Her heart simultaneously sank and lifted to hear him as he walked forward without trepidation to help her with Jhya. He had no fear for himself, and she feared all the more for him, and loved him all the more for it.

It seemed he was talking about praying again, seeking guidance from XYZ and she remembered the last time she'd seen him pray. As he approached she said softly, in recollection and acknowledgment… Angels in the guise of friends. When the time comes… you will do what is necessary.

It was strange to hear Yannike call Calemond 'Father'. Though Laryeim supposed that was a normal way for a Believer in XYZ to address one of XYZ's priests... indeed, and with sudden pleasure, Laryeim realized that by calling him Father, Yannike was offering him the respect and station which was his due; that she'd been previously withholding some judgment of Calemond and had now found him to pass.

She blinked back tears as first Calemond and then Yannike moved forward and took the exhausted Jhya between them. Sorbi's Code began to liven in her, You never feel love so pure as that burned into your heart by friends willing to die to keep their word to you. And they do. Thank you... thank you. She whispered, stunned by them and glad that she was not, upon reflection, all that surprised by their eventual choices in this.

Her heart swelled as the pair readied themselves and secured Laryeim's pack (I will assume Yannike takes it, since she is the less encumbered of the two). You seem to keep having to help me with this. Laryeim said smiling through her tears of gratitude and the glory of these people.

With her pack off, she then took off her traveling cloak. It was worn but it was warm. And she wrapped it about Jhya with kindness in her touch. When we get close, just ensure that he cannot be seen. Calemond, if there's a backdoor to the private area of that tavern, best we use that and you lead the way and the words.

And it was to Wynn - poor Wynn! - she turned her attention next. She paused, putting herself to mind of how to get him off the ground. She'd never done it herself, but had seen it done and composed her plan before she knelt.

She crouched near him, touched his shoulder gently, then firmly. Wynn... it's Laryeim. We're moving now, I'll carry you. Hold tight to me if you can, friend. We'll be there soon. It took several somewhat awkward seconds, for she had to lift him to his feet with her back to him and he had several pokey swords arranged about his person. Once she had him up - and he was able to help her just enough in this - and well, the wall helped more, in truth - but she kept a running murmur of encouragement to the man until she dropped low and let him slump over her lowered shoulder.

Wynn barely had the strength to groan, but it had to hurt. In his condition, everything hurt. Easy, Wynn. We've got you now.

She balanced him properly and stood up, letting the weight of him and his gear settle through her shoulders, down her spine and into her hips and legs. The wound in her side tightened... but that was all. No pain. Thank you, Sorbi... She did not know how long his boon would last, but was grateful for it and the accompanying relative clarity of mind. Thank you, my God...

The cloak which Calemond had given her and she'd subsequently shortened, dangled about Wynn and she did the little that was reasonable to secure it while having him over her back. Which was very little. But his hood was drawn low over his face and two different cloaks obscured him there. She used some of the cloth to wrap his hands - both against the cold and against being seen - before nodding her readiness to Calemond and Yannike. Let's go.

OOC: webpage with example of the carry she's working on and how it's done. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fireman%27s_carry

I figure Wynn's about 200pounds including all his gear (160pounds plus his stuff) which is well beneath Laryeim's Extra Heavy Encumbrance level of 250. So they all can manage just over a 1 move, right now.

Gonna write us up moving on to the Drunken Duck and assume smooth sailing there and to getting a private room at the Duck without any problems. I look forward to everybody's embellishments and additions to what is written below as I have only my own (Laryeim's) limited perspective on things. Thanks so much and best to you all.
By the way, I gmailed to LT the posts from both our OOC and IC threads of yesterday and I shall do so early each morning PST so as to keep him involved in what we are doing.
I'm assuming he'll chime in via a gmail to any of us in order to adjudicate/correct anything.


There walk was a tunnel of weight and white. The fog hung heavy and the snow drifted through it on biting winds. She stayed behind Yannike and Calemond who held Jhya between them. To see her own gear - bow, arrows, and blade on Yannike’s back was not so strange as she would’ve thought; the equipment seemed to suit the noblewoman’s own weapon and bloodied armor. And nor did Laryeim feel quite so naked without it all as she would have expected. She was not defenseless, even without her weaponry; she was not defenseless because her comrades were with her.

Wynn was heavy. Almost too heavy. But she kept her steps shorts and sure, careful of their footing so she would not drop the both of them. To remember the putrification of his veins, put Laryeim uneasily to mind of the squishy rotten feel of her own flesh just before the plague angel ripped its way out of her. But Chloe’s rot seemed to start with the blood, and it was mostly his veins that were sick now; the rest of him was solid enough for which she was very grateful. And she could hope that her own body heat would warm him. Occasionally, she muttered a reassuring word to Wynn, but largely saved her breath for pacing out her steps.

As the buildings surrounding the Drunken Duck came into view, Laryeim wondered how this next step of things would go. Yannike and Laryeim were bloodied messes. And though Calemond was now in clean armor, his boots were caked with gore that the snow had only begun to wash away and Laryeim could only hope that his relationship with the people at the Drunken Duck could earn them seamless passage to a private space where they would be safe from prying eyes and ears and others would be safe from the possibility of contagion.

Her worry had been for nothing. Doors opened and closed, murmured words exchanged, and then they were all in a large room with assurances of privacy, with warm food and drink on its way. It was relatively warm compared to the chill and wind outside and privacy was theirs and hardly an eye had even been present to notice their coming or their state.

In the moments that followed, a fire was started and their ill allies put at their ease; Laryeim’s two cloaks added to their own to provide some comfort for their rest.

As they settled their comrades, Laryeim asked Jhya softly, Rest now, Jhya. But before you do, tell me if there is anything else you need to aid you now, and when you should be woken, in case you cannot rouse yourself. And... under what conditions should we merely risk the vial for you both? If you don't wake up or...

As Jhya informed her of what he needed and how they should handle the upcoming eventualities, Laryeim ensured that he and Wynn were as comfortable as could be had. Though Laryeim did not have the greatest confidence in whether Jhya truly could help them both, she was willing to wait - if a little while - to give him a chance to do what he could.

When Jhya settled into repose, Laryeim straightened, stepped away from the fire - for it's flickering made her uneasy and she was quite warm enough - and turned to face Yannike and Calemond. They had worked well together, carrying the exhausted monk between them and it had bastioned Laryeim's heart to watch them walk the distance so easily, despite their heavy burdens, both physical and otherwise.

Now, she was immensely grateful to see Calemond's masked helm come off and the chain coif gathered idly about his neck. He looked grim and grieved. Laryeim looked away. She felt that there was something amiss between them, perhaps only within herself, and the awareness annoyed her for it being so out of place amidst such other dire circumstances. As Yannike and Calemond unburdened themselves of their packs, Laryeim scanned the room. There were several tables with accompanying chairs - one of which had been shoved aside to allow for Jhya and Wynn to lay closer to the fire. A single small window let in the morning's feeble effort at light. It was dark, several lamps tried to alleviate the darkness.

She realized with a start that her annoyance rested with her own desire to cast Calemond away, to some safety. This was wrong. For if anything could make him less a man it would be to flee from these challenges they all now faced. He belonged here, now. The recognition of this erased Laryeim's annoyance and returned her to the sense of equilibrium she had with him and the certainty of the bond of kinship between them. Like unto blood...

She wasn't sure what to expect from Sorbi, now. Yannike and Calemond were safely out of the warehouse; and Jhya and Wynn were as well off as they could be. Though it was Laryeim's fault they were sick, there was also a chance that in hours they both would be cured and the five of them ready to face the terrors heading down on Tormauz. Whether Laryeim would continue to be physically fit to help them yet remained to be seen. She feared that now that her allies were relatively safe, that the strength Sorbi'd granted her would wane. She did not dare look at the wound, for fear to see it festering afresh with Chloe's renewed vengeance; the plague angels had been a pair. Or would it be merely a gaping maw of torn flesh, as it had been when Laryeim'd last seen it? The tightness there had not hindered her, nor did it hurt. But she noticed it with every step; noticed it and wondered.

Her muscles were still quivering from the effort of carrying Wynn and she was shivering with cold. She heard the familiar sound of her bow’s wood being moved against the wall and recognized that Yannike had got out of the pack. Her own hands were empty and very cold, hanging idly down at her sides. And so she stood there, aware of the other two in the room, but not yet ready to do anything but take in Jhya’s and Wynn’s states. If Chloe were escalating the rage of plague in their bodies, would Jhya have the time to rest – would his body be able to rest – and enable him to combat this disease? How long until the concern she had reached unbearable peak as she watched them rot before her eyes?

All she could do was wait… and she was not very good at that. Laryeim felt that if she broke the tension of concern she had for Jhya and Wynn that what was on the other side of those feelings would be far less controlled.

But surely there was more to it than that for she found her heels pressed into her eyes and felt her shoulders shaking with heavy silent weeping. Deep it was, though brief; a release of excess raw emotion. And she looked up not long after it had begun, wiping the tears from her face. Sorry... it's all been rather a bit much. She tried to sound matter-of-fact, but her voice quavered and her expression was worried.

Carefully, she addressed the trail that Calemond had begun, Calemond, you said that you had not regained consciousness after leaving the underground. That was the first you'd seen since leaving Shazikgun's lair... The hobgoblin's treachery infuriated her, but her sympathy for the priest was the greater. And she spoke softly, I suppose Yannike and I should give you our account of what happened in there, Her glance at Yannike held a touch of unease. And looking to provide a clear trail of how they all came to be there again, she added, And what's transpired while you were unconscious. There was certainly much to say, but she waited a moment as they all were still catching their breaths from the exertion of getting to the Drunken Duck.

Lady Yannike Prescott

The scene is... surreal. Under any other circumstances, Yannike'd have enjoyed this weather. Cold, undoubtedly, but the combination of mist, snow and wind gave things... A mystic air? Perhaps, but in a more ambiguous light than her encounter with demon magic, keeper magic... This is simply nature. An artistic atmosphere. She could see Niquette taking the opportunity to paint the sunrise, framed by fog and white, if it were not for the problems of both the city and her little sister's newfound friends.

It takes a while to reach the Drunken Duck. Strange place, quiet, but seems nicer than the Eunuch. Calemond knows the proprietors. somehow, not surprising, given the idea that he's been working on some kind of movement. Before too long, they've moved the duo into a private room, with fire and tables... all the little group could want right now. Yannike and Calemond are soon laying the monk down besides the fire. Laryeim seems to focus on ensuring the two are comfortable, withdrawing cloaks from her pack and helping them settle down. Leaving her in peace to work and fret, Yannike and Calemond draw away to a nearby table.

Gently, carefully, Yannike places the ranger's pack down against the wall, kneeling down and then slipping out of the straps before taking the seat opposite the priest. Before long, Laryeim has joined the two of them, looking more exhausted than noblewoman and priest combined. That young ranger has gone through more than I can dream up. She starts to sob, silently, Yannike can't quite tell in the low light if there're even tears... but she feels her gut twist on the ranger's behalf, all the same

Sorry... it's all just been rather a bit much
Yannike nods, chuckling, yet her voice certainly doesn't hold amusement. She might not have known the dead, might not've had the reason to care and fear that Laryeim did... but the blood and the terror are things she is starting to learn how to relate to. "That's fair. Oh, Creator's Name, that's fair."

It's a relief to have the pack lying against the wall. Yannike stretches out her arm, shifting it about, fingers clasping and unclasping, before turning her attention back to the group. Laryeim suggests sharing their experiences, though looks conflicted about it. A feeling, yet again, that Yannike can share. "Well, if we take that route... do you want me to start?" She holds up a hand, before explaining her reasoning. "Of the three of us, I didn't know the dead. It's still not a pretty thought, but if someone has to recount what happened, how things were when we arrived..." She leaves it at that, a little hesitant to presume. Laryeim seemed as though she wanted to talk, and yet remained reluctant

Please Cease ALL IC Posting in this game.

A new site will be being searched for to run this on.


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