Lanestol had been hearing the conversations between Alexander and the other patrons present. He had looked over as a rather imposing woman entered and vented about what seemed to be her latest endeavor beyond the plane of Ravnica. Sounded to him like the type of assignment he would rather not get involved in. Any number of things could go awry, from what he had previously heard of Zendikar, and with the sorts of things that could come about, even his own protective powers would not be completely reliable. He did happen to notice the fur coat over the top of her armor and its familiarity struck him.
Seems like she's been to my home at least once...doesn't look like she's been there too recently. That looks like normal werewolf fur. From what I heard from the survivors the last time I went, if she went there now, she might still come across one of them who were corrupted and come back with something half covered in tentacles or with a coat fit for someone with seven more appendages than usual.
He had glanced back the other way to see the short hooded figure pull back its hood as it had been asked. Upon seeing a Myr, he started feeling a churning unease within his stomach. He tried to discreetly continue listening and keeping the Myr in his peripheral vision. He had not been to Mirrodin personally, though another planeswalker he once talked to had been in the early stages of the blight's conquest. At Alexander's the first mention of the oil, he started to regret coming to drink as his unease sent his heart pounding. He began to take another drink to try to steady his discomfort. Overhearing the Myr say it hoped it didn't have the blight, he halfway choked up a moment on the drink in his throat and halfway spat up what was in his mouth. He placed the mug back on the counter and gripped his staff tight with both hands.
"You hope you don't have the blight!?" Lanestol interjected. "When was the last time you could have been exposed?" The end of his staff began to glow as a protective aura surrounded himself.
Seems like she's been to my home at least once...doesn't look like she's been there too recently. That looks like normal werewolf fur. From what I heard from the survivors the last time I went, if she went there now, she might still come across one of them who were corrupted and come back with something half covered in tentacles or with a coat fit for someone with seven more appendages than usual.
He had glanced back the other way to see the short hooded figure pull back its hood as it had been asked. Upon seeing a Myr, he started feeling a churning unease within his stomach. He tried to discreetly continue listening and keeping the Myr in his peripheral vision. He had not been to Mirrodin personally, though another planeswalker he once talked to had been in the early stages of the blight's conquest. At Alexander's the first mention of the oil, he started to regret coming to drink as his unease sent his heart pounding. He began to take another drink to try to steady his discomfort. Overhearing the Myr say it hoped it didn't have the blight, he halfway choked up a moment on the drink in his throat and halfway spat up what was in his mouth. He placed the mug back on the counter and gripped his staff tight with both hands.
"You hope you don't have the blight!?" Lanestol interjected. "When was the last time you could have been exposed?" The end of his staff began to glow as a protective aura surrounded himself.