walls shake and the earth rumble, Atylis remembering vaguely that they had taken him to one of the mining operations near the city. It was the perfect place for their interrogation, with none of the new Oberian elven residents around to hear the Valorian elven prisoners and slaves screams. The residents from the other region of Oberia had happily filled the ethereally beautiful homes that had been emptied so that the Valorian elves of his region could be put to work in the surrounding mines and forced to stay in camps where they could remain under surveillance at all hours.
Atylis was forced awake further by a sharp blow to the left side of his face, making his ears ring and his vision explode with fireworks of colour.

Ah, so glad to have you awake. I’m pleased that the previous round of…persuasion didn’t do you off completely. Now, I’m going to ask you again….where is the last noble-born, Valerie Theryn?


The elder elf could barely see the man before him, his vision still blurry and slanting from side to side. He breathed in deeply, the three men he saw eventually merging into one. The man was pale, skin almost translucent so that the green veins were visible pulsating in his neck. Black hair hung limply on the side of his face, most of it drawn back into a low, stubby ponytail tied together with a string of leather. Eyes like mud stared down at Atylis, the right one cut in two and milky because of a long, fresh scar that sliced diagonally from his forehead to his cheek. It had already been partially healed, most likely by one of the Oberian army healers, the scar a faint pink under the crystals light. It would never be completely gone though, a permanent remainder of how Atylis' blade had narrowly missed Oberia's finest military general.

The general growled, coming in close to his face as he hissed under his breath, "I don't make a habit of asking questions twice, Atylis Hyverus. You were her protector, so you would have been the one who forced her to flee. She was one of the crown jewels of the nobility her in Valoria and because of that I need her dead. I will have no rebellion coming to take back what is now mine. Tell me, and you may live. No one has managed to cut me like you have...you might make a good addition to my war officers....if you comply that is."

Atylis' breath wheezed from his chest, one of the fractured lungs from a kick to his side making every inhalation painful.

"I have said it once and I'll say it again. You'll get nothing." The last word had barely left his lips when he felt a second blow to his head, vision swimming once again but clearing up sooner than before.

Maybe I'm growing accustomed to this. Atylis thought hopefully to himself.

"We'll see how loyal you are when you've rotted in here for some time. No provisions for him tonight....or for the next two days." General Malevolenis said, the golden-eyed guards at the door nodding their head. The man then turned, heading out the heavy metal door that was slammed shut as he left the old Valorian.
 
Ara felt uncomfortable as the Mage Hunter helped her onto the horse, trying not to cringe at his touch. Not only was the man's status as a Mage Hunter enough to intimidate her, the horse itself was quite frightening and her hands clung to the saddle for dear life. She whispered a small thank you to the man, unable to voice more than that to him before answering the questioning glance her sister had thrown her regarding Vidar.

"I tried to fight it," She explained, "when they were taking Isaac, I tried to fight my head but I couldn't, and it left me exhausted; I couldn't move. Vidar found me and he was carrying me to Braedon." She frowned at Stavros then, before locking eyes with Isaac, hoping he'd understand.
"I was going to get you Isaac, I was coming, I was! But then he made me come here and I was too tired, I couldn't resist. I'm sorry!"

Ara didn't expect a reply, the boy would be exhausted and there would be time to talk later. Instead she studied the group. So many strangers. She had never been around such a weirdly diverse bunch of people. A small spark inside her wondered if perhaps these people could be a new family. A family like she'd always hoped she'd have if she ever got free. Another nasty voice inside reminded her that she was a threat to them all, she could and would betray them if she was ever called to do so. A shiver ran through her as she remembered what it felt like to have something else controlling her desires. Her eyes found Stavros, and she couldn't help the resentment she felt for him. At least, until she noticed the marking on his chest that she had failed to notice before.
They were so similar to hers. Had they done to him what they had done to her? Why would he have those markings, he was a hunter not a prisoner...
 
With Stravos effectively settled and not in any immediate danger for the moment, Vidar turned to Isaac, who was still lying on the ground.
"Of course we're coming with you," he called over to Elise, "how could we not?" It was natural, wasn't it? The journey had just begun and there was quite a road to go. He could feel it. Couldn't they feel it? Vidar almost stopped to consider the possibility that other humans did not feel the "pullings," as he called them, towards what was the right path. Or, potentially, the wrong one sometimes. But he quickly remembered that Isaac was weighted down through spending too much power to save Stravos. Deal with each one in turn, he thought.

"Yes, yes, Stravos will survive...we think. He is not likely to die, unless something comes and tries to harm him again, then he might die. Luckily, there are many of us still on our feet and able to keep him safe. Safety with the pack and safety in numbers and all. You did a good job on him. Gratdja don treya ja. Wait...can you speak that? It doesn't really fit well in this, uh, tongue? Well, either way, we need you to at least be able to mildly move, so..." As he had been talking, Vidar rummaged around in his rucksack, pulling out a simple, round leaf, a couple of berries, and what look suspiciously like a cocoon of some sort while balancing the pack upon one knee and himself upon one foot. He placed the leaf upon his palm, then the leaves and cocoon. The cocoon he lightly tapped. It began to glow a soft, pale blue. As if a candle had been lit inside of it. Lastly, Vidar wrapped it up in the leaf tying its tip to its stem. It looked like he was about to eat it, before he paused and asked, "wait, are you still able to chew? You can just nod or shake your head."
 
Isaac wanted to respond to Ara, reassure her that he was alright, that he understood, but that was... a lot. He nodded briefly, giving what he hoped was a reassuring smile, and closed his eyes again, only opening them when his hazy mind registered that Vidar was talking to him.

The man was a stranger, so maybe Isaac should have been more distrustful, but Ara didn't seem concerned, and Isaac was too tired to think much about it. He watched with dulled but still curious eyes as Vidar worked, the strange man's healing magic like nothing he had ever seen. He considered the question, then nodded slightly, opening his mouth for the glowing poultice. The taste had him making a face, but the magic spread through his body quickly, giving him back some of his strength. In a few moments, he was able to push himself up into a sitting position. He was still drained and exhausted, but he was no longer left completely helpless to support himself.

"Thank you," he managed, his tongue feeling strangely heavy still. "You will need to show me that magic. For the moment, could you help me to the horses?" He looked to Ara, nodding slightly. "And Ara, worry not. All is forgiven. I understand."
 
Illian for once was not caught up with himself, able to help the people he earlier would have gladly given up to the Mage Hunters. There was still an angered frown on his face, he took no Joy from anything he was doing but on the other hand he managed to keep the anger and hatred at bay, was it even his to begin with?. Ara thanking him took him somewhat by surprise and he looked up at the young woman, expression softening for a moment. he nodded at her, lips moving to form the words "You're welcome" but failing to produce enough voice to actually say it. He then turned and gathered the steed used by Val and Isaac and brought it closer to them, he waited patiently, surprisingly enough, for the two of them to approach him so he could keep the steed silent while they mounted it. There was less "static" in the air around him, further establishing the suggestion that his strange powers were directly tied to his virulent emotional state.

He regarded everyone present for a moment and finally aqllowed his gaze to settle on Stavros once more, he felt alone now. surrounded by strangers pulsing with magical energy and two among them elves. The shame of what he had done punched him right in the gut once more. he had harmed his friend, nay, he'd nearly killed his friend. The irony of it all did not escape him,
"I didn't mean to" How many mages had used this excuse? How many times had he scoffed at the idea of unintentionally setting someone on fire. For the first time Illian began empathizing with those "gifted" with magic, sadly...it still left a bad taste in his mouth. The direct question of the elf made him look up disoriented, his reflection interrupted by "that" question again. He sighed irritated and looked away from the elf.

"I'm not a mage....why won't anyone see that..."

The tone of defeat sounded sinking in his voice, he was tired of the anger even though it still tugged inside him. He rode with it so many times before but now, it had finally cost him what Stavros had always predicted, what sweet irony.

"Just leave me alone... Please..."

==========================================

Stavros was only half aware of what was going on around him, he felt warm..possibly with a fever. the glyps all over his body hurt, it reminded him...Made him remember.

"This is madness Stavros! It won't work...." Clemence The Mage proclaimed. The balding man wearing the robes of a sanctioned Mage looked at the nobleman with a frown.

"I am not so sure of that, Meh'llial ys vail'ah... We simply need a new perspective. The theory is sound, with the popper infusion the glyphs will merge with the flesh, this is why you have brought me here no?" The elven apostate rebuked.

Stavros did not enjoy working with the man, and as far as he knew few did. Still the Elf's knowledge on Magic was impressive and his willingness to work with the Mage Hunters had been a blessing despite the fact that his price was steep. It wasn't so much the expense as it was the oddity of his requests. Exotic herbs, imported goods and requests as mundane as they were bizar such as "A hankerchief of a grieving human widow younger then 30 or Hair from a man died in poverty."

The Inquisitor sighed and responded anoyed. "It is "My Lord" to you Clemence, and I don't want to hear madness coming from the likes of you... Magic can do ANYTHING... THAT we know, you just have to find a way. i've provided you with everything now get it done. Myrellion is who you wanted, he is here...now DO IT! Or am I to believe ou were lying to me and you are simply stalling... Because if that is the case "Mage" then best admit it now while I might have some mercy left in me!"

The mage paused and sighed, looking down and ran a hand over his scalp." I ...I will consult with Myrellion...My lord...w-we will find a way..."

"Good.." retorted Stavros harshly..."I will not be defeated again... The Order will be stronger then ever because of this, make it so!"
 
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Deirdre's grey eyes observed Alfhild as she told her tale of hardship and misery. It was, unfortunately enough, a rather common story to the Fenrir, and indeed often heavier on the Thralls and their offspring. It made her blood boil nonetheless, Deirdre still had the hatred for the life they had been cast down into for the last 100 years burning brightly. Many Fenrir had been downcast, grown meek, tried to pass by under the notice of their green-skinned masters, but she was not one of them. She'd fight until the end and deem every struggle worth it, every drop of blood lost or spilled, every pain and every sorrow... just to play a part in her people's freedom.

Such did not sound like the driving force behind Alfhild's defiance. The young half-breed seemed to harbor almost as much discontentment to the Fenrir as to the Orcs. It concerned Deirdre, a relic of her people in the hands of a woman like that; would she really refrain from being the end of the Fenrir upon them? Or would she enjoy seeing them tear each other apart, until all there was left was orcs and the sheep who are unworthy of the land their ancestors conquered? It was good for Deirdre to come in this quest, but the Seer was beginning to suspect it would maybe have been better for her to tell Erund of what Alfhild sought and of the Shaman wolf in the south.

Regardless of those considerations, Deirdre felt keenly the insult of Alfhild's mistrust. Among the Fenrir honor was paramount and deception and treachery was for the weak. Pointing such things out and making an issue of it was certainly not aid in gaining the woman's trust, however, so Deirdre pushed down the bristling anger and threw another stick in the fire, as her unwilling companion put away her overly sharpened blade and stood away like a grim sentinel. It took a few moments of silence, only the noises of the dark, cold forest and the crackling of their fire piercing through. Then with a sigh, the Seer leaned against the rock, covered herself with the cloak and slept next to her weapons. It was a practiced skill, clearly...

The vigil was quiet and boring, which was a boon, and Alfhild had no troubles waking Deirdre from her sleep so that she could have her turn. The Seer rubbed the sleep off her eyes, the couple of hours far from enough rest, but it was all they could afford. She stirred back the flames and took her waterskin, drinking some of the liquid and rubbing a little on her visage to help waking. Deirdre didn't waste Alfhild's time, and launched into her own tale.

"My turn, then. By the time I was born, my father had been dead for months. He was one of the Volsung, and I a result of a tryst as his rebel band sought refuge in Arvidaud. My mother's mother had been a Shaman, killed in one of the many attempts from the orcs to take over our land, so there was hope I would be one too. There had been no words from the Ancestors and no conclusive signs that I was one, but my mother tried to have me trained for it anyway. For a while they let me, but soon enough they realized I... didn't quite fit in. It was a one way street, I'd have no answers, no connection. All I'd have were... nightmares... and sometimes they'd come true."

"The Shaman dubbed me a weak 'Seer' with unreliable powers and cast me aside. My mother, Feranahr, was a little disappointed, but she never stopped believing that I had my part to play in building a different future for our kind. She died fighting for it not long after, I was... 12. I wish I could tell you how much I have suffered in the hands of the orcs, but as far as the Fenrir go, the Scylfing clan is very fortunate. We may have lost nearly all our men, but we continue the struggle, we know our woods, we have our allies, and we fight the fight."

"I grew tired of being in the defensive line early on, so when I was 13 I left. I had had vague dreams of two men ambushed by the enemy below a willow by a river stream. I just seemed to know where to go. I happened upon them before the images in my dreams, they had been walking down the road and I saw one of the orcs laying in wait. I shot an arrow, alerting the duo, and the ambush was broken. A fight broke out and I joined the two and helped them overcome the enemy. They were Erund and Bass. I've been with them since then. We've gained and lost companions in the years that followed, but little by little, we've been making progress... taking back the South."


The Seer grew quiet after that, taking another swig from her waterskin. Wordlessly standing up, she took her weapons and stood vigil to allow Alfhild the chance to get some sleep.

@Shadras
 
As travel arrangements were sorted, the strange group started following the lead of their worst rider, Elise, who was even slower now sharing the horse with the ungainly weight of the slumped Inquisitor in her arm. She bunched up his singed clothes and covered his exposed skin gingerly as the air grew colder as the sun sunk ever lower in the sky. Around them, the farmlands gave way to forest and the trail forced them in a line to afford the horses the less tricky ground of a beaten path. For some time they traveled mainly in silence, each with their own considerations, but after a while it started looking like they were just riding rather aimlessly, lost.

Elise never wavered, however, and just when tensions began running high and darkness was threatening to encroach them and make the trip both on horseback and on foot a lot more treacherous, they came up to a stone cottage with a thatched roof in the middle of nowhere, crossing over a clearing of grass and purple flowers. By that point, her head was exploding already and she couldn't keep her magic running for much longer. Her strength would fade, the pain and fatigue would settle in... and Lis still had no idea what to do from this point on. She had run enough around that whoever was perhaps 'looking' through her sister's eyes would have no real idea of where they were, she at least hoped that was how it worked. Elise sighed heavily as they approached.

"This is the place."

Cottage-In-The-Woods-Scotland-980x693.jpg

There were no lights on, but the place didn't seem in complete disrepair. As they started approaching, Elise called out to Illian to tie his horse and prepare to help her, she could feel her strength seeping away and there was a tremble in her muscles to go along with the headache. The house was dark, but the little light that shone within showed a room with a few modest furnishings, seats around the hearth where cooking could be done, a rectangular table surrounded by six wooden chairs and a doorway that likely led to a bedroom. Elise barely made to the large wooden bed in the darkened bedroom before her magic fizzled out, and as she placed Stavros on the mattress covered in a faded quilt, she sank to a knee with a grunt of pain.

@everyone
 
Perhaps in the time to come, Sindarin would look back on the events here as a turning point. The scarred elf could hardly keep up with the breathtaking turn of events as they cascaded down, one after the next. Just that morning he had woke, as he had woke countless times before. The briefest flickers of the past had tickled the dark miasma that encompassed his mind and for a brief time he had hoped anew that today would finally be the breakthrough that he had been waiting for.

Well, today had been a breakthrough of a sort....even if not the one that he had wanted.

From there things had charged forwards at a breakneck pace. From the strangers that had congregated on his mill, to the would-be Nord to the strange golden haired elf. It was all happening so fast and it was so dizzying......far, far too many things for him to take in at once.

So it was that the white haired elf found himself thankful for the trek, conducted mostly in silence. It allowed him time to gather his disparate thoughts. The angry woman, the dark-haired Elise had said to him that if he threw his lot in with them he would be a fugitive, yet the scarred elf hardly had anything to lose. He already was a fugitive....in a way. Outcast from home and country, there were few places left for him to turn. He kept telling himself that was the reason why he had thrown his lot in with this unlikely group. His gaze turned to the strange elf, Valerie, and he found his thoughts correcting himself silently.

Not completely......

When they arrive at the stone cottage, Sindarin chuckles softly to himself. Had he known this place was here he would have used it as a home instead of the mill -- but then isn't hindsight a wonderful thing?

Seeing Elise struggle to move Stavros off the horse, the elf goes over to her. "Here, let me help," he says as he helps her get Stavros down.

Finally, between the two of them, they got Stavros inside the cottage and onto the bed. As Elise sinks to her knees, Sindarin reaches out and squeezes her shoulder, but offers nothing in words. Leaving her to it, he goes back into the main room. Seating himself in one of the wooden chairs around the place, he finds his eyes drawn to the golden-haired elf, Valerie once more. Studying her strangely familiar features, Sindarin looks for a clue....anything to remind him of the girl in his memories. Finally, he starts to notice subtle differences in her features to the girl he remembers. She was not Lillith Al'Neiana. Sighing softly, he finally asks her, "Would you tell me of this place you call home? This place that would have offered shelter to an outcast? I would like to know what it is like to have something worth fighting for."

His mind asks the question he himself dares not.

Do you know Lillith Al'Neiana?
 
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Illian remained silent during the travel, aiding others as required without his usual brand of contempt and anger. Indeed, the entire ordeal had left Illian chastised like a beaten dog. he was worried, Stavros still gave no signs of conciousness and had been mumbling deliriously at best. Despite Isaac's administrations the wintered Inquisitor was still suffering from the effects of the "exorcism" and with every passing moment the guilt began weighing heavyer on Illian. The young squire offered no objections or remarks as they arrived at the abandoned dwelling, it was remote and appeared to be safe...it would do.

When Elise carried Stavros inside Illian tended to the horses, gathering them and stabling them. they required tending, the beasts having carried them all for quite some distance. It was a welcome distraction, therapeutic in its routine and familiarity. Illian did not expect anyone to wish to talk to him either way, these people were anathema to him and he was certain that they too considered him to be their opposite. He allowed his thoughts to drift to the background of his mind as he caressed and patted his horse, Mirco, the animal was unburdened by the complexities of sentient existence and Illian found himself envying it....peace was something he rarely ever knew....

Stavros was feverish by now and Elise and Sindarin were forced to carry the tall man onto his resting place. He groaned lightly and frowned, mumbling and murmuring incomprehensible things. His mind was boiling with the heat he was gathering, haunting fever-dreams punishing his already weary mind...

For the love of all that is holy...STOP!!!!

*the subject's screaming sent an icy chill over Celmence's spine. They were not mere screams of pain, they were shrieks of agony. The subject had resisted at first, biting down on a wooden prop to cope with the pain but it had eventually become to much to handle. The smell of burned flesh and alchemical compounds mingled into a sickening fetor.

The screaming suddenly stopped, as did the malevolent red glow that was being emitted from the outstretched hands of Myrellion. The elf sighed, looking at Clemence with a dismissive annoyance. The elf was tall, lanky and far removed from the otherwise common grace and beauty of his people. His thin face and sharp features made the man somewhat discomforting to watch, but it were his soulless eyes devoid of any pupils or iris that made him appear inhuman. The Elf looked down at the subject as the screaming had subsided and replaced with a laboured groaning.

"Should we stop, My Lord? The procedure is working...despite the pain I am certain the infusion will work...."

Stavros groaned, looking up at the Elven apostate with a look that could kill. His wrists fought against the bonds that were tying him down on the table....bonds he had demanded himself. His chest was still on fire, beads of sweat rolling down his brow...there was blood in his mouth. His eyes met those of Celmence for a moment and the Mage shook his head with a pleading look. Then his eyes met with the other Mage Hunters he had asked to stand guard in the laboratory...The men were tense, holding the handles of their sheathed swords... They just needed the word.

"No!... Keep going...." Stavros lay his head back and took a deep breath" Don't stop until it's done.... Celmence, pull yourself together and keep me from dying if you will.... This is the last interruption understand?"

Clemence shook his head and stepped closer, lifting his hands and sighing. he glanced at the Elf...if looks could smite.

A cold, thin lipped smile devoid of any mirth and joy appeared on the dagger faced Elven magister. he lifted his hands again.

"Very well My Lord, I shall endeavour to finish this quickly but this is sensitive work....." His voice was even, cold, calculated..The pain he was causing not bothering him in the least.

"Just get it done!" Stavros spat....

The screaming started again....
 
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Ara was fairly quiet during the ride. For the first hour she had to focus all her concentration on the horse, fearing she'd fall off, but even once she learnt the rhythm and began to trust the beast, she still didn't join conversation. Ara was far too busy assessing her own state and all that had gone on. She didn't know where they were going and she didn't know what the future held. She almost preferred not to have a future at all, it would be easier if she was just gone. It was all too hard and what could she offer this group anyway? She had no skills and no useful powers like the others. Even if they hadn't been blocked, they were uncontrollable and destructive. She couldn't help but be a little jealous of the control the others held over their 'gifts'. They didn't have a monster inside them like she did. Her magic was so easily carried away by emotion she could never get a grip on them. The man, Illian, whatever it was that he did... it too was uncontrollable in the moment. She sneaked continued glances at the man as they rode. There was no doubt that his actions had had an impact on him and Ara knew how it felt to doubt and blame yourself.

Once they had stopped at the small cottage, Ara slipped unsteadily from the horse. Her legs and back were killing her from the ride but at least her feet weren't torn up again. Feeling a little useless and helpless, she stood to the side for a few minutes watching the activity. She didn't want to get in the way. Her sister's focus was on the injured man and Isaac needed to rest. Glancing around, she noticed Illian tending the horses and nervously she wandered slowly over to him.
"C-can I maybe help?" She asked softly, not looking him in the eye.
She wanted to be useful, take her mind off the awful corners her life had taken and Illian seemed to have a similar idea.
 
After hours of riding, Isaac could have cried in relief as the group finally reached their stopping point for the night. He was still upright on his horse, but only just, and his muscles were as fatigued as his magic. Vidar's poultice had given him enough strength that he no longer hovered on the edge of unconsciousness, but his fatigue was still a bone-deep thing that he know would only ease with real rest, sleep, not spells. The day had been long and full of heartache, and he couldn't wait for it to be over. While their troubles would follow them through the night, with a new morning, there would be a fresh start.

His dismount was clumsy, but Isaac managed to stay on his feet, which was more than he had been expecting. He didn't look at Illian as the squire took his horse, did not offer a word of thanks. He knew it was unfair, but Isaac was still seething. Illian had made his views on mages clear in the brief time they had been travelling together, he had made it abundantly clear that he viewed Isaac and others like him as dangerous, savage, and unpredictable. Yet Isaac had never hurt anyone with an outburst of power as Illian had. And only now, after the incident, was Illian trying to change his tune. Isaac knew it shouldn't matter, knew he should only be glad of the change of heart. But he was exhausted, physically, mentally, and emotionally. He had not the energy to search his heart for understanding. If Illian recognized the cold treatment, so be it. It would do him well to get a taste of what it felt like to be shunned for a power beyond his control.

Isaac followed Elise and Sindarin inside, entering the room in time to see them set Stavros down on the bed. Elise sank to her knees, and for a moment Isaac was alarmed, but the waves in the magic in the room told him it was nothing more than exhaustion, nothing terribly grave. He approached the bed as Sindarin gave her shoulder a squeeze and moved away, back into the main room. "How is he?" was his quiet question, offering a hand to help Elise to her feet. They had little strength between them, but what they had, they needed to share.

He didn't need an answer to tell that Stavros fared ill. Isaac sat on the bed beside him, resting his weary legs. Stavros was lost in some sort of fever dream, a thin sheen of sweat upon his forehead. As Isaac pulled back his tunic to check the wounds, he winced at the fever he could feel, but he placed a hand over one of the sigils anyway. "It's like they're leaking his life force," he murmured, half to himself. "He needs more energy, but I can't do that again. Not yet, at least. Once I had begun, it was as if I did not have control over the power I offered. The sigils drew and drew, sucking more from me than I had meant to give. I cannot try again until I am sure I can withstand their pull." He looked over to Elise, the ring of burns angry red around her neck reminding her of his own. "And I need to heal our wounds as well. They are not as grave, but they mark us as escaped mages for all the world to see."

Making a decision, Isaac shook his head. "I cannot heal Stavros now, and he will remain stable until tomorrow, when I have regained some of my strength. But the marks of the collar are a problem I can fix, if you will allow it. The burns are minor, the process will take little from me comparatively."
 
Valerie was exhausted and drained, the whirlwind of events that she had been sucked into in such a brief period of time causing her mind to be scattered like a dandelion in the wind. Everything was happening all at once, but at least the lack of conversation on the way to wherever Elise was leading them provided her some time to process things accordingly. She was still wary of where they were headed, noticing that they followed no distinct path but rather a winding…she simply figured Elise may have had some holes in her memory about the exact location of the destination they were trying to find.

When they finally approached the secluded, foliage-covered home nestled in a small, quaint clearing she could feel herself vaguely ease the physical and emotional ball of tension that had been tightening during the ride. She looked around, unable to help the habit she had developed of looking around for possible traps or potential dangers, but the apparent exhaustion of both her and the other people in their group made her accept the fact that this would have to be their stop until some resting and re-grouping could be done. She had ridden often, but even her legs ached and wobbled when she finally slid off the dappled beast that sighed at the removal of her light weight. Val noticed Illian tending to the other animals, leading her horse over to him where she sluggishly removed the steeds riding gear as quickly as she could with her limited supply of energy. The elf then left the animal to be tended to by the younger male.

Valerie trod lightly into the dusty shelter, stopping hesitantly when she noticed a familiar bright orange bloom growing out of the cracks in between stone slabs on the walls of the cottage.

Calendula. just what I needed. Maybe I can help everyone in some way with that tea Atylis showed me how to make.

She gathered the petals, making a short trip back to where she had placed her riding equipment so that she could retrieve her things. Inside her satchel was another ingredient she needed for the hopefully soothing drink. Valerie rifled through the items as she walked with tired steps back towards the entry into the cottage, frowning with furrowed brows until she found what she was looking for. The elf opened up the bag tied closed with a string, running a dried and gritty substance between her fingers. It was linked to her name after all, how could she not help but keep a small supply of it on hand.

Valerian root. This should help with the pain and if not at least help everyone rest a little easier tonight. This combined with the Calendula should do the trick, even if it only provides a comforting warm drink.

After walking inside, noticing the hearth and heading towards it, Val watched Elise who was aided by Sindarin carry Stavros into what she assumed to be a bedroom. Isaac followed shortly, the male entering the room. Her ears perked up, picking up on quiet mumbling voices that she made a conscious decision not to tune in on and try and listen to any conversations. She felt everyone deserved privacy, her included. Thus, she averted her ears, instead placing her focus on starting a fire from the supply of dusty logs piled next to the hearth and placing a worn metal pot onto the hook placed above the kindling she had piled up. The female closed her eyes, knowing she was mostly depleted from her encounter with Sindarin and so needed to concentrate harder on creating the small flame that came to life in palm of her hand. This fire a small ball that hissed yet did not burn her, was not red and fiery as most flames were but rather blue in colour….the same blue that her elven steel had glowed during the groups confrontation with the mage hunters that had taken Isaac. She lit the wood with this flame until it caught alight.

The female realized then that she needed water, remembering the well that had been situated not too far from the cottage’s entrance. After fighting with the handle that pulled a bucket full of water to the top where she could take it, the pot inside the cottage was soon filled and bubbling to a point where she could add the two plants needed for the warm tea. It was while she was stirring this liquid, her back to the room, that she felt eyes on her as Sindarin relaxed onto a wooden chair. His query about her home was light-hearted, but she could see the heavy questioning and flickering of the same recognition and familiarity she had seen in his eyes when they first met. The look reflected in his golden hues made her feel unsteady, the girl looking at him only briefly before turning her back to him once more while she continued her stirring.

“Valoria is just…home. It was a safe haven for me, despite my…ah….differences in talents growing up. It’s situated in a forest with trees that have been around since time was young, their trunks so large it would take five people linked together hand-in-hand to encircle it. Sweeping rivers stretch their arms out to form tiny streams that feed our fields, sweeping grasses that can at times reach up to my waist and are the brightest green during spring before being filled with all sorts of colourful blooms. The sunshine is warm in the summer months, but the winter makes the landscape shine like polished silver with white snow and glistening ice that drips like jewels from tree branches. My region is cared for by a group of fair and just noble-borns, each generation choosing their own leaders who will tutor and educate the next. Magic-users have become something of a rarity, but there are still those that know how to teach those gifted with it.”

She paused, her eyes looking off into the distance as if her home was there just before them, green pupils almost hazing over as she tried to speak of her favourite details. Valerie stopped stirring, sitting back onto the floor and placing her arms neatly on her slightly bent knees while she warmed herself with the fire before continuing.

“My town has winding cobblestone roads in between homes of wood and stone, some using the trees and their natural stability as a building block for homes that spin round the great trunks as if they had always belonged there. Others are extended into the widest river that runs down the centre of the village, the homes placed on thick struts and used as trading centres for river-people passing through with foreign goods. There are arching bridges of twisting rock and stone that connect opposite sides. The people used to have markets every week-end along each side of the river, the marketers cries and the watery current creating something of a unique symphony. Buying ruby-red apples and clear, sweet elven wine from stores on opposite sides of the markets length ensured that I always got to enjoy every part of the market during my days off.”

She grew suddenly solemn, sighing sadly and dropping her gaze. The elven maiden recalled the sight of the river-side homes burning and how the fierce orange flames eating away at the structures had reflected in the river as if the water too had been burning. She became silent, chewing on her bottom lip while her hands balled into tight fists that clenched at her clothing.

@everyone
 
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Vidar had sang softly as they went, ever mixing Noric and the common speech. While the two ought to sound disharmonious to most ears, Vidar had successfully blended them together somehow. The snatches that could be understood, gave hints to songs about starting journeys, choices, nature, and the ever call of destiny and what lay after it. The last was, perhaps, most strange. That there was something for people after the idea that they had achieved what would be considered the culmination of one's great journey. It was almost unearthly in quality, but had remained grounded in life and seemed calming in its tone. When they arrived at the cottage, he did not go inside. Buildings remained ever strange to him. As if mortal kind had wanted to imitate the shelter of a cave, but the softness of a forest. He found that they had, in attempting both, sacrificed the best of either. In any event, he needed to be alone with his thoughts.

Settling upon the edge of the trees in the clearing, opposite of the cottage, Vidar relaxed and then brought his mind to focus upon the events that had happened today. They were good, he thought, apart from that elder being injured. Although I do not know if they will see it as such. Vidar was not blind during their trip so far. The party held a desperate air about them. Their baseis for their desperation may be different, but for now it would bind them together. Time would handle the rest, he was fairly confident of that. If it couldn't, he'd make sure that their bonds would at least remain. But to matters that can't be left to time, he thought, turning his thought towards Ara, the minds in her soul, and the red tattoo on her skin and heart. The elder bears some similar markings, could they be related? Do they eat power, direct feelings? Do they know more now than I? The last was natural as, in all the chaos of their meeting, Vidar hadn't heard the conversation about Ara's markings and the mage tower. Those can be answered tonight and tomorrow. And tomorrow, I will need to go deeper into Ara's inner self, or go to the elder and see if he has a similar curse.

With those thoughts, he turned his mind to his dreams, the woman, and the strange blade that dripped blood. Each had to be found, or find him. Vidar wasn't too sure on that point. What he really needed to do was dream again. Dream, and hope it wasn't a nightmare. I'll sleep out here tonight, he thought. Trees were his home, regardless if they were his forest or not. With that last thought, Vidar stretched his thought and will into a meditative trance. Softly he chanted in the growing dark, strictly in the language of the northern lands this time. While he didn't fully understand it, we was asking his people's heavens to bless the forest, the trees around him. That they might grow great and strong and that they keep this party, this fledgling pack, safe and hidden through the night.

A soft blue mist emanated from beneath his thumb as it softly stroked the runes carved upon his staff.

@everyone
 
Elise nodded a thanks to Sindarin for aiding her with the heavy Inquisitor, a bit surprised by his comforting squeeze, a much less formal gesture than she was expecting by the little interaction she had had with elves. Honey colored eyes settled on Isaac's hand and she had to smirk at him being the one to offer her help to stand. Not seeing a reason for pride, Elise took the help, wincing and reaching a hand to her chest, where the punch she had received that morning was throbbing dully.

"Thanks, Isaac. You are certainly something special... I think he has a fever, but he is breathing, so there's that at least. I have a healing salve with my things and I guess we can lower the fever with water and a rag, like my mother used to do."
looking at him she added "You don't look so great yourself... "

As he sat on the bed and began speaking, Elise tried to understand what Isaac meant to say with all of that, and whether or not he had wanted her to hear it. Was Stavros some sort of magic vampiric thing now? That didn't sound good. Elise drew a clay pot from the bag which had hung at her back, along with a few clean rags and her waterskin. The bag still hung heavy with the change of warm clothes she had brought for Ara, the green dress she had liked so much. She was about to raise objection to having the young man exert himself more by healing her, but Isaac made a rather clever point of it. They would have a hard time going unnoticed with such telling signs visibly branded on them, and hell if she wanted that memory seared into her flesh for all time.

"Fine, but let's make you comfortable on one of the beds behind the curtain so that you can rest afterwards. It may have a few days dust all around but the guild keeps this place clean and stocked for the members that pass by. There's bound to be some supplies to cook something. You were starved earlier and I bet by now everyone is."

Elise walked over to the kitschy flowered curtain that divided the room, pulling it aside she revealed a small section of the room with two single's beds and a small night-table in-between them. "There, you make yourself comfortable and heal yourself. If you still have it in you to heal me, then great, I'll come to you and you get it done. Deal?"

Returning to Stavros' side, Elise opened the clay pot, a pungent smell of herbs wafting out of it. She got a rag dipped in water and dabbed each runed burn wound clean before applying the thick soothing salve. So many things crossed her mind in the simple, yet gruesome task. First, she was no healer and all experience she had treating wounds came from treating her own... second, was why was she doing this for a man who was part of an institution that she hated deeply... but most importantly... what were these runes that looked so very similar to Ara's? Was Stavros a bound mage? Had he ulterior motives in finding her sister? Should she bind him to this bed until all her questions were satisfied? Or was all this the fruit of a sleep deprived mind? Elise sighed and rubbed her weary eyes with the back of her hand before continuing to work.

@inkdragon @Scalerender
 
Illian gave Valerie a fleeting look when she brought her horse to him, his verdant eyes crossing hers for a tense moment. Part of him wanted to blame her for his outburst, her words had pushed him to stand up to Stavros and led to the disastrous development soon after. He swallowed hard and looked away, as much as he'd want to blame someone else he knew there was no one to be held accountable for what happened except himself. Silently he took her steed and tied it with the others before continuing his routine task.

It took a few moments for Illian to register Ara, her voice sounded distant as he was loosing himself in thought. He looked a bit startled at her even though she had been standing nearby for a few moments. For a brief moment he frowned angrily but the expression faded ...stopped as he realised how easily his anger spun out of control. He gave a long tired sigh and turned back to Stavros's mount.

"You can start with the Elf's horse.....There's another brush there on my saddlebags..."

His voice carried his mental and physical fatigue. Without noticing his slightly pointed ears gave a slight involuntary motion, speaking of her triggering a self-conscious moment . He brushed Stavros's steed silently, his mind wondering on Ara for a moment...was he to say something? Apologise? Did he owe the boy and the the others an apology as well? A day ago Illian was so certain of his place in the world, his allegiances and the enemy...the enemy that was all around him now. He felt their magic in the air like an annoying buzzing, he tried to ignore it...he failed. He gave an annoyed sigh and spoke.

"We should name the other two horses...Good steeds need a name..."

Illian's jaw clenched, the use of magic around him and inside the dwelling left a metallic taste in his mouth. His shoulders tensed and the a hot and uncomfortable tingling feeling rose up his spine. For a moment Ara would feel a strange force in the air and with it the magical energies that still tethered to Ara weakening a little together with whatever malevolent influences were working on controlling her weak as they may have been.

@AJPhips

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Inside Stavros underwent the administrations of the salve and medical attentions with low groans of pain and uncomfortable shifting. the burning glyphs were unnaturally hot and at times pulsed a little brighter, red magical energy escaping it like a slow burning smoke...more alarmingly, some of it seemed to be drawn into his body, pulsing through blackened veins around the wounds before disappearing inside the Inquisitor's body. Beads of sweat gathered around his brow and he winced....

"You understand that we had to investigate Inquisitor....I hope you take no offence..."Lord Inquisitor Reinhardt was a short, stocky and humourless man. His scalp devoid of even a single hair, in fact the man was completely hairless as far as one could tell. Making the brutish shape of his skull even more apparent. The heavy brow and jutting chin gave the man an almost thuggish appearance, it was easy to feel intimidated by him. Still despite his appearance the Lord-Inquisitor possessed a sharp mind, free from prejudice and malice... Stavros found it easy to connect with him.

"Naturally... I would have acted no differently..." Stavros nodded his thanks to the Mage Hunter opening the manacles that had been placed around his wrists. he rubbed them to alleviate the discomfort.

"That is very reassuring... I would like to know more of this, procedure... Inquisitor Enkili... You have proven the effectiveness of their aplications. Enough so to alarm your brethren in thinking you were in fact a Mage yourself... I hear your actions in the Battle for Rostov Keep in particular have been desribed as... "Inhuman"...The Lord Inquisitor continued.

Stavros chuckled, taking his belt and sheathe and putting it back around his waist. It was strange that he took such accusations as a compliment. He looked at the Lord Inquisitor. "I'm afraid you are looking at "the blade" my Lord, you should speak to the "Smith"... The theory behind the infusion is not mine to know, event though I commissioned its development... You should speak to Clemence... He is a sanctioned Mage working in The Tower of Volksburg, but I'm afraid you may not find what you are looking for... Clemence convinced me that the procedure is too risky, the fact I survived the infusion is a fluke and as I understand it the only way to develop it further would carry too great a cost... The moral implications alone..."

"Yes, yes... I understand..." Lord Inquisitor Reinhardt assured. "Still, we have very keen minds at work within The Braedon Chapter... Very well funded, I'm sure we might find different and safer applications with time and careful study...."

"By all means My Lord, Seek out Clemence..Tell him I send you and he'll surely cooperate the the fullest of his ability..."

"NO!..."Stavros suddenly sat up, eyes wide in shock and breathing heavily. he looked around disoriented and confused for a moment. It took some time to recognise the faces of those present. He relaxed slowly and then Lay back down, covering his eyes with one hand while the other rested on his abdomen. He groaned and couched.* Where are we....Wh-what happened?...





 
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Isaac couldn't argue with Elise's logic, so he nodded in agreement with her plan. He was glad someone seemed to have an idea of what they were doing, because that sure as stars wasn't him. All he knew was that he needed to try and keep the little group all in one piece, and that alone was proving to be a feat. At the mention of food, his stomach growled hopefully, and he flushed with sudden embarrassment. The last thing he wanted was to appear the greedy, starving farm boy, though he feared that was who he had become. He didn't know who this 'guild' she spoke of was, but then again, he was getting used to not understanding things at this point.

As Elise went back to tend to Stavros's wounds, Isaac sat on one of the beds she had indicated, leaving the curtain open. It took a great act of will for him not to curl up and fall asleep right there; the slightly lumpy pallet was the most comfortable place he had had to sleep in days. He watched Elise work for a moment, her hands unskilled but steady, before turning his attention inward. Closing his eyes and shutting out the distractions of the room, Isaac touched a hand to his raw neck, drawing upon his magic through still-weary channels. He didn't wince at the sting of the healing, but pulled away as soon as he felt he could, trying to save his strength. Running his fingertips over the new skin, Isaac found it sensative and delicate but whole, the pain of the burn gone. He was about to call Elise over when he heard a shout from the other room. Stavros was awake.

Standing a little too fast- he really had to find some makeshift crutches- Isaac hurriedly crossed the room again, joining Elise at Stavros's bedside. He wanted to make sure the older man was alright, of course, but he wanted some answers, as well. "Peace," he told Stavros, resting a gentle hand on his shoulder to try and steady him. "We're at a safe house. You're hurt, try to rest." He glanced at Elise, unsure of how much they should say. Illian angered him, but he did not want to simply throw the young man to the wolves. "There was an accident," he decided was a safe answer. More information could be given later. "You were hit with a good deal of magical energy, you were in a bad way. Your condition is stable, now, but you must breathe easy. You do not want to strain yourself." The slight hypocrisy of his words did not escape him, but that was neither here nor there.

Isaac pressed his lips together for a moment as he tried to decide how to word his next few sentences. "Your wounds are like none I have encountered before, save one place. And that was the work of the Mage Hunters who tortured Ara. Pray tell, what are these sigils? What do they mean, and who is responsible for them? They leech energy at a frightening rate, I do not have the power to heal them alone."
 
Deirdre's story was surprising in mainly how short it was. As if some bridge had been crossed over the waters of life for it. Alfhild didn't comment on it, however. If Deirdre was hiding, or wanted to skip, things about her past, it made little difference to her. That said, Deirdre's tale did reveal some useful information.

Being an accomplished warrior at a young age meant that Deirdre had trained hard and well. The fact that she was still alive through all her clan had been through was a testament to that fact. She was also labeled a weak seer, with only nightmares and a few scant visions of merit. It meant she wouldn't be able to predict most events that came their way. Nor could she be able to read Alfhild's thoughts. Although that was more mythology than anything to do with fact. The fact that remained, however, was that the nightmares dealt with danger, and Alfhild was under no illusions that she herself could crop up into one in the event that she decided to give the blade to her father. Ancestors, she swore inside her head, I'm not any good at talking in circles. All I can do is not say things and put up walls. Ignoring the obvious overtones to her own flaws, Alfhild set about the task of stripping her plate.

It had taken her some months to figure it out, but she had learned to remove and replace the outer shell of her armor on her own. While sleeping in armor wasn't really a problem, it had the ever annoying tendency to cause cramps or even damage the plate itself. In full truth, Alfhild was trying to distract herself with routine. She wasn't used to having a stranger for company. Not one that wouldn't give her looks of anger, disgust, or revulsion at least. Certainly, she had been able to avoid those looks from the downtrodden peasants and the odd warrior, but there was now a whole journey She was glad that Deirdre's friends hadn't come along. If anything, she wouldn't have to travel with a group of people who she wouldn't know how to react to nor deal with.

She lay down after unrolling a bedroll. Content to simply let Deirdre watch and unconcerned about betrayal. If Deirdre wanted to do that, she would have back in the village. Alfhild's last thought was to hope that she wouldn't dream. This time, her prayer was answered.

@Maeriel
 
The talk about food had stirred Elise's own hunger to turn her stomach around, so she offered a sympathetic half-smile to Isaac's own growl. Thinking about food was a good distraction from her many more concerning questions. The last time she had stayed in this secluded cottage while on a job for the Thieves' Guild, there had been salted boar flank, along with a nice wheel of cheese and some pickled eggs. She still had some bread, cheese, jerky and a couple of lemon cakes, so their meal tonight should be rather nice, though if Stavros remained unconscious she'd have to see who in the group might know something about hunting. Valerie sounded like she could handle foraging, by her naming of plants earlier that day, and that strange maybe-Nord legs-of-Ara man seemed like he had been living in the wild, so he might also know of these things. Sindarin said he had been living in that mill, maybe he knows how to hunt.

Caught in her planning to keep herself away from anger, fear and her deep tiredness, Elise was caught completely by surprise with Stavros sudden awakening, regardless of the fact he had been groaning and mumbling. She fell back on her behind on the ratty rug covering the floorboards and, by then, Isaac had rushed over to check on his patient, the ring branded around his neck nothing but a fading new skin that seemed like would leave no mark. Amazing. Lis pulled herself up while Isaac tactfully tried to explain what happened. An adult man like Stavros should likely not judge a brash youngster like Illian too harshly, but then again, she had expected him to know better than pushing the half-elf that far, so maybe leaving it vague was the best course of action. Elise offered a look of support to Isaac's tactics, especially with the tactful way he made the questions she herself had to ask. Perhaps letting the young man do the talking for now was the best choice, Elise had not been the most diplomatic when it came to Illian and Stavros so far...

"Isaac saved your life and it cost him a lot, but we need to understand more about this, because you're not out of the woods and we only have the one healer..." she pulled her waterskin closer and uncapped it, offering it for the older man to sip carefully.

@Scalerender @inkdragon
 
Stavros frowned with his eyes closed, one hand on his forehead. "Accident?..." His mind raced as his body burned, the pain was familiar much to his regret. He thankfully sipped from the water offered by Elise, groaning as he allowed his head to fall back afterwards. He sighed deeply, their questions were valid and at an earlier time he would be reluctant to share the sensitive information with them....but that all seemed pointless now. He opened his eyes again and inspected his "wounds" with a wince, he kept calm despite the alarming state of the infusion-glyps and sighed deeply...His expression alone suggested that what he saw was worrisome to say the least, once more he leaned his head back to rest. Eyes closed and covered by one hand, the light itself was stabbing into his skull...

"They are Infusion Glyphs much like Ara's, but with a different purpose... They are meant to contain magic and bestow powerful properties upon my body...Speed, strength, vitality.... They are the result of study and theory developed by The Order... An earlier and far less complex application then what has been done to Ara... I am no expert but it's clear that they're damaged, the Magic they held erupted and I know of only one person who could have been able to do this.... " He sighs "Illian's gift is growing stronger and he can't control it... I should have been more careful with him...." He winced "The Glyphs are.... unique... and dangerous, I'm not sure what they are doing now that they are damaged but I still feel their effects" He sighs once more "Seems I have need of Myrellion's knowledge now as well...as much as I dread having to meet with him...."

@Maeriel @inkdragon
 
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