Oblivious to the internal dilemma of his companion, Caelin waited patiently, then stepped forward at Kevrilās acquiescence. āI certainly hope we donāt,ā he said by way of reply, then focused his attention on the wound. It was shallow, but rather nasty all the same, and heād have to be sure to destroy anything that could cause infection as well. Not that he was complaining, of course; this sort of thing was his job, after a manner of speaking. Not being the kind who could simply settle in a town and take up a trade, he often healed in exchange for supplies or a nightās lodging, so of all his skills, this was the most practiced.
Exhaling softly, the monk reached inside himself for the natural flow of life-energy, his chi, and grasped hold of it, redirecting the flow until it manifested as a soft blue-white glow over his hands. These, he passed over the torn flesh without touching it, channeling from himself to Kevril as easily as if it were the simple act of breathing. Once he sensed that enough had been done, he cut of the flow, manipulating the rest so that flesh and the muscle beneath knit back together seamlessly, purging the body of any infections in the process.
All told, it took perhaps thirty seconds, and then he stepped back, his trademark smile back on his face, replacing the look of distant focus that had previously overtaken it. āThere we go. Good as new! Well, almost. Iād give it a few hours yet before you try anything too strenuous, if I were you.ā
There was a short pause, and then Caelin made a great show of dusting his hands off and setting his eyes back on the path before them. āWell, I reckon we should keep going. Donāt want to still be here when those buggers wake up, and Iād rather find a more secure place before nightfall and all that.ā
Ah, darkness. She did not seek it with the same fervor as the woman in front of her did, but that was not to say that Luna minded it in the slightest. Quite the contrary- she was almost as at home in it as a full-blooded drow would have been, though most of the rest of her habits were her fatherās. Heād told her once, that sheād been born on the night of a blue moon, and hence been named in a way that was hardly in keeping with either lineageās traditions. Over time, perhaps it had simply come to suit her, or she it.
Whatever the case, Yasryne looked more comfortable, and while this was not something she concerned herself with overmuch, she had to admit that sheād hate to be blind herself, so this was probably a good situation to be in. At least as far as āominous mage towers where youāre not exactly on the guest listā went, anyway. The kid seemed to have something of a sense of humor, though it wasnāt exactly the sharpest sheād encountered. It was still a tick in the āmore likely to survive thisā column. Most people who wanted to kill you didnāt bother to say much to you, in her experience, which was really just a shame. She liked to exchange witty repartee in between the kind that happened between blades.
Something was whispering in the walls, and she could make out a musical womanās voice, heavily-accented elvish, if she wasnāt mistaken, which sounded highly out of sync with the rest.
Well, well. I wonder what the story is here?
He still wasnāt moving, and it was beginning to alarm her. She wasnāt sure what the differences were between his trances and hers, but she was willing to wager that his involved a great deal more intentional suffering. Misara couldnāt help it; being in the divine presence was painful for imperfect creatures, but it was likely that Helkara enjoyed making people squirm. Clae had nothing against the goddess, but some of the tales she had been told as a childā¦ well, it was best to be wary when the Dark One was involved.
A whisper murmured into her ear, causing the hairs on the back of her neck to stand on end. Narisaaās voice came soon afterward, and she nearly choked on her relief, hastening to reply. āItās Lord Damacus. Heās in a trance andā¦ it doesnāt look well for him.ā She stood abruptly, pacing back and forth and looking for something, anything to do to make it easier for him. In the end, she was able to do nothing more useful than prop a cushion behind his head. It seemed such a feeble gesture, but perhaps it was better than nothing.
āPleaseā¦ tell me what I should doā¦ā she whispered into the stillness, but if Misara heard her, she made no reply, and so the elfmaiden rose again into a standing position and stood, a silent sentry, beside the unconscious necromancer, dread pooling in her stomach and rising into her throat like bile. She was just getting a feeling, a visceral instinct that she could not name, that something was going to go terribly wrong before anything went right.