[center][h2][b][color=silver]Lhirinthyl[/color][/b][/h2][/center][hr]
Lhirin had much to think on as they walked following his involvement in conversations with Freagon and the fall–Caleb–he corrected himself mentally. Though he’d had a fair deal more experience than most with the divine on account of Deo’Irah, [i]fallen[/i] angels were a different matter entirely. Personally, he found them fascinating and his experience thus far with Caleb only reinforced that notion. Oddly–though he understood the divine’s reticence to share it–Lhirin found himself truly wishing he had the being’s name. Not to summon it necessarily, but simply to converse with it.

It just seemed a terrible shame that one with so many experiences and the knowledge that came with divinity would be locked away in the Neverrealm once they were done. Had he the option, the deigan might have bound himself to his word with the divine, such that he could not bind Caleb even if he so desired, but alas Lhirin knew of no such magic nor other power that might allow such a thing.

Sighing lightly to himself–the sound small and quiet as the necessity for some measure of stealth had presented itself some time ago–Lhirin went about assisting Irah with her gathering. When they came to a stop to briefly confer, Lhirin made an effort to put some finishing touches on the makeshift facsimile of a body.

It was roughshod at best and though it would surely crumble at some point later when the Angel had once again departed, Lhirin found that it offended his sensibilities as a craftsman.

However, before he could ask for her flask, Lhirin felt Irah’s hand gently lay upon his shoulder. Lhirin frowned slightly, his silver eyes shifting to regard her. While others he could not read, Irah he had come to know very well over their time together and something in his manner hardened–his stance becoming more solid as he spaced his feet more evenly and stood just a bit taller, all as if to offer her something solid to rely on. Yet, even as that occurred, his gaze grew soft, filled with unspoken understanding. Lightly, he raised his own hand and laid it over hers, holding her gaze for a long few seconds, before he finally blinked once and spoke.

[color=silver][b]“May I have your flask?”[/b][/color]

She acquiesced, handing it over and he gave her a small nod of thanks and a brief smile, before squeezing her hand lightly and then letting go. He moved to their makeshift construction and scanned the nearby earth, poking at it with the toe of his boot as he did so. Eventually he seemed to find what he was looking for, at which point he shifted over to it and crouched down, uncapping her flask.

Someone else might think the next thing he did was rude and thoughtless, for Lhirinthyl promptly poured the water onto the ground in an expanding circle until the flask was nearly emptied. Capping it he handed it up to Irah and then began to scrounge in the dirt like some small burrowing animal. He dug without the slightest hint of shame and with a single minded focus that few could match. After a minute or so he’d loosened a fairly decent portion of sodden dirt–mud really–and his hands were thoroughly sullied by the act. Yet, for some reason, the deigan mage seemed pleased at his work. He took in hand some of the mud, testing its consistency–and even compacting it to squeeze some of the moisture out into mostly dry earth–after which he pushed to his feet and turned to their creation. Carefully he began to pat clots of mud onto various areas of the construct in mostly fairly thin layers. He’d come back for more mud, gathering it in hand before repeating the process. When he had gotten most of the mud in place he put some more around where joints might be and molded  gentle curves and angles into the piece. It took at least a solid 5 minutes while the others conferred and organized, but when he was done their roughshod [i]thing[/i] appeared somewhat more recognizable as a facsimile of a person. He’d been careful not to put too much mud in a given place so that it could hold together with the loose plant matter, sticks, and other materials they’d used. It also, oddly, looked a bit more like [i]something[/i]. Lhirin hadn’t been aiming for anything in particular, but it had about if one caught its silhouette they might be startled–even before they summoned a divine to inhabit it.

Brushing off his hands of dried mud, Lhirin then turned back to the others. He only grimaced when he realized that he might have to hold his Runeblade with his soil-covered hands. Sighing a bit he used his own flask to slightly rinse off a bit more dirt, then he absently wiped them off using his sleeves. They could clean his clothes later, it was more important that he could easily move his fingers and wield his blade.

Likely by the time he’d finished, Caleb would be ready for the first summoning and the others would be fully organized, at which point he’d join the group that they’d planned he would accompany.