[center][img]https://fontmeme.com/permalink/230204/4845b153b0aa5194f883010594dee61c.png[/img][/center]
[center][color=659EC7][b]MENTIONS:[/b][/color] [color=DCDCDC]Everyone[/color][/center]
[color=DCDCDC]Everything was a blur. She vaguely remembered Esben pulling her back from the railing, dragging her back into the fight before handing her a blade and telling her to hand it to Rudolf-- if he even made it back alive. She had heard the screams of death, the high-pitched yelps of her comrades as they fought for their lives around her. There was the soothing song of the bard, the roar of ocean waves– and the terrible sight of serpentine heads shooting up from the water. Neve stared upwards, gawking as a pair of them lashed down towards them, and the others gushed an unforgiving current around the deck. She raised her staff, biting down on her cheek as she focused on her spell. She had to protect them. She had to protect the others–

[color=lightblue]"Neve!"[/color]

Galahad’s cry froze her in her spot. The fangs and water came rushing forth. Too late. 

Luckily for her, Arton had other plans. The gem in his hands had provided them with protection against the vicious barrage. Neve stood there, in the heart of the bulwark. Stunned. How could she make such a mistake? Just because of a scream? What kind of warrior was she? The smell of blood was almost too much for her. She scrunched her eyes closed, raised her staff again. A white aura poured out from its center of the crystal. The light spread across the deck and settled across the weary fighters, its angelic glow settling across gaping wounds and steadily shutting them closed. Medica– a simple enough spell, but vital in times like these. [/color]