Yaa Oba Contee's Story

The scene that appeared before Nel was the most off-putting and confused she'd been in her life.

It was until she managed to tear her eyes from the feast that she can see the entire picture. Guests, tied down to their chairs in rope, bound and trapped. Most of them were unconscious, three of them women, two out of three as pale as the ghosts that probably haunted the ruins while the third had obviously spent most of her life outside in the sun, skin tanned to a dark hue. There was also another gentlemen, a rather scruffy looking man that can only be compared to the group's oh-so jolly mage, Callavan. Of course, they didn't matter to the monk, nearly salivating as her attention was once again on the smell and sight of food.

If only she managed to eat that one fateful morning. The heavenly scent of caramelized pineapple, roasted potatoes, and cooked meats. Though the monk had never smelt nor tasted meat in her whole life; she would have dined happily with the meal if it wasn't for the appearance of her comrades that stopped her otherwise. The ever-so baffling fact that the smaller mage was flying above her head for one example. Magic. Nel reminded herself, as the expression of their floating mage turned to one that was sour, as she was going to hurl at any moment. Nel recognized the look when she used to train children until they passed out or puked.

The monk took two steps back; redirecting herself from the trajectory should that happen.

Then, did she hear Feylon's words, after failing to realize or even know it was a rhetorical question as she tried to find some sort of answer, even without knowing what "hell" was, deduced his question. The prince and the ever-so-random woman by his side. A table. Chairs. Guests. Food. Sweet, delectable food.

"...Maybe it's a meal?" The monk said to Feylon, her statement turning partway into a question, her gluttony and her brain playing tug of war with her words.

The Paladin had come in right after, speaking directly to Rydas, and dramatically pulling the white tablecloth from right under the plates. Nel blinked for a few seconds, trying to figure out what gesture that possibly was, and was furthermore confused when he was trying to pull up the table. He was grunting and working up a sweat by his brow; had it been any other time the monk might have offered her assistance if it wasn't even a little humorous and pathetic all at once. Of course, he gave up, and turned the table over to the side, spilling all the delectable warm food crashing on the ground. It was only his little speech afterwards, did Nel pay attention again, with the paladin accusing the woman of intent to do them harm and called Rydas "expendable", another word foreign to the monk.

With the orders that came around, ordering each and every member of the team to aim at the couple, Nel turned her head around to see if anyone was complying and noticed the shaman-warrior coming up. Although Nel might not have been the best at recognizing humor, euphemisms, or the other strange social phenomenons of the world, without a doubt, she could tell there was rage in each and every step. There was no need for a nasty scowl or growling; the mere look in his eyes had enough fire to burn a hole into the stone wall.

The monk stepped aside from the shaman and went down the other side of the table where Mirabella and went down the other. However, instead of preparing herself for battle, she went to the closest chair, containing a certain tied-up scruffy haired sorcerer and watched the 'couple' at the head of the table while her fingers fumbled about the knot behind the man's chair. Surely, the fact they were taken prisoner here, in this evil place, meant they would be allies. The soundless caber passed her, pushing a small wind towards her face, and bolted like an arrow towards the two. It was too fast for Nel to do something and so watched in horror; waiting for the impact.

Callavan

Callavan watched a few of the more agile make their way up to the balcony before disappearing. Were he able, he would do the same. Instead he was stuck with the wounded and their wet nurses while they licked their wounds. He started pacing, hands held behind his back so tight that his nails dug into his flesh. It seemed that he was only growing angrier as time passed.

Eventually the others were ready to move on. He did see the Triansui and the harlot talking off to this side, but he paid them no heed. He doubted very much that the merchant had anything he needed to hear.

Van was very much tempted simply shove the others onwards as they couldn't move nearly as fast as he would like. He was even more tempted to to launch a torrent of flames once they made it, but he stayed his hand, holding it behind him as it sparked with anticipation.

Taking a deep breath, he reminded himself to stay calm and plan his next move out. His eyes darted around the room, taking in all that they could while Lakdov spoke.


Oba

There were words spoken nearby. Sounded like some mindless prattling. She opened her eyes slowly, there was a bit of haze on everything as she readjusted. She tried to rub her groggy eyes only to find her arms bound to the chair and her feet, to boot..

”Craaaaaaaaap,” she sighed, head rolling from shoulder to shoulder. Still half asleep, she tried to make some sense of her surroundings. Protective charms still hung from her neck, though they didn't seem all that effective now. Yaatu, her dear husband, was by her side as well, bound same as she. He sat straight as a board, with dulled eyes staring forward. She didn't bother asking him what was goinging on, knowing that his mind was long since gone.

Dekard was there as well, apparently in the same state as she, as well as a handful of others. Two she was unfamiliar with. There was the sorceress who had captured her and even the prince himself was there, that was a surprise.

What else was there for her to see? Oh, food, of course. A very generous serving at that. Not that it mattered, she wasn't quite capable of feeding herself at the time. Which was all the more frustrating considering how hungry she was. How long had it been since she eaten? Days? Weeks? Months? How long had she been there for that matter? She hadn't been in quite the right mindset to keep track of time since coming to the citadel.

And now there were suddenly more people. People who yelled, and generally made a fuss. It was all very grating on Oba's nerves. Her head was already pounding from whatever the sorceress had done to her. Yet, as obnoxious as these strangers were, they were, at the moment, Oba's chance to get free.

“Witch boy!” she hissed at Dekard. ”It pains me to wake you from your little nap, but it seems we damsels have found us some knights in shining armor to whisk us away.”

After a bit more yelling and some tantrum induced table flipping, the fighting finally began. Oba heard one of her fellow imprisonees say something and do some flashy spellwork. Someone threw a log that sailed right by her head which was shortly followed by some fires over her head.

”Oh don't mind us! We'll just sit here and relax while you kill each other!” she yelled.


By their powers combined......They're still just Callavan and Oba....

Van didn't have much time before all hell broke loose, he followed up the shaman's caber toss with a healthy round of hellfires and damnations. He aimed for the sorceress, mostly. Though he would have liked to injure the prince at the time, he didn't know how much of this his royalty was responsible for.

”Callavan, Alice dont let her do anything without you noticing it!" he heard the prie-ladin yell.

He responded in kind, ”Oh! And here I thought I should be staring at the wall like a jackass!”

Once the fighters had drawn around the couple he ceased his assault, figuring that his allies wouldn't appreciate being set on fire. And yet again he was left useless while everyone else fought.

Oba cackled, ”Oh-ho! The little witch has himself a littler mistress! What will that horned lass of yours think!”

Seeing that the monk was freeing one of the captives, Van made his way over to one of the other ones. Avoiding the spellcaster, the loud one and her dim eyed compatriot, he settled on the purple eyed girl that remained.

”Think you can fight?” he asker her as he slit her bindings with his knife. After a thought, he added, ”Or walk, for that matter?”

Compulsions ripped through Dekard’s diaphragm as he violently coughed himself back into consciousness. Driven my some shouting about a witch boy, a title his subconscious knew to be his. It was a watery sounding cough, sounding as though he had just accidentally inhaled a bit of water. When the short coughing spell had subsided, he started to become aware of his surroundings. Which he regarded in a jaded fashion, as he had not fully rembered what exactly was going on.

The smell hit him first. Freshly cooked food, a myriad of different fragrances. All begging for his tired and hungry body to find the source of the smell immediately. He licked his chapped lips as his eyes flickered open. Though he quite disappointed to find that the sources of the beautiful smells was strewn across the floor before him. It’s table base flipped to its side.

Suddenly his attention was drawn away from the disappointment of the ruined food and toward the side of his torso. Someone was fiddling with his body. He tried to move his arms to push them away, but quickly found out that his upper torso was bound tightly by rope. He turned his head to see that the source of the fiddling was a young looking woman clothed in robes. Though her attention had temporarily been pulled in a different direction.

”Oh-ho! The little witch has himself a littler mistress! What will that horned lass of yours think!” He heard a familiar voice. One that he recognized as Oba’s and also brought with it the memories of how he had come to be in his current position. Though the thought of them did little but fill his mind with rage. Dekard immediately tried to yell, meaning it to be potentially some mix between an primordial roar and various curses aimed at the Sorceress who had restrained him. However, instead it ended up becoming simply another coughing episode.

After the coughing resided, his mind quickly became one track. He scanned the room for J, barely acknowledging the others about the room who were preparing for battle. He eventually found the demon to be sitting only a few feet away beside him. Though it was wearing some sort of robe, obscuring most its defining features at a glance. Unbound with rope it appeared that it should have no trouble moving, however Dekard knew better. There was an amulet now hanging around his neck that bounded the demon more efficiently than any rope or chains, as it chained the binding between its will and his own.

“You-” He spoke much more softly than he had attempted to the first time, trying to call the attention of the distracted woman who had been trying to free him. “-forget the ropes. Remove the amulet.” He hoped that the woman would listen to his advice, as if he had his way he was sure he would be free faster with J able to help him. Then if he could focusing on helping J to eviscerate the bitch who had slain his father.

Siobhán grit her teeth as her hands twisted and turned within their bonds. Others were being released from captivity and still she was ignored, worrying her wrists against the twisted hemp rope so that blood was drawn from her skin. Oddly enough, the red liquid was making it easier for her to work her hands loose, making her skin just slick enough so that if she squeezed her hands together in just the right way…

But before she could free herself a man came to her aid and with a few deft flicks of his wrist, the rope binding her arms, torso, knees and ankles were all freed. “Are you okay?” The cleric heard him speak and her head swiveled as she stood from the chair, trying to see if the newcomer was friend or foe. A warrior, from the look of him, and more specifically a Paladin in the care of the god Urusk the Protector if his tabard was legitimate. The temple had taught her much of the Gods and Goddesses worshipped in Calisma and the surrounding areas and she was both shocked and surprised to see a followed of Urusk venturing this far into the wilderness. Not because they weren’t known for travel, in fact they always seemed to be off aiding others, but there were so few people that had the resolve necessary to follow the Protector God that they were quite rare. Simply stumbling upon one of them in her hour of need seemed almost too good to be true.

Finally, she found her voice and casting a soft smile upon the Paladin, she nodded, causing thick raven-colored locks to tousle about her lithe frame. “I am, thank you. We should help the others….” A pause in her speech as she gestured to those still tied to their chairs. Siobhán then canted her head as if listening to something before angling her face towards the Paladin. “A gift, if I may?” She turned towards him and held both hands aloft as if to show him that she meant no harm. In fact, she was the antithesis of violence and if anything, she wanted to aid the people that would most likely be saving her from this dark citadel.

If he did not flinch or shy away, she would press a palm to each of his cheeks and recite a soft prayer in an ancient language. Pale, silvery light would seem to emanate from her very skin, concentrated mostly in her hands where she touch the Paladin’s face and he would feel more powerful than before. “You worship the Boar but I give you the strength of the Bull. Use it wisely, Holy Warrior. I will try to release the others….” Her face turned again, casting a shadowed look at the young, beautiful woman currently stroking the man perched upon the cold stone throne. This group would have to throw everything they had at that woman in order to have the slightest chance of walking from these shadowed halls alive. “You are needed in battle, it seems.”

Smiling once more, she dropped her hands and ran off to the nearest captive, Oba, one of the two (technically three but she did not count the blankly staring man beside her) people that she had followed into this Goddess-forsaken place. “Do not fret. Go help in the killing. Do not let them have all of the fun.” She spoke in jest, in response to the woman’s outburst as Siobhán drew her own dagger from her belt and sliced through the bonds which held the witch doctor before moving on to her zombie-like husband. A golden-haired woman and purple-eyed lass were both being freed as well as the scruffy sorcerer that she had been pursuing so that left the man and woman that looked eerily similar to one another. Goddess, she hoped that she was correct in trusting everyone that had been captive and not naïve enough to unleash hell upon the group that was trying to assist them.

Another quick jerk of her dagger and she loosed the rope that bound the hands of Iravey first since she was still upright. “Are either of you wounded?“ Her voice softly inquired, hoping that they could still hear her over the raucous battle. Then she moved to the brother, Talsin and pushed his chair a bit so she could reach his hands whilst he was laying upon the floor still strapped into his seat. “Clever boy…” She murmured beneath her breath in appreciation at his quick thinking and then before standing once more, Siobhán shoved her dagger back into her belt sheath. Her protective shield still shimmered lightly around her, protecting her from direct attack but it was evident that she was skittish and wanted to remove herself from this room as quickly as possible.

Now that the situation had developed into what was nothing less than an incoherent fracas, Selene realised that any hope of being untied from her rather ignominious position at the over-turned table was annoyingly slim. With the recent entry of several people - although many that seemed to be injured recently - she had retained the seemingly vain hope that at least one of them could turn their attention away from the golden opportunity to have a whack at the lovely couple and instead lend a hand to those clearly unable to help themselves.

Unfortunately for Selene, this remote possibility seemed to be more remote by the second, as the searing light from what she assumed was magic burned briefly into her retinas again. Although she squeezed her eyes closed to escape the glare, her headache nevertheless kicked up a notch, and she automatically gave voice to a few choice curse words. While she understood and shared the sentiment that prompted them into the impromptu battle with the undoubtedly beautiful woman - whom Selene wanted to punch repeatedly - she was nevertheless annoyed at the fact that such an action went hand in hand with ignoring the reluctant dinner guests.

Suppressing the urge to vomit, Selene opened her mouth to vent her helpless fury on...something, but was abruptly side-lined when one of the other captives stole her thunder, making a loud statement that was, to Selene's ears, wonderfully appropriate. She turned to identify the source of the sound, and although she didn't recognise the woman and was somewhat unnerved by the amount of what appeared to be jewellery that she was sporting, she nevertheless gave what she hoped came across as an approving nod. It would have been infinitely more civilised to make some kind of comment, but given the ruckus in the general vicinity, Selene doubted that any kind of noise her aching throat managed to produce would be heard.

Selene watched somewhat resentfully as the other captives were released around her, and she drew in energy to make some scathing comment about her own situation, when she sensed rather than saw someone come up behind her. Unable to contain the way her body flinched automatically as he produced a knife, Selene's thoughts took the form of barbed curse words yet again.

"Of course I can walk. I learnt that particular skill many years ago, and if I'm not horribly mistaken, I am still in possession of both legs and feet." Her words were snapped out with considerably more bitterness than Selene had intended, a by-product of the headache still chipping away at her sanity. But as he cut through her bindings - I really should consider carrying a knife - Selene's hard gaze softened, and she even managed a small, grateful, and somewhat apologetic smile.

When she spoke for the second time, the hoarseness that had initially marred her careful pronunciation in a voice devoid of any easily identifiable accent had vanished, as had the emotion infusing those first unwise words. "Thank-you. You have rendered me a great service, and I repaid you by being unkind. For that, I apologise." Nothing in Selene's manner would suggest that those final words had been difficult for her to articulate without flinching. Her tendency to act - or speak - without first considering the ramifications constantly landed her in similar situations, yet she usually allowed the unfortunate recipient to make the assumption that she was both unfriendly and mean. Shaking off her bindings with more than a little disgust, Selene took in a deep, fortifying breath, and immediately wished she hadn't. The air was soured with a strange combination of magic, cooked meat, and what was probably blood, and hardly palatable to someone who'd just woken up with a headache. Once again resisting the urge to throw up, Selene hesitated for a second or three, then, with little ceremony, rose to her feet.

Swaying initially, Selene grabbed the back of the chair to steady herself, releasing the wood she had only recently been tied to when she was sure she wasn't going to plummet gracelessly to the ground. That achieved, her purple eyes raised once again to the man who'd essentially saved her. Gesturing somewhat vaguely to the chaos around them, Selene's lips twitched into a highly amused smirk. "It appears you are needed elsewhere. Don't worry; I have no immediate intention to become closely acquainted with the floor, nice as it is."

Callavan felt numb once the fighting had finished. Exhausted both physically and mentally he didn't even try to defend himself when the accusations started flying. He felt a flicker of anger but it was smothered quickly enough. His ego had overstepped his abilities and lead to the injury and death of others. Fighting bandits had bolstered his confidence, but a greater power had presented itself to him that day and found him lacking.

He bid farewell to the everyone that night, asking that the prince send his pay to his family home in Thoav, before parting ways.

A few days later and he found himself on the shores of Ida'an, with no small thanks to the horse that had been provided with. He crossed the waters with one of the familiar enchanted boats, the wood worn smooth by many hands over the years.

There were a great many new faces eager to learn the secret workings of the world, much as he had once been. There were familiar faces as well; most didn't seem to recognize him or simply didn't care, some threw snide words and insults, fewer still gave a smile and greeting before scampering off. Some things never change.

A quick stop at guest housing was the first order of business. He scraped some of the road off himself, scrawled a hasty note to his family explaining what had happened and then he was off again.

The library was the goal of this trip, a long fat building that could fit most of the other campus buildings inside. Van snaked his way inside, winding through a maze of shelves. A good chunk of his time at the guild had been spent there and even after all this time he'd bet a gold piece that he could find his way through blindfolded. He spent all his time in the library; only taking breaks to eat, sleep, fish, and harass students after drinking too much.

A week passed by as he read and read, taking note of every little thing; but, eventually, being shut in all day with nothing but books and the roving groups of tittering of young magi was slowly driving him mad.

He withdrew to the vaults under the guild where he could experiment in peace and relative safety. He started with simple modifications of spells he had grown familiar with before moving on to newer ideas, pulling from what he had read and whatever strange notion struck his mind.

A slight mishap, involving a remote immolation spell, left his clothes in tatters; forcing him to walk through the campus nude until he found someone willing to lend him a set of replacements.

Shortly after that he received a parcel from his brother containing a part of his payment from the prince, a letter stating that he'd keep the rest safe for Van, and an invitation bearing the royal seal. He skimmed the latter briefly. He was unsure of whether or not he should go. His companions had been good people on the whole, but he felt no sense companionship with most of them.

He tossed the bag of gold from hand to hand. It was hefty, only a portion of his keep and judging from its weight, it would could keep fed and housed for about two month. Four if he was thrifty.

There would be nobles there, that was doubtless. Not that he was keen to socialize with them, but nobles had deep pockets and little sense when it came to spending, and tales of their adventure had likely begun circulation among the upper crusts, greatly exaggerated he imagined. Some fool was bound to offer him a patronage simply for bragging rights. Van could preform simple parlor tricks from time to time and spend the rest of his days getting payed to do whatever he pleased.

It was decided then. He packed his things, as well as a few books that he had 'borrowed' from the library, and took off for Paetax the next morning.

He arrived two days later, leaving a week and a half before the coronation. After finding lodging he promptly lodged himself in a tavern where he stumbled across a familiar face or, rather, she stumbled across him.

“Ah, the mage!” Oba exclamed obliging herself to the stool next to his, ”One of them anyways. Sorry, never caught your name before. No one seemed in the mood for introductions at the time, what with all the demons and dieing and then you went and disappeared on us. Well, not quite disappeared, seeing as how you said your goodbyes before going on your merry way. Though I'm sure you could have had you wanted. What with the magic and everything.”

Callavan thought that she was taking a breath after her spiel, but she was only breaking to spout her order to the barkeep before continuing. ”Have you been well? It doesn't seem so.” She made a pointed look at the borrowed clothes he wore. They were still the ill fitting rags that he had borrowed after his accident. ”I'd have thought the guild would take better care of their own. It only seems fair when they keep such a tight leash on you all. That must be maddening. I don't know how you stand it. Oh, by the way, I'm Yaa Oba, or just Oba if you prefer.”

Van thought back to the citadel. She hadn't fought, nor did she cower. She strode through the conflict with a confidence that bordered on madness. Afterward she had gone around treating any minor wounds that the priestess's spell hadn't cover to prevent infection. All the while keeping up that mad glee.

”Callavan,” he returned, ”And I'm fine.”

A silence passed between them that slowly edged into uncomfortableness as the two drank. Oba offered him one of the sweet rolls she had ordered. He accepted it.

”So, what happened to the large fellow that was with you?” he asked.

”Oh, Yaatu. He's fine. A bit touched in the head y'know. Far too much stimulation in the city for him, so he stays in our room,” she answered, eager to break the silence. ”I'm guessing you're here for the coronation as well?”

Van nodded.

”Fantasic. I was a bit surprised when I got an invitation. Tell me, have you found anyone to go with you?”

He shook his head.

”Ah, then you'll just have to accompany me then.” She smirked, downing the rest of her ale in one long gulp and following it with a loud belch. ”After all, a fine lady such as myself can't possibly be expected to walk these streets alone.”

This got a small chuckle out of Van and he agreed to escort her to the coronation. They spent the rest of the evening getting properly drunk and sharing stories. Van told her how he had lost his last set of clothes with a few embellishments, such as marching through the master mages' office and passing through the women's dormitory asking if he could borrow a slip. In return, Oba told him about the time she had accidentally gotten an entire village high during an exorcism.

He had somehow managed to make his way home after the previous night. Extremely hungover, he managed to stuff something that resembled food down his gullet before heading to the shopping district. After talking with Oba the previous night, he realized that he was in sore need of new clothes, especially if he was looking to impress a new patron.

There was some unexpected difficulty in this. All of the shop keeps thought he was a beggar and refused to let him inside. After this happened a fifth time Van was feeling especially perturbed.

”Now listen here,” he hissed, grabbing the keep by the collar and pulling him close. ”We,” he indicated himself and the keep. ”Are going in there,” he pointed to the shop. ”You,” back to the keep now. ”Are going to take my measurements and then tailor me two suits. The first will be simple everyday wear, nothing flashy. Something comfortable and practical. The second will be more formal. You may take more liberty with the latter, so long as you don't make me look like some foppish git. Do you understand?'

”Let go of me you beer soaked tramp!” the keep yelled, struggling against Van's grip. ”Someone call the guards! This vagrant is attempting to rob me!”

Frustrated, Van grabbed up his beard with his left and released a small flame. It wasn't enough to burn himself, though he winced at the stray embers biting at his skin, but it was enough to singe away most of his facial hair. The intended effect was supposed to make him look like less of a vagabond. Instead, the shop keep was faced with a mad man who had just set himself aflame.

Regardless, it got him into the shop and afterwards he had to force the tailor to accept his payment. He made another stop on his way back to his room, getting himself a proper shave and trim so that he no longer resembled a mangy dog stuffed into a suit.

Between then and the coronation; Callavan spent his days working on his magic, alternating between studying and using a needle and ink to add to the spellwork on his left arm. While his nights were spent drinking with Oba.

Before long it was the day of the coronation. Callavan dressed up in his new suit, the left sleeve rolled up to avoid irritating the new marks; he picked up Oba, who had dressed up for the occasion in a dress with appropriate amounts of frillyness and the two set off for the castle.

Callavan greeted the prince and princess first, bowing low and addressing them as m'lord and m'lady. He felt increasingly uncomfortable. These strange social customs were entirely alien to him and he was simply mimicking what he had seen traveling troubadours do in their plays. He rose almost mechanically, walked over to where the others had gathered and tried his best not to make anymore of a fool of himself.

Oba on the other hand was completely at ease. She curtsied to the two with a slight bow of her head. ”It's a pleasure to meet you again, your highness. As well as to make your acquaintance, Princess. I'm honored that you invited me. Especially after, as I recall, you accused me of being a traitor aligned with the Tommyknockers,” she gave them a playful grin before prancing away to join everyone else.

”Oh, Little Bird,” Oba said, seeing that Siobhan was there. ”Glad to see that you are feeling better after that impressive display you put on for all of us.”

Curiosity filled Siobhán’s emerald eyes as she stood to the back of the group. Unknown and unseen by most as the Royals cordially invited each and every attendee. The cleric knew… No one, save Ian and the woman that she had been sent to find before, Oba. As the other woman greeted her, Siobhán smiled serenely and nodded her head towards the witchdoctor.

“I am glad to see you are well. Your friends were looking for you… They know of your safety?” Her words sounded harmless enough but Oba would assuredly know their true meaning.

The rest of the faces were familiar but names did not come to her, since they hadn’t been offered during the battle and she was in no shape for conversations on the ride to the city. The Prince and Princess were like storybook characters coming to life. People that she had heard about but never witnessed in person and to be greeted by them personally brought a smile to her lips.

“Travian, Siobhan. Welcome, thank you for coming.

She did her best not to make a fool of herself and she curtsied towards the pair though her eyes, now drawn to the two, lingered more upon Rydas than his sister. He looked healthy but his aura screamed wounded and panic laced through her soul. Had her magic failed? Had she healed everyone but the Prince himself?

Stepping forward as everyone else was turning to leave for their rooms, Siobhán lifted a hand towards Rydas’ cheek in an almost motherly fashion, worry filling her eyes. A woman with no formal upbringing or knowledge of how to handle royalty, her actions might be seen as hostile by the surrounding guards but she had little care for anything other than the one standing in front of her.

As soon as her touch grazed Rydas’, his skin seared hers and she withdrew her fingertips just as quickly as they had been placed and a hiss of pain escaped her parched lips. “Torment and anguish, I cannot heal.” A wince was visible, slightly narrowing the corners of her eyes before she caught herself. “I apologize, Prince. It’s just…” Hands lowered, clasping in front of her so she would not make any more sudden movements.

“Thank you, cleric, but some burdens are not yours to bear." Rydas said, formally. His gaze lingered on hers, noting the minuet changes in her countenance. He sought words of comfort or explanation, but found himself unable to explain things that he didn't understand. The Prince wasn't sure whether it was empathy, or something more radiating from Panacea. His lips pressed into a hard line, finding himself unable to say more.

Pain was something that the cleric was eerily familiar with, yet finding a wound which she could not ease seemed to disrupt her natural serenity. She shifted her weight slightly, leaning more heavily on one foot, then the other, unwilling to let the situation rest. “And not all burdens are yours to bear, Prince and future King. The weight of the world will crush you, if you allow it.” Her head dipped and cheeks colored slightly at her forwardness. Now she sounded like the crazed soul-seer from the citadel.

“I mean… Your Highness, sharing the burden does not make you a weak man. I would suggest sleep but I believe….” Her eyes suddenly widened and she glanced around as if suddenly noting the remaining crowd.

If only I could… he thought. While Siobhan noted the crowd, Rydas fixated on her, his green eyes unwavering. The woman spoke of things that he had not shared. He had become immobile, uncomfortable in the sudden intimacy. When the man finally replied his voice was low and quiet, testament to his thoughts flowing elsewhere, though genuine all the same. ”I’ll take your advice under consideration. Thank you.” He only hoped she understood how voiceless he was.

The cleric’s lips parted once more but she already felt overwhelmingly awkward for bringing up such a topic in the midst of company. Her eyes flitted from the Prince to the Princess and she offered a half-hearted smile before mumbling some form of an apology. Her feet moved swiftly then, taking her through the ornate doors and into the castle.

Her bags were already placed in her room; she had sent them ahead with one of her Temple’s acolytes previously so that she would not have to lug anything around. Now, her next task at hand was questionable. She didn’t have anyone that she wished to speak to so she set about exploring her temporary residence. The corridors were many and the rooms that they led to were grandiose. The décor had obviously experienced a woman’s touch. Everything seemed warm and inviting while still retaining its regality and the cleric knew that it must be the influence of the Princess.

It is good that the siblings have one another… she thought to herself as she roamed the near-empty halls leading deeper into the castle. Upon her adventures she found dozens of rooms. Some obviously for more formal events and some that were locked, barring her entrance. The guest rooms seemed to all be stationed close to one another and a smile twisted her lips as she wondered if they would receive placards to denote their room. Otherwise, she was sure that people like herself would get turned around and accidentally end up in someone else’s quarters which might prove amusing but also embarrassing.

Briefly, Siobhán mused at how much time she had wasted learning the layout of the castle and pondered whether she should return to her room and get ready for dinner but her curiosity kept her feet moving beneath her as she ventured further into the castle.