The dead of night, the fire behind her crackling slowly, warming her from behind. She exhaled, watching the plume of white coming out from her helm. The spring didn't really do much of anything for her curse, but it did leave her feeling cleaner, warmer and much better than she did when she started.

More relaxed, and in a better mood, especially after that meal.

Fishing around in her backpack, she pulled out the bottle she brought along, an alcoholic drink she'd never thought she'd even drink. It tasted loud, rough and brash, not something her refined palate would have liked before, with a burning after taste that would have lead to her nose falling off. After all, such a rough rugged distillate was more fit for the peasants than someone like her.

Yet, she drank it, her current body favouring, desiring such things. Perhaps it was not so bad. Perhaps she had judged these drinks too harshly in her efforts to cling to her values. The infallible knight, the warrior encased in steel riding against evil, a shining pillar that was good, both in looks and morals. And here she was, using armor of composite pieces, battered, tarnished, with looks that would send childrens screaming and make their nannies drop dead of fright. Her hands was what affected her the most; she used to have slender hands, that looked delicate and dainty, even after she took up the sword. Now they're brutish paws that seemed like it could crush a human head. No, she was certain she can do so with relative ease.

"Ah."

Perhaps she should have started drinking while soaking in the hot springs. It was an idea that popped suddenly into her mind, one that seemed very enticing considering how comfortable she found the spring water to be, even if it didn't cure anything. She looked behind her, contemplating her decision. After all, no one should be awake unless it was time for their watch, and hers was yet to near its end.

The red child was already in there, looking like she was about to melt from bliss. The child didn't really exist, Ettamri knew that, but still, the sight of her being so comfortable ultimately lead her to stripping off, and going in for another dip. First the outer layers of her armor, then the inner, then the swathes of cloth she used to bind herself with to hide her skin like she was some diseased leper.

After a full meal, and now soaking in the hot water drinking from the bottle, it was hard not to feel relaxed. The weight of her mask, literally and metaphorically, lifted from her for this short while.

"Hoh." Tithemal's voice sounded within the spring, the Dragonscar champion still lounging comfortably in the near-boiling waters that he had situated himself in. He cast a crimson gaze upon Ettamri, before sniffing deeply again. "Was wondering why your scent had changed since we've last met, warrior."

She nearly choked on her drink, coughing as she finally noticed the champion still in the spring.

"Apologies. I did not realize you were still here." Ettamri spoke as she finally composed herself. Realizing that she wasn't wearing anything, she sank slightly deeper. "You... do not seem to be repulsed by my form."

Tithemal bared his fangs, his lower jaw jutting out to emphasize the girth of his canines. "Have I reason to?"

"I..." She looked to her own arms, muscle straining beneath crimson skin as she flexed them. "Perhaps not."

A few more moments of silence before Ettamri held out her bottle. "Do you drink?"

"So long as there's occasion to." Tithemal took the bottle, raising it up above to inspect the cloudy contents. "What's the occasion?"

"Being alive for another day." She said absentmindly, already feeling the spring water putting her in a deeply relaxed mood. Odd considering there was an orc champion right here, one that could very well slaughter her entire party without a thought. "How did you get to be so strong anyways?"

"Didn't imagine your kind to all be such drunkards." The lithe orc flashed his teeth, before taking a swig. His eyes rolled upwards, before the grimace showed. "Or such poor brewers." A hand reached into his own bundle to pull out a bamboo flask corked by a wooden peg. He set it on the waters and pushed it over, the bottle bobbing over to Ettamri.

"As for my strength though... Tis the blessing of the Heart-Drake, and the culmination of every day I've lived. Is that not how all creatures upon the dirt grow?"

She gave a small laugh at the first comment. "Apologies, but did you mean humans, or..." Ettamri stopped for a moment, wondering what it was she had actually turned into. "..or whatever it is I am?"

"No, not all creatures do. Some remain weak until the day they died, living short empty lives."

Grabbing the bottle, she uncorked it, smelling it first, before taking a sip of its content.

"Meaningless lives full of struggles to better themselves, yet never gaining a single inch of improvement."

"If you live amongst humans and fight along side them, I'd figure you'd want to be them too," Tithemal replied, resting his head against the stone. Neck stretched out like that, the scar that ran right underneath his Adam's apple was more pronounced than it otherwise could be, an angry red against green skin. "And the struggle, the struggle itself has meaning, doesn't it? Better to bleed for your ambition than to languish in stagnation. Twas the blessing of the Unliving King, even, to offer a chance for your kind to redeem themselves after death."

A pause, and Tithemal barked out, high-pitched. "These waters will make bards out of us, mark my words."

The drink went down smoothly, a fire that didn't actually try to tear through her stomach. It was undoubtedly a good drink, yet somehow... somehow she liked it better when her drinks went down fighting and clawing. Meaning through struggle was it?

"My kind? Did you mean me, or humans?" A small smile at the words. "I do not know of being bards, but that was certainly a good brew."

She corked it again, floating it on the water back to him.

"What else could I mean but humans?" Tithemal shrugged, taking his bottle back. "There can be no other culture for you to emulate, when you're naught but the remnant of a lost civilization."

"Remnants of..." She pondered that for a moment, before realizing what it could mean. "Then... do you know of that civilization? And where I can go to learn more?"

The red child grinned slyly to herself, as Ettamri realized the implications of what she said, and that she had stood up in the spur of the moment. "Ah, forgive me, it would seem the drink had affected me more than I thought."

Tithemal arced a brow, and then his lower canines jutted out once more. "So shall I answer that question or yours, or..."

"Yes please." She did not submerge herself in the bath again however, sitting by the side this time. "I wish to understand."

The orc settled into a more comfortable position, uncorking the warmed bottle to sip at it himself. His flesh glowed for a moment, before he let out a long groan, his chest caving in slightly. "I'm surprised, truly, that you'd even call it a civilization to begin with," Tithemal began, "when the stories the shamans divined from the stars and the wind spoke naught of treachery and deception. The Oni of Rosha's Gate are kin to my kind, their progenitors born from the scraped-off scales of the Heart-Drake when it burrowed into the depths of this world. My brethren were the shimmering green of its chest. Theirs were the blue and red of its limbs. We fell and propagated different parts of the world, and yet, the stars told us that our kind was not alone."

He poured himself another drink with a small cup, lifting it upwards to capture the twin moons peeking through the rising steam. "They were blessed with a fertile land that provided for what they needed, as well as the warrior spirit that drove them to vanquish the fouler beasts that crawled out the depths of their island. Disaster struck often, of course, when the mountains broke and the Red Mud frothed, but that was life; it came with death. My elders spoke that they sacrileged the blessings of the Heart-Drake by worshipping instead the land that sustained them, but, well, that formed the basis of their festivals and music, their dances and their spirit arts."

Tithemal inspected his fingernails, breathing on the tips.

"After one hundred cycles though, I doubt anything exists of them but hearsay and legends, all impossible to verify."

Ettamri listened attentively. Her family told of their kind, but their stories were mostly of her ancestor, who bested them long ago and claimed an island for himself.

"Rosha's Gate? Where would this gate be located?"

"The Dragonscar tribe does not make it a habit of venturing beyond our lands to claim the birthrights of others. I suppose you'd have a better understanding of where it is."

"I do?" She looks taken aback by that statement. Was it really that place that her ancestor conquered? For her to reach understanding, and perhaps a way to end the curse, she would have to go back. Or perhaps write another missive asking for her family to search in place of her. A lead, after the spring proved to be a dud.

Standing up, Ettamri started to dress herself again, after making sure to dry herself. "That was enlightening, sir. Thank you for indulging in my questions. Perhaps one day we shall clash again."

A small smirk on the red child's face, as Ettamri put on her gauntlets. "Unless, you're willing to do it now."

"Strong words for someone who couldn't take my head with a whole army behind her." Tithemal bared his teeth, pleasant birth surfacing as he sank into the waters again. "Send that holy knight my regards though, if he still breathes. Compliments from one Champion to another."

A pause. The lithe orc turned his gaze up towards the moon that peeked through the steam.

"Good night, human."