Elayna sat near the back of the Mosque, in a corner, scribbling slowly on a sheet of aged paper. On her lap was Toad, who had done as she asked and waited with her things. His left front leg, however, was injured, most likely from running frantically away from the fighting. The Breton took great care not to move it as she continued to jot down proportions, potential side effects, and benefits of a healing potion formula she'd been working on before Helgathe. She had no relevant materials with her, leaving her to simply pull what she could from memory. The going wasn't necessarily great.
"Bergamot...Cairn Bolete...Flax...or is it Fennel?" Elayna mumbled to herself, unable to get the specifics worked out. The battered young lady glanced towards Reigenleif, who sat not too far away. She'd been keeping an eye on the Nord, just to make sure she was alright. That wound was a wretched one, but the mage's healing spells saved her own life. It was that occurrence, and that which had injured her best friend, that brought Elayna's attention back to the healing formula. if she couldn't provide such a basic service, she'd just be weighing them down. It was time to stop feeling sorry for herself, and time to start showing her true mettle. She was a Ferris alchemist, Gods be damned, and there was no surrendering now. Especially as her thoughts wandered to what surrendering could possibly mean.
More began to come into the Mosque, including Sion and his group, many of which were unfamiliar to Elayna, besides Thyra. Zaveed was outside, and Elayna was beginning to feel the weight of the reason why. There, behind Mashad Textiles...she had heard a familiar, Orcish voice, followed by that sickening mechanical crack. If the look that had been on Zaveed's face had been what she thought...no. He had survived the Mausoleum. She had personally witnessed him face down those horrors, those affronts to the natural order, and for him to be taken down by the mer in tin? Preposterous. Absolutely...preposterous...
It wasn't long after that before a familiar large figure holding another walked in, and Elayna felt his gaze for just a second before he looked away. The other slowly stirred, conversed with Sion, and looked her way a few times. And with each one, she met his eyes. With each glance, no matter how brief, the stench of long-rotten flesh and eldritch workings violated her senses, her mind coating the dusty Mosque in a horrendous masquerade. It was almost like going back to that damned Isle...but Elayna had to calm her racing thoughts. Yes, she knew of these two men. Knew of their prowess in battle. For them to be alive, even in such condition, was a good thing indeed.
Even so, she made no moves to go and speak to them. Fatigue was greatly weighing down on her, and the dread which stood at the precipice of her conscious mind just waited for the right words to descend upon her. The alchemist set down her quill, and placed her head in her hands to think. Just think. No news of Leyawiin, yet...that could be both good and bad. No further contact from anyone...though, with her current ordeal and location, it was no wonder that her family would have trouble reaching her. The book she'd received from her cousin back at Stros M'kai...it hadn't turned up anything really substantial. Just a bunch of vague ramblings from her forefathers. All in all, little progress had been made, but at least she wasn't going backwards.
Frankly, that was all Elayna could wish for nowadays. Ogres, bandits, Dwemer, necromancers...it surprised her that a country girl like herself was still standing. In fact, it was reassuring. She could survive. All she had to do was find the will to continue to do so. Were the lives she had taken still clutching onto her heart and mind? Of course. But the others had to feel the same, to some degree. Yet they continued to push forward, because they knew what had to be done. So she would fight, to see tomorrow, and to see those she loved again.
