"Make fun all you want. I don't know if you've noticed but I'm the only female here so I have to say something."

"I could. But I like plants more then I like most people. And most plants don't have much energy. It wouldn't be very useful."

I'm not making fun of your margaret. Too bad we didn't have a copy of some morality or philosophical dissertations and essays though those are hard to find. I did have one on the positives of greed by Tu'len Silver and one on the nature of charitable behavior toward travelers by... Jennith Librandi but lost them in a river incident book-worm sighed.

if only we had some kind of holy guide who knows the ins and outs of a particular religion or philosophy. Who mayor not be immortal or have extreme longevity and has been around hundreds of years. they sounded a bit sarcastic.

on another note. I doubt we'll just find a willing test subject for being drained. Any other ideas or spells?

"I'm no guide. But I have knowledge of Religion and Religious Practices."

Margaret shakes her head, refocusing on her sewing. "At least I'm useful for this, and for giving these to the unfortunate. I am strangely looking forward to that."

"A story? Okay..." He says as he sits and thinks for a second. "Ah, I have one. Okay... This story begins in a time long forgotten, in a land long forgotten. There, there was a prosperous Empire of numerous Nomadic groups. These Nomads lived in seclusion, only communicating with other groups to trade supplies, or banding together for a hunting season. These groups lived like this for countless generations. At the beginning of one of these generations, a child was born. This child, belonging to one of the stronger tribes, was physically normal, but very smart. This child was able to set traps and mark maps before his teenage years. He quickly became respected for his vast intelligence. One day, while he was out setting traps, he was approached by a strange ball of light. After a moment of studying the strange light, it began to speak to him. The voice that came from the ball sounded like that of a proud father, saying, "You... Your mind has lead you and your people to great harvests and hunts. But, your gift is not meant to travel grasslands forever. You have a calling... A purpose." This shook the kid. He has never had anyone tell him that he is meant to be away from his tribe, and it scared him. Then, the voice taught him how to build crafts that were made to help transport people... His people. This Light, he would come to learn, was the pure voice of Ohgma, the God of Knowledge. This God granted him this gift, knowing that one day he would lead his people to Civilized land, calling it his "Divine Mission." This Nomad would soon come to earn the name "Recorder Sepillion" spearheading the Innovative Era of History. This was when they first began making historical records. Which then evolved into the creation of Holy and Historical books. Just one of the many instances where Gods intervene in Mankind to bring about some glorious change." He then shifts uncomfortably. "My age is a blessing and a curse... I'd rather not talk about it..."

Vagmir keeps walking, and turns to the group. "Tell me if you need to rest." Kolpec smiles. "Your age is a cursed blessing then?"

If we could stop aging all together. We would much prefer that ourselves. Even fully knowing that the mind persists long after death in the endless void, unless otherwise picked up is barely a comfort. The time being lost and the limited amount of it. It feels rather horrendous to think about. Book-Worm let out a sigh.

Most of a day left to go when it comes to traveling. From the looks of it, seems things are getting worse even faster now..

"Not long before the darkness impacts the living, normal people. Er, well, more normal creatures, those of light," Margaret observes quietly, finishing her tenth blanket.

"Yes... My age is a curse..." He says quietly.

Margaret frowns when she hears him.

"My God has restrained my age until I complete a Divine Mission." He says.

"Oh wow. I'm.. I'm sorry," Margaret cautiously gets up and hands Ariues a blanket. "Here, so you don't get cold."

"No no... Don't be sorry. It's okay." He says as he doesn't take the blanket.

"So, are you not cold?"

"No. My Holy Flames keep me warm. You should rest." He says, keeping the Carriage at a steady pace.

"I'm fine, thank you. I'm used to not sleeping," Margaret replies, putting away the blanket and resuming her sewing. "Besides, I wouldn't want to deprive the people of my amazing skills," she jokes gently.