GOSSK, feeling mildly amused by Lynn's comment over Licks, was content to let the merlady speak uninterrupted. He remained in a kneeling position, his cowl drooping slightly as the wind rustled it. The Dracodile took a moment to process his words--a reoccurring lapse in conversing in which Lynn might notice a pattern whenever Gossk engaged in communicating. He was almost more excited to take in her Common than to actually reply; It was an overload that showered his draconic brain with grammar and tenses, not to mention tones and enunciation. Language was a beautiful thing, Gossk knew, and it would be something, much like the terrain, flora, and fauna, that he would have to master in time.

He finally stood, rising slowly to his full height as he watched Lynn's reaction, not wishing to inadvertently intimidate her. Such was the contrast in their size that Lynn's line-of-sight was now level with his loincloth, which, though it flapped with the occasional breeze, revealed nothing risque; Rather, its red markings depicted a curious scene of a small reptile surrounded by larger ones.

As her cohort conversed peacefully with the fish lady, LICKS found it prudent to explore the scents and peculiarities belonging to the thing called Lynn. The reed cat meandered over to her confidently, stopping to sniff her little webbed toes, and then her ankles and thighs. She smelled good. Rubbing up against Lynn's legs, Licks almost wished that they could eat her--the taste of fish was a treat the feline could hardly ignore. Licks would have to make do with sharing her cohort's company. She kept moving and rubbing, her tail slightly elevated to show friendliness.

The Dracodile turned to the northeast with half a pace, his large spiky tail brushing the sand as it balanced him and flicked harmlessly towards the merlady. Lynn could actually now see that some kind of wooden shield and crude blunt weapon were hooked into the spikes on his side, as though he was using the spikes to holster his weapons. With an outstretched hand, Gossk murmured and croaked, "Not a sea, Lynn. The, ah... narshland, it is close to the large dark thorest... and on the, uh, east shore on this sea here..."

He turned towards Lynn, lowering his arm as he gestured with the other. "Ny quest is to ex'lore an', ah... conquer the thears--to acquaint nu teotle an' gain disscern'nent on the, uh... 'oorld," he added, then glancing at the Crystal Sea from which they had both emerged. "Ny journey led to a thork here, on this sea an' the desert o'er there." Gossk's eyes then turned to the Killamin Desert, its distant dunes dancing with a dastardly wind and dizzying heat.

"I chose the sea," Gossk continued, a hint of regret in his growling voice, "an' it is too dangerous, as a... ah, shark, yes, it tried to eat nee, an' thanks to you, I suther only a little soreness."

He took two steps then, his large stride bringing him completely past Lynn as he assumed a stooped posture behind her. Gossk was careful to not brush up against the merlady, nor prick her with his tail. Facing the desert region, he knelt once again, looking down at the ground as Licks sauntered into his view, looking up at him curiously.

"As to ny, uh... dett, you had said your heart's intentions--to do right. So nou ny reason is stronger, so it is that ny heart shall get the sane thing--to do right dy you," Gossk insisted, hoping Lynn would relent her modesty and take what was rightfully hers.

Gossk would then inquire where she's from, and where she was going. He'd let her speak, waiting patiently and nodding on occasion. He'd make comments here and there, hinting that he would like to join her on her quest, if only because he would learn so much--in fact, at one point, he would compliment her intelligence. Gossk would also explain that his cat's name is Licks, and if Lynn were to ask why, Gossk and Licks would look at each other, and then he'd say, because she licks.

And Licks would, on que, lick her lips.

With a thunderous crash, the Sand Skiff ran into the crag, tossing its inhabitants violently around. Effectively locking the slavers down Tyrael approaches. He had to give these men credit: despite the chaos caused his his snakes they were collectively able to dispatch the swarm without too much trouble. They suffered a few painful bites and one was poisoned, but they were still alive. They took cover behind the high walls of the skiff, preventing Tyrael from getting a clear shot at them. Zastriel could see them clearly from her sky-eye view, but Tyrael wouldn’t be able to shoot any of them. He could test his luck letting his great arrows punch through the wood, but he only had a few great arrows to use. He couldn’t afford to use all of them for such a small encounter.

And so for a few minutes things were quiet. The slavers were taking cover, switching to bows or crossbows and trying to spot Tyrael. As for Tyrae himself he put his bow away to approach the skiff as stealthy as he could, taking advantage of his cloaks drab colors to disguise himself as a mere stone when he was still. Soon however the second distraction would occur just in cue: the three women escaped. Zastriel took the keys off the Varbuk corpse and unlocked their chains. This allowed the women to scramble to freedom, causing one of the men to get up and try to secure them. He’s only manage to capture one of the women before Zastriel suddenly made a loud, terrifying demonic noise right behind his ear, getting everyone’s attention. Now thinking they’re being attacked by not just bandits but demons now, the men chose to abandon ship, either leaping off onto the sands or cowering behind cover waiting for further assault.

This was Tyrael’s chance. One of the men jumped out from the skiff right where Tyrael could reach him, and so the orcish warrior charged forward, club poised to crush his face. The warrior, despite his fears, was able to protect himself however, deflecting Tyrael’s strike with his blade. He frightfully shouted for help as Tyrael lashed out with his club again. This time however when their weapons struck, Tyrael’s club bursted into green flames, jumping from his club to the swordman’s clothes and lighting him on fire. The flames began to burn the man and his attire causing him to fall in panic, but these magical flames could not be put out by mundane means.

Two varuk warriors would join the battle against Tyrael while the last remaining swordsman stayed on deck trying and failing to find Zastriel as she harried him. The Varuks brandished terrifying battle axes as they approached Tyrael. In turn the orcish warrior... Turned to flee into the crags. Three-against one wasn’t in his favor and he had hoped the sword man would’ve been dead by now, but alas Tyrael’s green flame, as hot as it was, would burn away quickly and leave the swordman mostly alive. Wounded, but alive, and still able to fight. Tyrael needed to take advantage of the terrain now and try and pick off or wound the warriors one-by-one rather than to let them surround and overwhelm him.

@drewccapp@Jollan@Lotrix Molick
With a small smile and nod, Anrak took the bible back from Kistal's hands, his eyes expressing a silent gratitude for the satyr's understanding.

However, just as he was about to return to his work, Kistal's final remark caused the massive man to suddenly freeze, as he whipped around in fear to check on his food; only to find it was near perfectly cooked.

Turning back towards Kistal, he responded with a low, angry growl, "Never. Joke. About. Th' food."

Then his precious roast burst into flame.

---

After spending a large portion of the night working on his armor, Anrak slept like a rock through the whole ordeal of the early morning hours.... What did wake him, was the smell of blood reaching his half-breed nose. Instinct immediately took over as the large man's eyes snapped open, his hands flying to his blade as he practically threw himself to his feet.

Just as he was about to draw his blade however, he stopped.  Seemingly, no one else in the camp was threatened by the presence of the blood-soaked newcomer. Seeing that this individual was a Sylve, Anrak wasted no time in donning his helmet, and newly made armor.  The armor, was simple, but based off the design Anrak remembered his mother recounting the minotaur soldiers of The City wearing. Having reused the material from his previous set of armor, he now had a chest plate, some pauldrons of leather and bone, and a battleskirt of especially thick leather slabs, cut into triangle topped rectangles, and sewn onto a belt at his waist. Thought he could not hide his physical appearance, Anrak hoped that his current attire was a far enough cry from what he used to wear, (or lack thereof) that he wouldn't possibly be recognized.

As he listened to the Newcomer's message, Anrak felt a twinge of regret; it was his fault the lass hadn't been there, and he doubted words from someone she saw as a phony would provide much comfort.

As Allanon called into the group, Anrak stepped forward to speak, "Aye been part uvah crew befur.  On account ah me size, aye can't say that sneakin' is somethin' ayem good at though."

Allanon's question was absolutely a good one. After all, a unit must be cohesive enough to do their job. "While I normally work alone, I have done team operations before. Assuming we all know the capabilities of the group, I imagine we can get by." He gave a bit of a flourished bow, smirking. "I am Kistalfionnis, scandal maker, spy, chef, boozemaker, sometimes assassin, and curse inflicter extraordinaire. I have a particular hatred for Calabris, borne of more than one source." His little display done, he straightened back up and gave his spear a quick spin in one hand.

"So, myself and our dear duelist over here seem capable as sneaks. Are there any others here who would like to join us?" His eyes scanned the group. Most seemed to be frontline fighters. Maybe Chihiro could sneak, but Kistal doubted her temperament to doing so. If Sahale weren't leaving, he likely could do it assuming he could keep his mouth shut.

Chihiro let the others speak their mind, her arms never letting go of the cute woman in them. "I would rather not sneak behind. I will move in from the front. Trust me, it will cause a massive distraction for the second group. My dance of death tends to attract many eyes. Besides, I need to find something among the ruins. And, if what our newcomer says is true, take that artifact from our foe. Power of that level should be kept safe and out of the hands of people."

She smiled wide, letting slip that she had fangs in place of normal canines. "I have a bone to pick with this particular group, especially after they attacked Valia and then launched an attack on innocent citizens. If they surrender, I will offer redemption, but until then, they will not live past this day."

Allanon smiled at Anrak and Chihiro as they stated their opinions toward their own role as a frontline distraction. Overall, he appreciated how everyone seemed to be on the same page. The last time he teamed up with strangers it was an utter disaster of incompetence. He appreciated Kistal calling Allanon a duelist even if his time as a duelist had long since passed since his youth. "I'm glad to see we're all on the same page here. I was going to suggest we have a team go in loud and proud while the rest take a quiet approach. I would definitely be best towards a stealth approach."

Honestly, he would work great on either team. He used to be the distraction with his wife when he worked with his old team when the situation called for it. His time working as a vigilante forced him to learn how to take a more tactical approach. In this situation, he was probably best to be a part of the infiltration team rather than the distraction team.

He faced Dorran with an expression of curiosity. "Do you perhaps have a map of the ruins we will be going into? It would be a good idea if we're to find the best infiltration point without taking precious time scouting." He then faced Chihiro. "I appreciate the offering of redemption to those we can, however, if any of them are bound by contract with the Calabris family we will have no choice but to end their lives. The only ways to nullify a contract with the Calabris are to fulfill the contract's terms, if they break it themselves, or die. All contracts are sealed with a blood-bound curse."

In some ways, ex-slaves like Kistal had it better. It was easier to escape the bonds of slavery than break the bonds of a contract. He envied the beastman a little bit. If Allanon had the opportunity to escape his contract before the Calabris family "retired" him he would have taken his wife and ran.

When Eduard finally stepped away from the cave enough, and when Sahale handed him his 'blade' of sorts, Eduard could feel a rush of wind lift him up off the ground, practically cradling him in midair. A faint feminine voice could be just barely heard upon the winds. "This one is new, my beloved. He bares your blade...Is he friend or foe? Shall I tear him asunder for you~?"

Sahale shook his head, "He is with me, dear. He is a doctor in need of transport back to Kalla. I'm sorry to ask you this favor again so soon."

"I am happy to assist you my love, but be warned, the winds of my blessing are troubled there, do be careful..," the mysterious voice responded with palpable worry.

Sahale's face darkened at the mentioning of that, knowing only a few people that could cause such a disruption. The winds of her blessing... it must have been that sylve man he briefly met, and if that was the case he may be way in over his head. "Then we should make haste, I fear we might be too late already, let's be off!" he shouted as the wind picked up and carried both Sahale and the doctor off back to Kalla at bewildering speed.

Somehow, after all the noise of the wind picking up, Bidzil finally sat up, awning and scratching his head. "Oi... is everyone getting ready?" he asked drearily. He stood up from the sandy cave floor and started dusting himself off. 'Everyone is awake and didn't even wake me up, what's with that, eh?' he thought to himself. "What was all that wind, I haven't woken up to a windstorm like that years, everything alright?" he asked, wondering if that was why everyone was awake. As the young man woke up, the others close to him who were once again sensitive to it could feel slightly empowered, as if the mana in them had surged. Was this adrenaline for the oncoming situation or something... more peculiar?

Hilde bowed her head in thanks to Dorran and then gave Chihiro one last squeeze in their embrace, sgnifying that she should probably be getting ready. She stretched to get herself back to being limber and started placing back all of her armor. She picked up her sword holding it in both hands and looking down at it. She drew it to check its well maintained blade and then placed it back in its sheath before lashing it to her waist-piece with a leather strap. She then took her hair and pulled it back, wrapping it around itself till it made a surprisingly secure bun, instead og her usually way of letting it cascade over her shoulder and with a loose poytail in the back. This way her hair would be harder to grab in battle, cutting off a few possible chances of being left open, and to keep it from her face. "I am ready...," she simply said, Dorran giving a nod of approval at her resolve.

Doran then turned to Allanon with a bit of a chuckle, "That we don't, my friend. But the old ruins are fairly simple and built into the side of these mountains. Even if We had a map of the old place, odds are the bandits may have reconstructed around it if they have made it their base and the the dilapidation may have caused it to change ever more. I would expect wooden structures to keep out most who may pass, but I wouldn't think they would expect much to come down the mountain on top of them. Bit of a drop, but if managed, you would be able to surprise them. From memory, back when I was a lad, there was a main open courtyard, a statue of Krogan there with his real weapon in his hands. There would then be a number of tunnels that go into the mountain that made up the old town."



"No... no no no no no no NO! Ahahahaha! A bandit? Oh to be compared with such worms that writh in the dirt! You ask who I am without introducing yourselves... hmmmm, curious indeed. You are pondering who I am, no? I would expect this one to know better," the man said as he looked out to Sev. "You feel it... do you not? The insignificance of the shields you call magic? You are nothing more than an entertainer from my perspective. But do not doubt you can still create such beautiful works of art, like the man in the alley, s p l e n d i d. And you, young Isoli, I presume these frozen fools to be your doing? A death frozen in time! WONDERFUL I SAY!" he shouted as he stood to full height at the top of the monument throwing his arms to the air. "But there is another...," he said as he looked back down and lowered his arms, one left up to point to the temple. "Dragged into the temple I saw, one who butchered oh so many. Painted this dry canvas in a wet crimson that even the great reapers would struggle to manufacture. Brutal. Efficient. To the point. Trading quality of quantity, I have not seen this many bodies since I escaped my shackles years ago, I simply had to come see for myself. You want to know who I am, do you? The man raised the farming tool in his hand and brought it down against the monument, destroying it in a single blow, his own body floating down. What was eerie, however, was that the monument seemed to fall in slow motion, as well as the man as he drifted down, yet there were no wind currents controlling this. The second the stilts touched the ground, the monument seemed to be released and fell, as well as a nearly physical wave of power was unleashed from the man, and all magic and manipulation gifts ceased to function. I AM BARDUS, AND I SHALL ANNOUNCE THE COMING OF MY KING WITH YOUR WORTHY BLOOD!



Lynn listened carefully, trying her best to fill in the gaps of the man's speech. He still insisted in serving her, and upon looking out to the desert as his next path, Lynn finally agreed. "Alright then, if you honestly would like to help me, I guess it would be rude to reject you further," she smiled as she knelt down to pet the cat. It was so soft too! She hummed delightedly as she felt its fur, and then reached into a pouch to produce some fish meat that had been previously dried despite going back into the water, and offered it to Licks before standing up. "I have never been to that part of the crystal sea, I was always warned to stay away as a child. I am from the island in the center of the sea." she started as she began floating on her staff alongside Gossk, almost like a witch on a broom though still sidesaddle. Her face seemed to grow distant fora moment as she recounted why she was here. "I.... am looking for something stolen from my people. It was a trident, held by our old kings before it was sealed away for being too powerful. We were attacked by men with strange weapons. Clubs that spout magic faster than one could dream of casting it. My people.... were devastated," she recounted, her ears folding down as she looked to the sand beneath her. "I lost many friends and family... I couldn't heal all of them, and I was injured as well.." she said as she pulled back the sleeve on her right arm. It was covered in burn scars that had been healed through magic as well, or else it would be too fresh to bare this kind of travel so soon. "I need to go and find it and bring it back, nobody else would, they were too afraid, so i left..," she said, looking up to the desert dunes ahead as she floated with Gossk walking next to her towards it. "Though I have no idea where to even start looking..."

Despite Lynn's worry over if she was even going the right direction or not, she was quite thrilled to have someone to talk to. Though the desert was rough, Lynn was able to produce water for the two of them whenever it was needed, however, with them losing more than just water in this heat, Gossk may notice Lynn becoming more sluggish, and sometimes mentioning something about a headache. She looked tired, and she didn't seem to be floating as high as she once was on her staff, the thing every now and again dipping when she lost concentration.

It could have been a mirage, but the oddest thing seemed to be seen in the distance. A boat on the sands!? On water that was one thing, but it was quite the spectacle to those who had never visited this region. There was a loud and low snapping sound, almost akin to the sound of thunder, and it seemed that whatever this ship was had crashed into a crag, and the sound of a struggle could be heard.

"S-someone...is in trouble..." Lynn spoke weakly, now somewhat balanced to lay on her staff, not wanting to try walking as her bare feet were unable to cope with the hot sands. Odd, she mentions other people's safety even though her own seemed to be at risk.

If Gossk could see them, unlike his drying out counterpart, he could see a ship clearly crashed into a crag, though it seems to have held up to the impact well enough. There was an obvious conflict between a number of men and a figure cloaked in desert robes. There seemed to be a few other women to who tried to find a place to hide from he conflict around the crags as well. They wore plain grubby attire, a tattered large shirt that seemed to just come low enough to cover them, and while freed from the chains that bound them to the ship, there were still obvious signs from being bound before. Sure signs of being slaves to most.

Dashing up the crags, the swordsman was hot on Tyrael's heels. Just as they seemed to be on even ground, Tyreal moved low and threw a large shield full of sand and gravel into the man's face. He followed up with another club strike, but the swordsman was expecting this and instead of merely blocking he parried Tyrael's blow away. He followed up with a stab that cut through Tyrael's robes and sliced into the orc's shoulder; painful but hardly lethal. As the swordsman tried to follow up, Tyrael struck with a swift and low kick right into the man's shins, tripping him up and allowing Tyrael to push him down the crag. He had hoped the man would break his neck upon the rocks, but the swordsman wasn't nearly that fragile and while hurt, he was still alive. The Varuks would be slowly approaching as they had both hands on their axes, relying solely on their careful strides to climb the rocks.

One in particular Tyrael noticed was having difficulties. He was the one who was poisoned by the snakes and it was starting to show by the way he stumbles as he walks. Picking up a rock from the ground Tyrael hurled it at the varuks, the one in front battering the stones away with his axe. But when Tyrael kicks down a particularly large stone, this forced the varuk to try and avoid the rock, which was exactly what Tyrael wanted. At the same time the varuk dodged, Tyrael leapt off the rock and lunged towards the poisoned Varuk. He was was slow to react due to the poison, and even though he had his axe poised to impale Tyrael he lacked the strength to put any force behind the stab as Tyrael's shield deflected the blade of the varuk's axe, knocking it aside as Tyrael crushed his head with his club. The flames jumped from the club onto the man's body, causing hims to panic, fall, and plummet to his death. Unlike the swordsman, this varuk did break his neck.

There was no time to celebrate however. A second later Tyrael received a graze across his cheek as the other Varuk was already attacking him, having only barely sliced Tyrael due to the orc's momentum turning what would have been a decapitating blow into a minor cut. Still Tyrael was caught flatfooted and the Varuk had the high ground, allowing him to unleash swing after swing at Tyrael. The best Tyrael could do was raise his shield and take the hits, but after the third strike the Varuk's axe cleaved deep into Tyrael's shield and into his arm. Blood burst from his wound as his shield was sundered, but it gave Tyrael a moment to toss his shield aside and throw off the varuk's balance. But in doing so, Tyrael himself made the mistake of not watching his step, slipping on a rock and tumbling down the rocks and towards the ground. He made sure to roll safely to prevent any major injuries, but now he was a fair bit bruised, had a minor cut on his face, moderate cut on his right shoulder, and a major cut in his left arm. "Shrakh."

Getting back to his feet the Varuk and Swordsman came down, weapons at the ready to fight. Tyrael drew his hunting knife in his off-hand; he'd rather have a shield, but at least if he had the knife he can try to parry with it or use it as an off-hand. Zastriel was still distracting the other swordsman thankfully, though she could sense that Tyrael was in danger as well. As far as magic goes, Tyrael still had a few spells he could use but nothing that would immediately kill the warriors. "Ajog mabaj hugianug." He sighs as he readies himself for the slavers to attack him. He flourishes his weapon, even stomping on the dead Varuk at his feet by snapping his neck just to show the slavers his savagery.

Kistal listened to Allanon and Dorran, letting them make some decisions. He settled on checking his booze stocks. They were still very much intact and ready to use. Anyone watching would see him switch the mostly empty bottle with a new full one and stock a second one to spare. His spellcasting needed to be at its peak. "If we need some insight and anyone has something from the Calabris that would be there, I could scry out at least some of the camp. I forgot to mention that I can be a diviner as needed." He straightened back up and let out a hmmm as he went to the mouth of the cave. "I am restless. For what they did to me, my allies, and innocent people, I wish to make the sands run red with their lives."

Chihiro's smile darkened and a small, nearly inaudible hiss came from her. "If they are indeed beyond redemption, then I shall end them. There is no value in letting evil survive if one can stop it." She gave a flourished spin on one foot, polymorphing back into her travel attire. She pulled her hair back into the usual loose ponytail. Grabbing her hair in battle would be a hard thing to do in a normal fight, let alone when she decided to give her dance of death everything she had. There was no chance she would let them go without facing her full strength.

THE HONORABLE DRACODILE was pleased: The easygoing merlady hadn't required him to spend several awkward hours likely failing to explain to her the vast, religious intricacies behind life debts and proper integrity as demanded by Illorassk the Devourer. Gossk noted Lynn's delight in petting Licks, reminding him of his long investment in the reed cat; Not only was she useful in battle, but certain social boons (cuteness) could be harnessed as well. At the sight of the dried fish meat, Licks looked to Gossk before taking it--not that he had priority over food, he knew, but to confirm that he does trust Lynn and so should she. Gossk nodded at Licks and gestured a claw at Lynn as he spoke something gentle in Rasskarr.

Licks decided to like the fish thing called Lynn. It fed her willingly and offered intense grooming as a bonus. Licks didn't even have to do anything for Lynn. What a deal! The reed cat then knew that Lynn would make a great cohort, albeit not necessarily a replacement for Gossk. As she consumed the first dried meat, she eyed the Dracodile, judging everything that he had done for her. Her rather high intelligence (for a reed cat) voided her capricious whims and immediately quash the notion of cohort replacement. Gossk was daddy. Subtle strings of guilt pervaded her inner being, as she stared at the second dried meat... no longer hungry.

Gossk stooped down to pocket Lick's food for later, whilst attentively paying heed to Lynn as she explained her mission, and the calamity before it. He remained absolutely silent as he paced casually along side her hovering 'stick' (Gossk didn't know what to call it). He'd occasionally nod at her, making brief eye contact, the longest of which was during the reveal of her right arm's scars. It reminded him of his own scars, especially a non-physical one: loss of friends and family. At least she wasn't an exile. The other thing he pondered along with this were the magical clubs, and their rumored power. 'Those sound useful.'

As much as Lynn enjoyed chatting, she might notice that Gossk simply wasn't used to chatting with someone while on the move. As she continued to speak, his unblinking eyes would scan their horizons constantly, searching for threats and points of interest. It was, to be fair, a great deal of information to take in, but Gossk wasn't worried as he knew his mind would recall it perfectly. However, he did realize one fact: this merlady was stronger than she looked, and determined as well. He liked that very much.

At the top of a grassy knoll before the terrain would gradually transform into the desert, Gossk knelt into a coiled position, admiring their vantage point as Lynn stopped hovering for a moment and shared it with him. He then turned to her, as though he had been waiting for a chance to say something since the end of her story. In a low, rasping voice, Gossk said, "Lynn... this all tells ne... you and I are alike, and dy Illorassk, I kno' that you... are thery strong."

That admission was the single, most heartfelt statement that Gossk had uttered to anyone in years. It roiled his stomach inside, though he wasn't sure why. It was an odd feeling for certain--he had even stood up then rather hastily, looking away as though he might be a little embarrassed. Licks was even looking up at him funny, her head tilting sideways and lone ear pointing skyward. Gossk grunted at the reed cat, causing her to flinch and saunter away from him and over to Lynn to check out her 'stick.'

As they made their way down the hill, towards the desert, Gossk spoke again. "As thor o-wear to look, o-ee nust think our eneny's thoughts after then," he stated with a touch of enigmatic eloquence.

---

As the harsh desert began to take its toll on them, Gossk felt emboldened by the challenge, not yet noticing how poorly Lynn and Licks were faring under the dry heat. He was used to such temperatures back home, albeit with greater amounts of humidity. It bothered him a little and he knew that he could tough it out until they found shelter. Eventually he did notice that his new partner wasn't taking it very well. Licks had actually petered out long before Lynn did, even with the water that the merlady had provided them periodically. The reed cat had taken refuge in Gossk's large satchel. Her long tail hung out of the side, flicking lazily about.

It was at this point that a certain ping of stupidity raked up Gossk's spine, threatening to shake his scales. He should have used his Far Stride spell to assist them in their travels. It was a useful incantation for such situations, and he hadn't used it since that one time that he failed (arguably) to escort a bunch of travelers across a dangerous route up north. As he turned to Lynn, gesturing for her to stop so he could explain what he wanted to do, her attention was stolen by something making a loud thunderous clap somewhere off in the distance. He followed her gaze as he turned, his hands clenching as he took a small step and his tail settled behind him.

Gossk squinted, his keen eyes taking in what details they could. A boat (or floaty thing that humans used) was somehow in this dry, waterless land. His first thought was where was all the water that he and Lynn had apparently been missing? That was a mystery for another day, as his ears picked up sounds of a brutal and chaotic struggle, the cling and clang of weapons as well. Lynn's discernment merited a glance from him as she figured someone was in trouble. At that point, the Dracodile withdrew a large spyglass, extended it to its full length, and brought it his eye. What the Dracodile witnessed spiked his adrenaline: a couple men and a cloaked figure clashing for victory, a handful of women in tattered clothing scampering out of sight, and a lone man on the skiff who was apparently intoxicated and batting at non-existence foes. It was not necessarily the plight of those people that roused the Dracodile, but rather, the thrill of battle and the winning of trophies, not to mention the delicious consumption that would take place afterwards.

"You are right," Gossk told Lynn, handing her the spyglass so that she could see.

"I nust ask you to, uh... thor-githe me, as I should have done this be'thore," Gossk added, going on to explain very briefly the nature of his Far Stride spell.

He then proceeded to speak its incantation, after which they would all immediately start feeling better with every passing second, as though traveling in the desert had suddenly become a lazy Sunday stroll in the park. Not that Gossk would know what such a thing was.

"<DILSSK KRAS QUOR-JISSK KASTH; LORR'AJA DOUKO TAJJ>."

Gossk then turned to Lynn, murmuring for her intentions to this encounter. "Thank you, Gossk, but I really can't quite tell what is happening from here, it's still too blurred..." Lynn replied sadly, lowering the spyglass, "but something doesn't feel right, we should probably help..."

"So shall it de," Gossk growled, albeit not in annoyance, but more like acceptance of the situation, and all the consequences inherent in getting entangled with the business of others.

---

Gossk bowed lightly at Lynn, taking a few paces away from her as he explained that she should use her superior agility and flight to find those women 'chattel' and secure their safety and trust--he emphasized to her to leave the 'killing' to him. Lynn might notice now that all those signs of Gossk's gentleness were absent and that aura of submissive tentativeness completely gone. Instead, a powerful and deadly seriousness took root in the calm Dracodile's body language (and somewhat in his face, as he wasn't one for facial expressions). Even the reed cat had emerged from his satchel, her ears folded back as though she knew what was to come. The two of them faced towards the battle scene, their paths being traced before them. With a shared glance and a murmur in Rasskarr, the Dracodile and his reed cat suddenly bolted and raked their protected feet across the sand, kicking it all out behind them with great intensity.

Gossk's Far Stride empowered their sprint; What would normally take a few minutes to reach the battle now required only a mere moment and a few breaths. Gossk recalled what little he had seen through the spyglass: Someone had fallen along the path of the crags, there had been two dark-skinned Varuks with battleaxes, but one had fallen after the cloaked figure threw a large stone at him. Gossk thought he saw green flames, but he wasn't sure. He did however notice the cloaked figure's endurance, taking the beating of the lone Varuk's battleaxe with a shield. A wooden shield. Not to mention the ruthlessness with which the cloaked figure had stepped on the dead Varuk's neck. It would be amusing to fight that one, he thought, but first things first: he would tie up the loose end.

The Dracodile's purple irises spied the lone human swordsman atop the sand skiff. Licks disappeared ahead of him, among the rocks and bushes. With a bounding jump, Gossk drove his claws into the side of the odd boat, effectively cutting into the wood as he climbed. His head peeked over the side of the railing: the swordsman proved to not be drunk after all, but he was distracted by weird noises--that much was certain. Though he could pinpoint exactly where the sounds were coming from, Gossk couldn't see the source. He deemed it odd, but inconsequential as he crawled over the side, his tail spikes splintering the wood rather loudly. The swordsman gasped and turned towards his new foe while taking a couple steps back. Whatever he was thinking or planning, it was already far too late for him---he wouldn't even get a chance to blink before the distance was closed between them, for if the Dracodile's naturally long stride was more than enough, a magically boosted one would yield nothing to chance.

After all, the stark presence of a large, bipedal dragon-like creature suddenly appearing and power-walking towards you as though you were an everyday meal... was not exactly something that played nice with a person's ability to think straight.

The poor man's incoherent exclamations and wild swings were trivial nonsense that did not faze the Dracodile whatsoever--the sword, although sharp, was poorly aimed and bounced a few times off of his scales. Gossk tilted his head then, and simply reached into the human's exposed throat. His black claws enjoyed no resistance as they passed his trachea and grasped the twitching spinal cord. He lifted his now dying prey with an outstretched arm to his eye level, the copious amounts of blood spurting everywhere and staining the two of them, as well as the floor below. The sword fell out of his hand, clattering with finality as the swordsman went limp.

Gossk caressed the fine hair on the human's scalp, pushing its plush face left and right with his other hand as though examining its features for some sort of value. A short puff of air escaped his nostrils, as though disappointed, perhaps disgusted. Stepping towards the other side of the skiff so that he could see Tyrael, the Varuk, and the other swordsman, Gossk used both of his hands to completely rip the head off, which he tossed over his shoulder carelessly. As he came to a stop and observed their situation below, the body stopped dragging along the wooden floor. The Varuk looked good to him. Without warning, Gossk then took a step back and, with great strength, proceeded to interrupt their nonsense with an airborne decapitated body, aimed squarely at the Varuk.

Gossk didn't really expect his throw to make contact, as it was merely an act of dominance and intimidation. As if that wasn't enough, the Dracodile then roared at them, the sound of his anger echoing greatly throughout the crags and sand dunes. His pearl-white teeth shone brilliantly in the sun as saliva and spittle dripped onto the wood below, mildly burning it.

Gossk Quor-dek then leaped down into the fray, intending to crush the Varuk with his weight, his claws and teeth poised to sink into his delicious-looking flesh.

Allanon raised a brow at Kistal in an expression of surprise. He knew from the broken chains the beastman wore that Kistal was a former slave. He recognized their design and purpose. What impressed him the most, though was he as a diviner escaped the Calabris' hands. Diviners were highly valued and hard to come across, and they were one of the most desired commodities of the Calabris family. Either Kistal learned his abilities after escaping slavery, or the Calabris family had no idea about his magical powers. Either way, it was a good thing he was no longer in their hands.

"We are fortunate to have one as yourself on our side," Allanon said. "A scrying spell would give us quite the advantage in this raid. What do you need to accomplish it, and how long for the rite?" He spoke as someone that was quite familiar with those that could use magic. Something, that he certainly was having witnessed the two magic-users on his old team work their arts. Outside of healing for the Isoli member of his old team he knew all to well the rituals behind the magic required strict components and had time requirements.

Tyrael was evaluating his options. He can do two-on-one easily, but his wounds would mean even a small mistake could turn into a lethal one. Zastriel was still distracting the other one for now but Tyrael could certainly use her help against these two, and she couldn't slay the lone warrior on her own without compromising her stealth. Still he needed assistance so Tyrael was about to call her in when suddenly there was a noise from above. Before the warrior was grunting as one would when swinging a sword about, but this time he screamed in terror. Tyrael wasn't sure if Zastriel learned a new trick, and was positive it wasn't her when a corpse came flying into the varuk.

There was a brief moment where the combatants saw a large lizard man decend upon them. Though lizard man wasn't quite an accurate description; this creature was far more burly and had rougher scales that what you'd expect from a mere lizard. Tyrael vaguely remembers seeing pictures of these creatures, some sort of large aquatic reptile sometimes called swamp dragons, but such trivia was not important to Tyrael right now. The confusion effectively took out the varuk. And as the stranger leapt towards the soon-to-be corpse, Tyrael dashed forward towards the final remaining swordsman. He was startled for multiple reasons, lowing his guard just enough for Tyrael to dig his knife into the sand and toss a considerably clump into his face. On instinct the swordman moved his sword to block, but a blade could not protect him from a cloud of sand as it blinded him. In this blinded state Tyrael crushed the man's knee with his club, and as the man started to kneel Tyrael drove his dagger into the man's chin, going through the roof of his mouth, through the brain, and out the top of the skull. His body went limp as Tyrael twisted his knife out of the current corpse and turned towards the newcomer, who no doubt has finished off the last remaining varuk. He wasn't sure if this was a friend or foe so Tyrael didn't lower his guard.

"Lakur. Who are you and why are you here?"

THE VARUK, much to Gossk's surprise, actually fell backwards as his headless ally struck his legs. This did however prevent the massive Dracodile from crushing him to death. So, as he landed, the hardened ground cracked and caved and his gaze, having remained fixed on the Varuk, looked hungry. Unfortunately for the Varuk, Gossk didn't just sit there: his landing transformed into a momentum-saving maneuver, via a small step and turn to the right. This swiftly brought his long spiked tail into play, allowing it to rake over the Varuk's body. Smacking him in the face and chest, the tail also battered his weapon to his opposite side.

Bruised but not bleeding, the Varuk scrambled to grab his weapon, his fear giving him just enough power to do so; However, he let out a yell as Gossk, now facing him again, had seized his ankles, his claws sending sharp pain up his spine. The Dracodile dragged his prey closer, for the checkmate. With one last valiant effort, the Varuk swung his battleaxe at Gossk's face, but the Dracodile expected it and stooped closer, which permitted the head of the weapon to sail past his head and on the back of his right shoulder. The ax head still cut him, but it wasn't as bad as it could have been. The Dracodile seized the Varuk's wrists and used his upper body weight to force the Varuk's arms back and above his own head, forcing his battleaxe to slam onto the ground.

The nostrils atop Gossk's 1-foot long jaw poked the Varuk's nose as they locked eyes---the dull light of agonizing defeat settling in the latter's eyes just before the Dracodile ended it with one decisive bite to the throat. After a moment, Gossk pulled back with a grunt, effortlessly rending the flesh and snapping off the Varuk's head, which now hung out the side of his jaw by its throat meat.

He finally turned his attention to the cloaked figure, just catching the last few seconds of its own skirmish. It was impressive, but what it was intrigued him even more. 'What... is this thing?,' Gossk wondered, noting hints of green skin and a bulking mass. Then it spoke, causing Gossk to blink at the strange name with which he had been addressed, or so he thought to be the case.

He contemplated his response, his head tilting slightly as he eyed Tyrael and its weapons. His mouth opened then, letting his trophy fall into his right hand.

"To o-hoon...has the gentle lord thor... <Gossk Quor-dek>... githen aid?" Gossk rasped carefully. He was not prone to answering questions with questions, but his laconic mindset compelled him to do so.

He remained coiled, hiding his size with a slightly stooped posture, while his legs stayed half bent and his flicking tail outstretched for balance. Although Gossk couldn't see Lynn yet, he did spot Licks crouching behind the Orc, her sleek body hiding in the tall grass. Her ears down and pupils dilated, she was ready to pounce should the green thing prove to be prey as well.

@Jollan

Eduard didn't think about it twice. He took the 'blade' Sahale offered him, and braced for whatever was next. A cushion of wind lifted him off the ground and soon they were on their way back to Kalla. As they moved away from the cave and into the open desert, Eduard swore he heard someone speak. It was more of a faint whisper; a woman's voice. The way she spoke, it sent shivers up Eduard's spine. Despite being someone who believed he had seen it all, this was enough to make him feel uncomfortable. The mysterious voice threatened to destroy him should he be an 'enemy', however Sahale soothed her fears. Soon after that, they picked up speed making their quickly across the desert.

During the trip, Eduard pondered on the situation. He went over every memory he had on treating trauma injuries. Considering the amount of people in the town and its relative remoteness, he expected that supplies would be scarce and personnel low. Eduard realized halfway through that he would probably have to ensure long-term care for dozens if not hundreds of people. Thinking about that, he realized that he would probably have to procure more medicines from the Red Saints when he had the chance. He gripped the bag around his shoulder, sighing as he realized that he probably didn't have enough to take care of so many patients. He reassured himself, it would have to do. But, some patients would probably have to be prioritized over others. It was something he hated, but it had to be done. Hopefully, he thought, the two healers there had done enough to stabilize the patients. Otherwise, more people were going to die. As they approached the town, Eduard steadied himself, taking a deep breath. These things were never easy, but they had to be done.

It was time.

---

Despite Sev's little joke about the strange man, it was undeniable that whoever, or whatever he was, he was a threat. For Maeve, Sev and anyone minimally sensitive to magic, it was obvious that he was much more than just a bandit. He was not on the same level the thugs they had fought earlier were.

"I don't think he might be just another bandit, Sev... Prepare yourself." Maeve said, breathing deeply and trying to gather every ounce of strength she could from her tired body.

It wasn't long until the strange figure finally spoke with them after Sev arrived. As he began speaking, Maeve couldn't help but doubt the man's sanity. Glorifying the exploded corpse, the still frozen bodies of the thugs Maeve herself killed and the literal bloodbath Allard caused made it clear for Maeve that the man wasn't all that right in the head.

As he finished speaking, the strange figure finally introduced himself, bringing down the farming tool, destroying the monument he was standing on with a single blow, making Maeve immediately unsheathe her rapier in a combat stance. Strangely enough, as the strange figure, called Bardus, floated to the ground, the fragments of the destroyed monument were falling in slow motion, almost if they were floating, despite the lack of any wind magic that could have explained such thing. The moment Bardus touched the ground though, the destroyed monument was released from whatever was making it act like that, falling to the ground, accompanied with a terrifying wave of power. Upon being hit by that wave, Maeve couldn't feel her ice magic anymore, almost as if whatever power Bardus used had blocked it off.

Maeve was truly concerned as she heard Bardus yelling that he was going to announce the coming of his king with their blood. A fight was clearly unavoidable and not only Maeve was exhausted after everything that happened, but her magic apparently wouldn't work against him as well... Of course, Sev was together with her but she was unsure of how capable he was without his magic...

"I can hope," Sev half whispered to Maeve as the strange man struck the statue with his hoe. Watching the destruction of the statue was awe inspiring, even through the turbulent barrier he'd put up. In his mind he was debating with his escape plan but didn't know if the man was just showing off or about to attack. The shockwave released tore through his barrier as though it didn't exist, and in that instant Sev decided to grab the girl and flee.

His heart almost stopped when he was unable to grab the images of himself and Maeve to displace them with his gift and his gift of air failed to activate the quickening. In an act of desperation he thrust his spear forward, calling forth the most powerful fire magic he knew, only for nothing to happen.

In a moment of panic he felt for the illusion covering his eyes and was unable to feel it. He slowly lifted a hand to his face and spotted the slight gold of his eyes in the reflection of the metal studs that protected his fists. Despite all that happened the warrior mage's mind came to a screeching halt, raw panic threatening to set in due to his secret being exposed along with the appearance of this frighteningly powerful foe. Against a foe this powerful he couldn't run, and without his magic he didn't have a chance in combat. Maeve seemed to think combat was inevitable, but Sev's mind raced for another answer.

This man called him a simple performer of tricks? It sounded like it was meant to be something of an insult, but Sev took it as a compliment. In a moment of desperation Sev drew upon his 'performance' skills, this man wanted a performance, he'd give one. He'd show this man that he didn't need mana to use magic.

"What happened?" Sev asked, squinting his eyes as though trying to see his hand and, as an added bonus, obscuring their new color. He glanced up, squinting hard back and forth as though unable to make out anything, "one moment."

With a quick flick of his hand and muttered meaningless phrases he pretended to try and cast a spell on his eyes only for nothing to happen.

"Oh, I see," the Sylve said softly retaking a combat stance with his spear pointed noticeably to one side from where Bardus stood, facing one of the pieces of the destroyed sculpture that was silhouette on the horizon by the rising sun.

"Clever of you to recognize I'm hard of sight," the magician spoke, trying to control the panic in his voice to moderate success. Thankfully, with this ploy and the situation a little panicked wavering of the voice was expected and could only add to his believably, "I learned light magic to allow me to see and without it I am all but blind. I suppose I should feel honored that one such as you felt the need to take away my very ability to see before fighting me."

"Lady Maeve?" Sev said, turning his head enough so he could glance around towards where the Isoli was, struggling to find her, "don't worry about me, I may be nearly blind without my magic but I can still fight."

He turned to look back at the lump of stone tightening his grip on his spear staff.

"Though it might be prudent for you to run," he admitted in a softer voice, "I'm uncertain how much of a distraction I can be in this state but I know I can't flee."

Lynn, instead of paying attention to the fight, had made a beline to the three girls. She flew by Gossk and hopped off her staff when she approached the three girls. Now it was a bit more evident what was going on. Chains, shackles, multiple bruises and signs of various forms of abuse, but just enough that they were still presentable elsewhere, they were slaves being taken somewhere. Probably to that large inland city. Lynn only wished that it was an uncommon thing, but many a sailor try their hand at capturing seafolk. Many are unsuccessful, but....some are, and the ones they take are more often than not to never to be seen again. "Everything will be alright, you are safe now!" Lynn assured them as Gossk flew by, making contact with the ship. "Are you injured, do you need any healing?" she continued as a head rolled by. One of the girls gasped, putting a hand to her mouth. Despite her trying to help the battle behind them was quite gruesome. Lynn turned around and shrieked at the head that had seemed to settle next to her, kicking it away further towards the dunes. Lynn looked back to the girls who all seemed to only huddle closer together.

"Who are you?" one of the girls asked.

Lynn turned to her and smiled, "I'm Lynn! The big brute is Gossk. He is my friend, just met him today! Oh, But don't worry, he won't hurt you! we saw you in trouble and came to help," she tried to explain as the corpse of a man went airborne in the background. A wall off water went up between Gossk and them as Lynn sighed, luckily this should block their view of the grisly scene for now. She didn't expect Gossk to fight in such a gruesome way, but he is doing as he said he would and helping. "One moment please," Lynn said as she dove into the water wall and popped up at the top of it. It seemed to be a good thing to use the wall too, as now the dracodile had someone's head in his maw. "G-Gossk!" Lynn called out, the sight of the man's head hanging out of his jaws by his trachea summoning an uneasy nauseous feeling in the back of Lynn's throat. "Sp-uhuhhh, S-spit that out!, that is disgusting! We should bury the bodies and try to see if we can get these women back to where they belong! Is the other one friendly? If so, they can help!.... Oh... I shouldn't have looked..." Lynn had another nauseous wave and looked away before she got sick. "Uhg, nope, I shouldn't have looked...," she said before swimming through the wall back down to the other girls. "None of you mind if I just stay behind the wall for a moment while they clean up do you?" she asked, all three of them shook their head, understanding completely. "T-thanks, now, lets see to these chains and injuries," she said before she started healing their wounds as Gossk and the stranger did what they needed to.



Everyone got their things and prepared themselves for combat. Weapons were checked, armor secured, what few had any, and small but nutritious meals were prepared to last them for their future engagement. Dorran nodded to Allanon and Kistal. "I'll stick to what I do best, make sure they have their focus on us. We will storm the front gates and secure any prisoners as fast as possible and secure a safe path to get them out. The less time they are there the less danger they will be in. However, if you are moving in under their noses, maybe you would like to free as many as possible before the strike? It would make it easier to get them out if they were already free and able to make a run for it when we push in to give them cover. Any mages and archers should be preferably neutralized first. My men are ready, we should go now, we can discuss on the way."

Bidzil checked his own blades, for the first time since he had been around the others here. He drew the actual blade from its heavy sheath, the weapons gleamed beautifully with a perfect polish. This didn't mean it never had use, however, it was the amount of care taken into the blades themselves. Their weapons would come with such a finish, and out of respect to the one's who crafted it, the mirror like finish was always kept after every engagement. This was more than a sign of respect however. The mirror-like finish on the blade also made it hard to discern in combat, reflecting its surroundings and becoming almost invisible looking while fighting. However, it had the drawback of reflecting light, letting it be seen over distances, it needed to stay sheathed until needed. The reflected light could also give away a trike, but some masters use this to their advantage, learning to use the sun's reflections as a method of distraction to land a blow from a side weapon. Bidzil now was meticulously going over its mirrored edge and finish, making sure everything was in order for both blades. When they had started to move out Bidzil would make his way over to Allanon. "I would like to join you, if you don't mind me tagging along," Bidzil asked.

Hilde saw Chihiro's transformation and smirked, "If only it were so easy," she said with a smile, commenting on how easy it was for Chihiro to change clothes. However, after they had departed, Hilde was quiet most of the time. Despite the comfort others tried to give, it was still hard for her not to think about the situation at home and the battle ahead. It was a lot to take in, and she needed time to clear her thoughts. The scout group left behind a few people to watch over supplies and then left on foot so that they wouldn't stir up a cloud of dust with their skiffs. Soon, they would see the wooden structures of the encampment built into the side of a mountain, signs of old ruins at the opening of a large cave system into the wall s of the cave.



"I have no knowledge of your ailments, boy, just take solace in the fact you won't have to see what I will do to the both of you," Bardus said as he stooped low and then launched himself at blinding speed towards both of them. Right before he reached then however, his weapon struck the ground in front of him, sending shrapnel from the ground out in all directions as chunks of earth were thrown through the air. Bardus used this strike to nimbly pole vault over their heads, and now that they seemed to be lined up perfectly, his weapon would swoop down to decapitate both of them at the same time. However, instead of the sudden embrace of death, there was a loud clanging sound of metal meeting metal.

"I LEAVE YOU TWO FOR HALF AN HOUR, AND YOU PICK A FIGHT WITH BARDUS!? WHAT THE HELL!? Get out of here, NOW!"

It was... Sahale? Bardus moved back a pace to inspect the newcomer, the winds of Sahale's travel still swirling about them, Eduard was roughly launched towards the temple to save time. "Interesting.... how are you still wielding wind in this place, I wonder....," Bardus said as he scratched the side of his basket helmet in thought. But he didn't stop for long as he lunged back into Sahale. Astonishingly, Sahale was able to block and parry Bardus's attacks, but the quakes from the impact of each of those strikes could all be felt. Sahale had already done more than any person so far against Bardus, but he was losing ground. He was on the defensive and could only just keep up, not able to make a move towards the offense. "AHAHAHAHAHA, you surprise me! Most would have been long dead! Here, have something SPECIAL!" Bardus yelled as he struck the ground, much like before but this time the rocks erupted under Sahale and tossed him into the air. However, the rocks seemed to start moving in slow motion in the air, and Bardus seemed to bounce up them rapidly to meet him.

"Shit!" Sahale cursed as he tried to evade, but the lack of footing when the ground erupted had him in midair unable to avoid. Truth was, he couldn't use his wind manipulation here either, and had to think quickly. He took a wide swing at Bardus, which he easily ducked when he reached him, standing on one of the floating rocks in the air. What he didn't expect though were three throwing knives that were hidden under the faint attack. Bardus struck two away, but the third hit him in the shoulder. Bardus ignored it,and slammed into Sahale with the back end of his weapon to the side, before he had the chance to hit the ground. Sahale felt the sensation of slowing down instantly, and now, like the boulders, he was floating in air, or rather falling in slow motion, looking at Bardus who was about to bring his weapon down and end his life. But there was an ace up Sahale's sleeve this fight, and he smirked when he saw it coming, "Hey, honey~"

Suddenly, right before his weapon made contact, once more Bardus was kept from making a final blow, as sear of wind ripped through him and knocked him to the side, slamming him into a building. A sound the mix of a bird like screech and a woman's raging scream tore through the air as a being started to materialize out of the wind. When Bardus hit the ground, the rest of the things floating in time were released, dropping Sahale to the ground as well, "Thanks gorgeous. Dramatic timing as ever, huh?" he said as he stood to his feet, a few ribs broken but still lifting his weapon to point towards Bardus across the square. For any still watching, especially for Sev if he really could see, there before them was none other than the great spirit Sylph, seen to the people of the scar as more than a spirit, and the very goddess of the winds herself. Sylph flapped her wings as she stood guard over the small group of people, mostly Sahale and who he seemed to be protecting. They weren't effected by the winds, but the winds were strong enough to toss around the bodies in the square, even Bardus was having trouble just standing. "I shall rend you unto oblivion you despicable creature!!" The spirit roared at Bardus.

Allanon's question betrayed a bit more klnowledge of magic than he first seemed to have, so Kistal clapped his hands together. "Well, the biggest hurdle we have is an item attached to one of those at the camp. Any sort of item they carried would suffice. Or, if you would prefer, any sort of bodily item works too. If they got hair on you and you have it, I can use that. After that, I just need enough space for a good old dance and enough booze. Most scrying sessions take about 5 minutes to get going and allow for a very nice view." He got nostalgic for a second, whispering to himself. "Ah, the time I spent watching her..." He shook himself out of it and smiled again. "So, that is entirely possible given those parameters and the desire to know more about our foes."

Kistal's preparations were light. He simply stocked his booze and walked with his spear. His expression was stony except his eyes. They stared at the camp, alight with barely contained rage. He would keep quiet but anyone Calabris would be eliminated to sate his bloodlust. His right hand's claws dug into the wood of the skiff, reenacting his thought of that being a Calabris throat. The relatively cordial and cheery satyr from before was gone now that a mission came along. There was one chance and lives on the line. He couldn't risk messing this up.

Chihiro was more chipper than Kistal, but she was still focused. She checked her flail before returning it, not intending to use it. She then drew what seemed to be two engraved metal blocks. Soon enough, their purpose was unveiled as she flicked them open into two feathery fans. To the casual observer, they seemed like ornamental fans. To a naga, it was a rare sight to see one wielding fighting fans. Most naga used longer weapons, sometimes very heavy ones. Chihiro preferred to make intimate takedowns, being able to use the body of her opponents to her advantage, so short and unexpected weapons styles were her forte.

Tyrael looked between the lizardman and the newcomer, someone who appeared to be a mutant sylve with water magic. From the way she spoke and acted towards the lizardman, they were both partnered together and weren't aiming to kill him. Otherwise she would've used that magic to end him, or ensure that the lizardman could finish Tyrael off in his weakened state. Telepathically he commanded Zastriel to keep an eye on them, but otherwise he put his weapons away on his belt. He focused mostly on the lizardman, trying to decipher what he had said. Best Tyrael could manage was that the creature was here "to help", but beyond that Tyrael had no idea what else he said. Apparently his name was Grossk, if what the sylve said is true.

Slowly but surely the blood in Tyrael's body calmed, and soon came the pain. His shoulder stung, and he felt that perhaps a few bones might've cracked when he fell down the crags. His arm was now dripping blood as well. He did his best to bandage his wounds meagerly, but he'll need a few minutes, ideally an hour, to rest his wounds before he tries to do much else. He regrets not studying any form of healing magics, but those were never easy to master to make them cost-effective. At least he can still loot these bodies. Tyrael took the swordsman's weapons and armor, which were relatively intact since Tyrael had focused on breaking their unarmored limbs over disarming or crushing their bodies. Tyrael could likely armor himself up in the Varuk armors, or if nothing else, sell them next time he's in town. There was also the matter of the skiff itself. Tyrael had no idea how to operate it, but it was hist best chance to get out of this wasteland alive.

And of course, there were the two newcomers. They seemed... Nice enough. They weren't trying to kill him at least. He's not entirely sure why they helped him so he doesn't trust them. But if they aren't here to kill him, he can cooperate with them. If nothing else it seems like the sylve is more concerned about the slaves, so she'll likely be easy to work with if Tyrael simply offers to try and use the skiff to return to whatever town they were stolen from. He vaguely overheard the sylve ask him and Grossk to dispose of the bodies. Tyrael figured he'd just loot their corpses and leave their bones to rot in the sun, but if it gets their cooperation, he'll comply. He looks over to Grossk with a nod. "Strip the bodies of their arms and armor. Coin too. I can bury them myself." To show what he means, Tyrael waved his hand over the swordsman's corpse. While doing so, the sand underneath him shifted upwards, as if consuming the man, but caused the body to drop into the now empty pit where the sand was. Than Tyrael simply released his control over the sand and caused it to fill up the hole with the corpse hidden underneath. Now the only sign that there was ever a body there was a small mound of sand.

If there was no complications, the bodies collectively had various leather armors, three long axes, two scimitars, and five daggers. One of set of armor was useless however on account of the giant hole that had been ripped right through it, but everything else was salvageable. Tyrael was no tanner but he could likely rig the leather together into a form of gambison. While his stone skin is much more efficient for protecting his body, that spell only lasts for a short time and eats away at what little mana reserve he has to conjure his spells. So a bit of extra armor will help assist covering for his defects until he can gain a more solid grasp of his powers. Not to mention, it'll help protect his limbs the next time he has to take an axe to his arm. As for other supplies, the skiff was well stocked with clean water and dry rations. Most of it just cram bread and some sort of fruit chips. They tasted vaguely like grapes if Tyrael lets them sit in his mouth to reconstitute, but otherwise may as well be sweet crackers. And most importantly, a map.

Zastriel had looked it over a bit, but from the looks of it they are about a two-days journey from a nearby town called Kalla. It would seem like the Skiff was going to head to some unmarked location on the map, but based off a few papers Zastriel found, she suspects it's some sort of slaver camp. There were documents written in a strange sort of cant that Zastriel couldn't really understand, but gets the vague idea that they're instructions for how one conducts themselves in such a shady locale. Nothing that would really interest Tyrael personally, but maybe it'll be relevant one day. More importantly they'll need to get the skiff back onto the sands if they want to use it to go anywhere. And to that end, Tyrael would need the assistance of the newcomers.

"I will speak simply: I need your assistance to take this skiff to the town of Kalla, so I can escape this cursed desert before disaster takes me. I have magics that will allow him," Tyrael motions towards Grossk. "To pull the skiff from the crag, and from there I can use more of my magic to repair some of the damage. Afterwards it should be in condition to takes us to a nearby down... Though I do not know how to operate such a thing." Tyrael was vaguely aware that he was being quite demanding, but he hopes that the two would understand his lack of formality considering recent circumstances (i.e. almost dying to bandits, thirst, and hunger) so that they can get a move on more quickly. He rubs his sore shoulder, which he had bandaged haphazardly. "Forgive me if I seem demanding. I have no desire to have a formal conversation in our current conditions. I'm sure we can speak more kindly once we are safe and moving."

When Sahale dropped him off near the temple, Eduard didn't waste any time going inside. While Sahale hadn't exactly given him any time to fix his coat or hair after the rather unorthodox trip, he could manage. There were more important things than his appearance to take care of right now. The moment he went inside the temple, he took off his coat and rolled up his sleeves. Placing his bag on the ground, he went over his items one more time taking a stethoscope and checking his pouch of medicines to make sure that everything was inside. Picking up a notebook and pencil he started walking around, checking every single patient within the temple. While he had been expecting the worse, many of the patients inside the temple were surprisingly stable. It seems Neev had done good job at healing the injuries of the majority of the wounded. Of course, some of them would need long term care to prevent anything permanent, but at the moment there were no emergencies. That was a relief, though that brought up the question. What happened to Neev? There were too many people in here. Way too many for one person to handle. While he had trained Neev personally, this was beyond her capabilities. It was admirable, but at the same time dangerous. Near the very end of the temple, he spotted a familiar figure lying atop a table. His features were recognizable but something had changed. As he approached, he slowly came to the realization that the person lying on the wooden table was the tailor he had bumped into earlier today. Standing next to the table, he realized that Aerex had been hiding his true identity this entire time. The odd coloring of his hair, heterochromia in his eyes. He was a Grusk. This could perhaps complicate treatment. On the other side of the table was a young human woman, probably a local by the looks of it. She was silent, her hair was a mess and most of her was still covered in sand. The woman held on to one of Aerex's hands looking at it with a mix of despair and fear. Slowly, Eduard made his way to her side of the table.

"Madam." He began, speaking softly so as to not wake any of the resting patients or startle the poor woman. "My name is Doctor Eduard Koch. I'm here to help. Would mind telling me your name?"

"J-Juliana." Said the woman with a shaky voice, briefly glancing at him. By the look on her eyes she must have gone through some kind of traumatic event. He could only guess at what happened, though later on he could speak to her and find out what happened. Though before that he had to check whether she had any injuries.

"Juliana. By the way you've standing here, I can assume this man here means a lot to you." He kept his remark vague on purpose. It was best not to assume.

"H-he's my boss and a c-close friend. I-I just…" She paused for a moment, swallowing hard as she held back the urge to cry. "Is he, g-going to be okay?"

"I'm sure Neev was able to do a good job at stabilizing him. I'll examine him and determine what we can do for him. I can assure you, miss. I will do everything in my power to make sure he lives." He paused, gently removing her hands from Aerex'. "Come, you should sit down for a moment. He's in good hands."
Juliana begrudgingly let go of Aerex' hands and walked with Eduard toward a nearby wooden chair. As she sat down, a damn burst. The woman started sobbing, covering her face as she did.
"It's all right." He said, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Let all that out. You staying by his side was a good thing. It's time for you to rest, however. I'll come by in a moment to check on you."

Juliana noded, as her crying subsided. Heading back to the table, Eduard did the same check up as he had done earlier for the other patients. Unlike them, Aerex' case was more complex. While Neev had done a good job at fixing a dislocated shoulder, broken ribs, a broken nose and a disjointed knee he still had a high fever. Taking a good look at his hands, Eduard sighed as he saw the familiar blue streaks associated with mana sickness running along Aerex's arms and up to his arm. One of his palms also showed signs of second degree burns. It looked like he had placed his hand directly on an open flame. Neev's healing had done a good job at mitigating its effects on the skin, but it would still need dressing. Looking around, Eduard made the decision to start off with Aerex and help the rest later. Aerex' wounds seemed to be the gravest of the bunch, and the faster he got started the quicker he could get to the rest.

SEVERAL CONFUSING THINGS proceeded to happen at once, forcing the Dracodile to pay close attention lest he miss his opportunity. Before his question as to Tyrael's identity could be answered, Gossk heard an odd squawking bird--actually, it was just Lynn. Her water wall amused him, but as he took in her command, he glanced down at the Varuk head in his hand. 'Disgusting? Everyone became disgusting when they were torn apart,' Gossk reasoned to himself. He then thought that perhaps it was a poisonous creature. Lynn would know this fact, of course, he realized. There she was, looking after him and possibly saving his life yet again. The powerful epiphany merited a low growl as he scanned the headless bodies; And here, he was going to nibble on them for a taste test. He pocketed the head anyway, figuring he could still make a trophy out of it. That Varuk was worthy. He would just have to use his claws this time instead of licking it clean like a lollipop--not that a Dracodile would know about such confections.

Then the cloaked figure presumed to command him as well, albeit perhaps it was merely in the spirit of cooperation. Gossk understood that, still he wondered if the stranger was hard of hearing. Clearly he had understood the Dracodile, as his (false) confidence that he had gained earlier from his conversations with Lynn told him that his Common was getting better all the time. She understood him so well! So Gossk, as he removed their fallen foes' equipment, decided that he would speak slower for Tyrael next time their mouths conducted a battle of syllables.

The Dracodile was cautious to only take from whom he had killed, in this case the Varuk's dagger, his belt and a few coins (and other things that he thought was currency: shiny pebbles, a nice old bone, etc.) and put them in his satchel next to the rotting Varuk's head. He left the rest of the equipment for Tyrael to pick up, as he didn't want them, nor need them. Even as he turned away to return to Lynn, Gossk noted the control over the sand the stranger demonstrated. That was a useful trick, he'd thought.

As they returned to the merlady, Gossk and Licks kept their distance, about a couple yards as Tyrael explained its desires from him and his patron. The idea of using magic on Gossk to remove the boat from the crag reminded him that Far Stride was still in effect. It would be a fair trade, he supposed, as the desert was an enemy to them all. Gossk took note of how the stranger was worried about his own attitude towards them, but the Dracodile didn't think him demanding, rather assertive, like one of the alpha males back home. Tyrael was at least a little bit nicer, but not sickeningly so, Gossk thought, with a glance towards Lynn.

The Dracodile looked down then, noticing Licks had slipped into his satchel for a nap. He adjusted its strap as he sensed a lull in the conversation. Glancing at Tyrael, then focusing on Lynn, Gossk stated, "I do not control doats. Nayde o-ee should hathe kett an eneny alithe thor this, uh... thurthose, er... nission."

He growled then, taking a kneeling position as he addressed Tyrael. "Your nagic... is... o-elcone... dut I... I shall... consider it... a trade."

The Dracodile then took a moment to explain the effects of Far Stride, that among other things, it would help Tyrael weather the intense environment and put more pep in his step (literally). If Tyrael accepted the idea, then Gossk would mutter half of his initial incantation and gesture towards the stranger (and the slave girls) to include them into the already ticking down duration (about 23 1/2 hours left or so). They would immediately feel better, at least in regards to their temperature and ability to walk or run easily. If he did not, then Gossk would just include the chattel so as to comfort them.

And with all that being said, it was snack time.

Gossk retrieved the two hares from his satchel and tossed them into the air, snapping them both up with ease. He proceeded to hark them down, not caring about any pretense of manners or chewing--that was one odd thing he had noticed about family he'd eaten, the mothers insisting to their children to chew their food. What was the point of that? You would ruin your teeth that way, he knew.