The Sun Rises, Part II

Snowfall Basin - 


 * ''Located in the north-western quarter of Crown's Refuge, the area known as Snowfall Basin is quite an impressive sight indeed. Delicately balancing nature with culture, Snowfall Basin maintains the Syladris population of the freehold by providing them with a large area that remains suited to needs that have only recently been discovered.


 * ''Set around the basin itself - a bowl-shaped cold water depression carved into the surface of the bluff that Crown's Refuge sits atop - it is unusual by just how much it differs from the Human residences just towards the east. Open-air pavilions and gazebos provide much of the structures that the Syladris call home, while leather tents scattered between these more permanent structures offer a more suitable means of privacy than the depths of the water should such things be required.


 * ''A number of deciduous and evergreen species of tree have been planted amidst the area, turning the "Syaldris Quarter" into one small forest around the large stretch of water. Some pavilions stand taller than others, indicative of status within the newly forged cultural identity that the Syladris are attempting to shape, though all that can be seen feature flowing couches and benches that serve to adequately support and provide comfort for such an unusual half-breed race when they're not otherwise coiled around an overhanging branch or lost beneath ripples of icy water.


 * ''A blanket of fallen leaves and short, lush grasses surround the basin and the various structures and statues that inhabit the area, all contained within a short marble wall that defines the perimeter of this large region of natural beauty and architecture. Paved trails leading towards the east and south lead back to their respective pathways, while the shadow of Tempest Spire looms ever-present towards the southeast.

The basin - always so peaceful - is not, at the moment. Two tents are afire, and one pavillion; at least three syladris lie unmoving among the mess, and another two or three Wildlanders. There is broken crockery, scattered firepits - kicked over tent-poles and more. A battle zone, of a sort.

But scattered here and there throughout are ringmail-clad forms, oddly uniform in blackened steel and simple weapons, both male and female. It's hard to count, but for those who take the time.. perhaps a dozen, maybe more.

But - perhaps those who attacked did not expect that the normally peaceful Syladris are by no means an utterly unwarlike race. Bodies are crushed, some bitten - and others, who apparently died later, are run through, battered, and subjected to more weapon-like violence.

By the song willow, an impromptu triage has been set up - several wildlanders and two of the snake-folk working to bandage and heal, to succor injury and save the dying; the attack was sudden, and the damage more extensive, here.

Worst of all, however, is the shrine.

The Shrine of the White Dragon is afire - the stone shell containing flame that grows and spreads, the last five of those in ringmail holding the door, with flame at their backs. A small group of armed syladris and wildlanders keep them there, exhorting them to surrender.. but that is not forthcoming. Burn or fight on - they seem intent enough.

"We cannot wait any longer!" Blackfox calls out to the others, bow in hand, "There may be survivors within the Shrine and we cannot risk losing them to these men!" With that she raises her hornbow, the arrow already nocked as she takes aim at one of the men in the doorway, the string thrumming as she looses the shaft.

Muri kneels next to a wildlander woman whose head and neck are torn and bleeding. "Easy dere, Missus," she says, her hands and voice trembling. "Yer gonna be alrights." She digs into her pack and brings out bandages and a cloth. A syladris comes over with a bucket of water and sets it nearby. Muri bathes the woman's wounds. Across from her, a syladris healer works with a human healer to set a man's broken leg.

Muri Woodhill rolls her Healing with a 0 modifier. The result of the roll is Great (2). The river of people sweeps Zia to the Basin, and the bardess half forces, half stumbles her way out of the crowd. Just in time to hear Blackfox's cry. She curses, the words falling from her tongue into a sea of commotion, merging and lost as she once again draws those knives. The hunting knife, still bloodied (she's trying not to look at it) and from her boot a throwing knife, which flies in a single movement from her fingertips.

Justus moves forward, all hint of laziness gone. He draws a dagger and holds it low. His voice can be heard in murmurs as he makes his way past the wounded. Giving a touch here, there. He spots one of the fallen enemies and strangely enough, he's heading that way.

Sandrim bursts into the basin, eyes widening as he sees the fire before him. "No," he says, wide-eyed, before narrowing his eyes to slits. "No!" he says, more forcefully before pointing at a wagon. "I don't know what you're doing, but you have an agenda, and I am going to /smash/ it to pieces," he growls. He lifts his hand and the wagon lifts into the air... before diving into the pond, scooping up a wagonload of water. He turns his hand, and the wagon flies for the shrine, to fling its contents over the fire.

From somewhere appears Varal, moving slowly at first, a stealthy crouch. However, there's a crowd. And a fire. Upright, he begins to move, sprint, towards the scene.

Following Sandrim, Karell watches carefully for a moment before his expression falls. "That's..." he mutters, "THAT'S MY WAGON!" he shouts, and in all manner of manly rage he pulls his sword from it's sheath, waggles it in the air and runs towards the shrine in apparent chase.

Leviathan rolls for a Good level with a modifier of 0. The result of the roll is Fair. Arrows fly. Shouts are raised - the people pouring in from the city at large say well clear of the fight near the door, but they bring buckets and pans, pails and washtubs. There is a determined look to these wildlanders - and they are a people unafraid of work.

As the fire line organizes, the wagon rises above the crowd, pouring silks and lacy underthings in a swath as it goes... would that the Syladris were not so easily distracted, but it is certain that more than one is gleefully snatched up even in this serious moment. That it falls across the triage at the song willow is just par for the course, in the bargain.

Fox's arrow streaks home, dropping one hardened woman inside the door - it's enough. The group there surges forward, with a shout, and the battle is joined...

Even as the wagon comes back, pouring water from every leaky board as it goes.. again, over the syladris and those helping. But as it adds its water to the mix? There is a cheer - and the bucket lines form. The battle is bitter, and the fire continues.

Justus continues to move among the bodies, a hand going out here, a frown crossing his face there.

Blackfox does not flinch as they charge, another arrow already out of the quiver as the first strikes home. Both her hands are wrapped in poorly tied cloth, the one bracing the bow beginning to darken with a hint of blood. She is silent as she fires again, aiming for the frontrunner, hoping to deter them from their charge.

... Zia's thrown knife goes whizzing out! Right at..

The.. back. Of the syladris. In the front, there. This was not a good throw.

... and she /hits him/. It's not a killing shot, but having a knife in your shoulder isn't exactly a pleasant experience. The worst part, though?

Several nearby wildlanders /noticed/. And - the looks of shock probably aren't going to stay in place long.

Sandrim makes a tossing motion, and the water in the wagon spills out over the fire in a large, brilliant wave (and a few fish probably get cooked in the bargain). He doesn't concern himself with the battle itself. He merely starts pulling, bringing the wagon back over the heads of the workers and to the pond to refill.

Muri finishes bathing the woman's face and begins to wrap bandages over her wound when she is drenched with water. "Ay!" she cries, falling forward protectively. Syladris and wildlander alike curse and duck as the water falls. Muri raises her head and looks around, her hair dripping wet and watches, incredulous as the wagon continues dumping water as it moves toward the shrine. "Cor..." she murmurs, blinking.

Taran arrives at a run - somewhat halting for his own injuries, but dogged nonetheless...at least until he sees the fire and devastation. That halts him for a time, taking it in with a kind of heartbroken shock. Swallowing, his attention then turns to the response the Wildlanders are making to the situation, and a sad sort of smile makes its way onto his face even as tears start. "I knew I loved you people for a reason." And then he's off again - now back to his own proper place, the healer looking for wounded that can be saved. Such as these need no Archon. Good thing, because the tears don't stop. He just works around them.

Karell runs in a fairly straight path to the shrine, and though he is a little distracted by the shower of House Valorian underthings he presses forward and jabs his sword upwards, aiming for one of the guards. "NOT THE UNDERTHINGS!" he cries in indignation.

Wolfsbane is with Taran, but as the bard goes off to tend to wounded, the ranger instead moves off to inspect the situation where the conflict is occuring. Avoiding the crowd, he keeps on the outskirts, moving along to try to view the shrine from all sides.

Oh, and by the way? Zia can curse. Quite fluently. The hunting knife in her hand gets not a glance as she thrusts it back into its sheath and sprints for the wounded Syladris. She can only hope, and pray, that the watching Wildlanders aren't about to stab her. She slows on the approach, reaching to tear a long strip off the hem of her cloak, extending a hand in an offering of help. "Oh, Light... I'm sorry..." It's the only thing she can possibly think of to say. Other than 'Please don't kill me', at any rate, but she'd rather not give any ideas...

Varal growls, sprinting as hard as he can - almost like a blur. At the last possible minute he jumps, slightly higher than ought to be possible. He points his foot at the chest of the nearest armored raider, a jump kick trying to incapacitate the foe.

Varal's kick is a blur - blasting past the lines and carrying at least one warm body in... into the interior. Into the fire. The fight continues, there; Karell claims the life of another; the two left retreat back, back... now only one stands, as, with a shudder and crash, the timber supporting the doorway collapses, bringing with it part of the stone of the wall, Varal somewhere behind it.

The flames mount higher, the buckets not yet enough to do anything, the defiance at the wagon's work almost spiteful.. but the Wildlanders do not give up. They work steadily, calling, shouting to each other, the basin giving water to the cause.

Zia isn't dragged down and beaten, at least - the Syladris never knew what hit him, and welcomes the help. The rest just... try to figure out what just happened before getting pressed into the work of trying to put the Shrine Out. Now.

Vhramis seems content to act as observer, for now. Likely there's very little else he could do, at this juncture, anyway. At least, there's nothing he could do to outperform a floating wagon full of water. Ahem.

Fox's arrow frees up the combatants from combat duty, at least. As the stones crash down, it takes that last woman - as she draws breath to scream something in defiance - in the throat.

From the east comes the lightning movements of a half-panicked goldscale, Mysra having seen the commotion when she returned from her trip to Light's Reach. "What...?" she gasps, pausing at seeing the battle and the fire and the /bad/, "No... NO! Myssra'sss home!" The golden-hued female darts forward, pulling out her trusty iron pot and making to join the group trying to put out that fire.

Wet. Everything and everyone under the song willow is wet. Muri sits back on her haunches and tries to shake her hands dry. "Megan!" she calls to one of the wildlanders. "Go in Aes' tent dere! Bring de bedclothes. Gotta get everyone dry." She shakes her head, her eye catching the flames. Lips pressed tight, she takes in a breath, and digs deeply into her pack for dry bandages. Megan and others go to the unharmed tents to drag whatever dry cloths they can. A syladris whimpers, a hand near his shoulder where he's been pierced with an arrow. He bobs on his tail, patiently waiting.

Zia moves closer, a certain amount of caution in her motions as she reaches out a hand to steady the Syladris man--on his good shoulder. The one she didn't manage to stab. "Oh, Light. Let me help you." The wound is not bad, at least--a throw that bad goes in neither deep nor straight.

"This will hurt..." She braces him with that gripping hand, and, if he makes no protestations, will draw the knife out with a swift, steady hand that makes short work of it and causes as little damage as possible. If this is accomplished, she will try to support him from his good side and help him towards Muri.

Blackfox slings her bow as she runs, sprinting past the bucket line and charging into the burning shrine, searching for survivors before it's too late.

Despite, or perhaps because of the big crowd present, Lucius manages to get to the front of the citizenry population of Crown's Refuge, smoking a pipe. Amusingly. "Huh." He says to himself, moving forward some more and tapping the pipe load out. "Need help?"

As Varal disappears behind the fallen archway, Sandrim hesitates a moment, before letting the wagon lower to the ground. "I can't believe I'm actually doing this," he says, before gesturing to the stone of the archway, lifting it up enough for people to get through. "Get out of there, fast!" he yells, holding his hands above his head.

With the most pressing of his concerns out of the way, Karell frantically turns to the soiled silks that lay about the burning area. "Light help us..." he mutters, eyeing a mongoose-embroidered shirt. He looks up again, making sure there's nobody left he can stab, if there is - he makes to stab them. If not? He'll just stab one that's already gone down.

Justus, soaked, stands up and looks around. He sighs, expression falling. He begins to angle his way through a few more bodies, this time with an angle to head towards the south.

Perhaps the last visible thing of Varal, right before he vanishes into the burning building, is a look of panic as he realizes his tactic worked a little /too/ well. He spits, upset, the moment he realizes he killed the man on his way in. Coughing, and covering his mouth with a hand, he turns for the door. The door that isn't there. He groans.

Vhramis resists the urge to rush in, instead keeping a relatively low profile. Hood tugged up and keeping to the dark, he watches.

"Oh, shite." Lucius says, spotting his liege lord for a few moments. As Sandrim holds up part of the archway stone, Lucius sprints in to retrieve him.

Taran makes his way to the triage tree in fair time. Little needs to be said when the work to do is clear and obvious. Unslinging his bag again, he takes out his kit and simply gets to work, alongside the other healers.

The bucketing continues - the blaze intensifying as the few furnishings inside catch; Sandrim does manage to hold the archway at least somewhat clear, Lucky and Fox pounding in after Varal.

Into the fire. Into the heat and smoke and worse.

At the triage area, the grim totals mount - five dead syladris, eleven wildlanders. Dozens of minor injuries, and several major ones; the snake-folk having more than perhaps their fair share. Zia's is among them. For the record.

"It's a damned fire!" Sandrim shouts at those running into it. "And he can run /fast/. Shadow's grasp, why are you running into there?" He continues holding his hands up though, and the arch stays with them.

Pulling his sword free of a certain unlucky corpse, Karell wipes it clean on the mans chest before looking up just in time to see his cousin disappear into the flames. He manages to pronounce a vowel's worth of word, "Ouh." before snarling, expression turning from what was before 'annoyed' to what is now 'grievously annoyed' and sliding his sword back into it's sheath. He pulls the heavy leather cloak up, hood over his head and grabs one of the longer pieces of soaked silken weave, wrapping it around himself. He also, rather conspiratorially, grabs one of the underthings and holds in front of his face. At that, he attempts to fine a way in to retrieve Varal.

Blackfox runs in and tucks herself under Varal's arm, her gaze sweeping the shrine for signs of other survivors. Finding none, she makes to support the man and help him get outside to fresh air.

Muri finishes bandaging the wildlander woman and wipes as much water off her as she can. "Not 'nuff's 'eat o'er 'ere," she mutters, "Not 'nuffs water o'er dere." She wipes her sooty brow with the back of her hand, then stands to see who needs her help. Seeing Taran among the healers, she smiles and relaxes, then her attention is drawn to Zia. "Missus!" she calls, gesturing to a clear spot on the lawn. "Brung 'im 'ere!"

Gently, Zia helps the Syladris enter the healers' area, and to Muri. "Can you help him..?" Biting her lip, she digs into her pocket and offers the contents to the wounded Syladris. Compensation--a handful of Kahar Imperials, a length of bright blue ribbon, a couple of walnut shells, and a shard of mirror--not sharp-edged. "I haven't much... if there's anything else I can do..." she trails off, looking anxiously towards the fire, and then to Muri. "I must help."

Lucius Nepos sprints in and in a few extra moments is at Varal's position. "Let me help you there!" He says to Fox, moving to grasp him under the other side and take him out with help. "Come on!" His short legs pump furiously as he tries to move otu quickly.

Varal blinks, acrid smoke in his eyes. He coughs, then coughs some more. And, from the smoke appears Fox and grabs him. Then Lucius. He seems somewhat confused, and allows himself to be half-dragged out of the burning building, doing his best to work on his own power when possible.

Mysra continues making her rounds back and forth between the Basin and the Temple, filling her pot and dumping it, and filling it and dumping it. As the fire just gets worse, the goldscale stops. "Thisss isss not helping!" she declares, looking around for another option. The Syladris has started crying by this time, but she makes for the Temple to try her next idea. With a powerful sweeping of her tail, the golden-hued female starts 'kicking' dirt at the flames instead. Considering the size of her tail, that /is/ quite a bit of dirt that gets thrown forward.

The Syladris doesn't take /any/ of that - instead? Zia gets a hug, and a shove in the direction of the fire. And Muri gets a very soulful look.

The brigade continues, working hard - Mysra's pot has made the journey there and back three times now, in fact. Then four. Then five.

And that /is/ a lot of dirt. Of course, somebody's grabbed the pot to join the line, while she's busy with the dirt shoving.

It seems like, by the time Karell is ready to get on with some saving, Varal has already been saved. He waits impatiently by the fires that rage, kicking a splinter of burning wood aside as he indicates for Lucius and Blackfox to come out. The wet 'rags' await his cousin, "Come on!" he shouts into the curling orange blaze.

Sandrim grumbles under his breath, still holding on. "Come on," he growls. "You can move faster than that, and I can get this fire out," he says.

Blackfox doesn't need any encouragement, the huntress having never stopped moving and certainly wasn't standing around in a burning building sucking down lungfuls of smoke waiting for someone to shout that it was okay to rescue Varal now. With Lucius on the other side, she moves, escorting the man out beneath the moonless sky, yielding him over to Karell once they were clear.

"There is no one else inside...who are these men? What is going on?"

Muri supresses a grin, but nods gravely to Zia. "G'wan!" she says, nodding to the woodsmith, then turning toward the syladris. "Now den, lemme see wot we got 'ere." She peels back the hasty bandage and nods. "Aye, yer a brave one den," she says. "Dat's a fine deep wound ye gots, but Ah knowd yer brave, aye? An' such purty horns." She flatters and distracts as she reaches into her pack for some salve. "Ah'll jus' puts dis stuffs on so's it don' hurt so much, den Ah'll stich 'er right up, aye? Den ye'll be good 'nuffs t'fly kites come morn." She smiles and cajoles as the syladris preens, wincing as she applies the salve. Muri purposely angles the syladris away from the view of the fire, which gives her a chance to watch the proceedings with worried eyes.

Varal coughs some more. "Thank - ack ack - thanks," he manages, directed to Fox, Karell, and Lucius. "Lucius," he orders hoarsely, "find me a damn prisoner Survivor. I want to know what happened here." He fumbles amongst he stuff before handing Nepos a ring. "Here's your authority."

Zia laughs--the sound relieved as she hugs the Syladris back, albeit gingerly, and very careful to avoid that injured shoulder. "Take care." And then she's off toward the fire, to do what she can.

Aha! There's an idea. Scooping up handfuls of Karell's soggy underwear into her arms, she begins to fling them at burning tents and flaming shrine alike. Wet silks may not be much, but they're enough to smother whatever fire it lands on.

Taran is, by comparison, a quieter healer. He just works - cleaning, stitching, bandaging...crying, or at least tears are falling, but his voice is steady enough and he sings softly at his patients as he works.

Lucius Nepos is kind of baffled as he's given the signet ring. He just stares at it for a second before putting it on his finger. "Huh. Feels weird." With a grunt and a shrug, like a good little minion, he turns around to go see if he can find someone alive who looks mean and hostile.

"Cousin," Karell murmurs lightly across to Varal as he helps lead him away from the fire, "Are you burned?"

Sandrim looks mean and hostile as he lets the archway drop, gesturing once again for Karell's wagon. "Big, damn heroes," he grumbles as he starts scooping up water yet again.

The brigade works tirelessly - in fact, it takes time. More than an hour passes before the flames start to die back, then the water wins out to leave a charred stone remnant behind.

But.. the statue remains. Blackened, yes. But the stone survives, the great dragon perhaps wounded, but not gone.

Eventually, even the trickle of wounds through the triage fades away, replaced by those in need of water and respite from hot and heavy work.

There are no survivors - to a man, these ringmail armored men and women fought to death, the sign of fanatics, perhaps. But it matters little; the damage was done - and done well.

What is most odd is that four or five were searched, rifled through. At least one is missing whatever was in one pouch, and two are missing weapons.

Well, everyone is dead, but Lucius is going to search them anyways.

When she ran out of underwear to throw, Zia, too, joined the water brigade. When the fires are out, and the people are drifting aimless and melancholy, and Syladris move amongst the tents to find what remains of their homes and belongings, then and only then does Zia allow herself to step back. A sheen of sweat dampens her forehead, hair clinging to her skin as she walks--or maybe 'staggers'--back towards the triage to collapse in an out-of-the-way place near Taran and Muri. And just closes her eyes. "Is... is there anything left I can do?"

Mysra doesn't stop sweeping at those flames until every last one has died down. Once the Temple has been put out, the goldscale stops and takes a good look at the damage, to both the temple and the area around it. Breathing heavily from the exhertion (and developing a nasty rough-worn spot on her tail from all the rough rubbing on the dirt), the Syladris rolls to use the other side of her tail and slowly slithers with her back facing her destination - the tree.

Seeing no other targets and hearing no answer to her questions, a frustrated Blackfox joins the bucket brigade, the tattered cloth on her hands now soaked with blood. Once the fire was out and the wounded tended to, she again looks to the others, "What is going on?"

Lucius Nepos's eyebrows raise up considerably as he searches the bodies, one by one, checking their equipment, their physical form and a few other little things. "Somebody gather up these bodies. They must be kept together. Do not loot them, please." He requests in a loud voice that he's accustomed to using, to anyone who's around. "It's important they're kept together for now. M'lord." He walks over to Varal, expression somewhat grave. "They're mercenaries. More than that. Good mercenaries. Operated out of the Shadow District, Gatetown but.. their company supposedly went out of business a little while back. Used to be run a Zahir baron of some name I can't remember... more, though, they don't care if they die, 'cause if they serve or if they die, they and their families get a ticket out of the district entitled citizenship. But the company ain't supposed to exist. Anymore."

All told, in the last few hours, Muri has bandaged, cleaned, and stitched more humans and syladris than she ever had in her apprenticeship. Most of her patients have gone to their homes or sought shelter elsewhere. Only the dead remain beneath the tree. She is worn to the bone, yet she stands watchful, mournful, her hands limp at her sides. As Zia passes her, she reaches out and gently pats her shoulder. "Res' den," she says. "Ah thin's dere's aught lef' t'do."

As the fires die down, Sandrim lowers the wagon upside down, and sits on its back near the song willow, staring up at the ruined shrine. "That was a mess," he says quietly. "Could have handled that a lot faster, I'm sure."

Varal coughs into his hand. "The ring, Nepos, and... good work. That's not encouraging news, is it? Now we have another thing to look into once we return to the realm. And we ought to consult the Grandmaster." He smiles up at Karell, "Thank you, cousin." There's a pause, then he looks back to Nepos. "Who would hire mercenaries for an attack like this?"

Taran finishes tying off his last bandage and settles back briefly on his heels, blowing out a long breath. Then, with care, he starts packing up what's left of his depleted healer's kit.

Lucius Nepos hands Varal his ring back, noting, "It doesn't fit my fingers well. Your fingers are too fat." Nepos shrugs. "I don't rightfully know, but I know the name of the company - the Silveredge Mercenary Company. They're ruthless as Wildlings on a feeding frenzy, but then again, all they care about is getting their job done. Whether or not they survive, like I said, they get rewarded. As for who is hiring 'em? No clue. Someone who doesn't like the Syladris. Scourges, maybe? Y'know, no matter how virtuous somebody might say they are, or act at one point, when they're down on their luck half of them turn to dishonesty. Scourges don't like Syladri. Then again, lotta people don't."

Reaching the tree, Mysra settles down into an empty spot near the others there, curling up on the ground with that rough area facing upwards to keep it from being irritated. She just continues crying as she has been most of the time there, saying nothing to anyone.

"And Gefrey was just saying how much good could be done with Fastheld and the Refuge working together," Blackfox says, contempt in her voice. "Perhaps they should have closed the Aria."

Varal pitches his voice low, so that only Lucius can hear him. "A Scourge came to talk to me tonight. We'll discuss it later, as I want your opinion." He then heaves a sigh, and coughs some more. "Now, now, Blackfox. You need not be so contemptuous of us all the time. Not all of us are the scum of the earth." He looks back to Lucius. "Well, if there's money, there should be a trail. It looks like we're going to be headed to the Shadow District. Hope your sword is well oiled."

Muri hears weeping behind her and she turns, hurrying to Mysra's side. "Ye hurt, Missus Mysra?" she asks, setting her pack down and fumbling her hand around inside. "Ah haint got bandages left, but show me wot's hurtin', aye? An' Ah'll gits wot's needed." She reaches a hand up to wipe away Mysra's tears and pat her cheek gently.

Zia actually flinches away from Muri's touch, a wince contorting her features for just an instant before it is smoothed away again--forcefully--and she relaxes. She's dirty, soot-stained and soaked in blood... but none of it hers save for a few minor scratches and burns. "Oh Light... the bodies..." She starts to get to her feet, only to have muscles give out, and collapse again. "I can't. Not now. Muri... promise me you'll rest. I don't want to be another unconscious body to move out of this place." This time, she uses the tree to haul herself up, leaning against it a moment as she looks out across the field of corpses and charred tents. Her gaze lingers on Taran a moment, but only for that moment before it slides away again, unfocusing. "I will... return in the morning, to finish whatever cannot be done tonight." Early morning, by the sound of it. And carefully, she starts to make her way back toward the Cross.

"Ah, xenophobia. My favourite dose of dinner dish." Lucius says with a bit of a grin towards Blackfox, shaking his head. "Believe me, Fox, we're not exactly pleased about this. But the Refuge has about as many loonies as Fastheld, percentage wise. Just we're a lot more people." He pretty much ignores the weeping Syladri, Muri and Zia. Taran gets a nod, though. "G'evening there, stranger." He turns back to his liege. "Well, sir? Shall we?"

Taran finishes packing up his kit, puts it in his pack, and shoulders it. Using his staff to lever himself to his feet, he makes his way eastward without comment.

"Songbird!" Varal shouts, voice becoming hoarse and then failing by the end of the name. "We need to talk." He goes into a coughing fit. "Perhaps another time," comes out as a hoarse whisper

"Your guards were supposed to protect the people of the Refuge," Blackfox snaps back, tired and frustrated, "The Syladris were to be treated as nobles, yet they lie dead...not just dead but *butchered* like cattle. You will have to pardon me if I find this offensive."

Amber eyes look up at Muri, the goldscale looking at her for a long moment through her tears. Mysra lifts an arm, and rather than indicating her tail, she points at the middle of her chest instead. "It feelsss...," she starts in a soft wimper, "It feelsss... like... like Mysssra'sss chessst wantsss to collapssse..."

Taran pauses at the call...frowns at the cough. "You need water," he says, quiet and flat. He slants a look at Lucius, then back to Varal. "I can give you tonight. My house is to the east, if you want to sit down or clean up. Either of you."

"Save your preaching for somebody who's had a few pints too many and owns a bleeding heart." Lucius returns with a frown at Blackfox. "I do what I can, and you know that. I'm not interested in discussing politics with you." He rolls his eyes. A smile at Taran. "Thanks. I'll stay outside where he's sleeping tonight. All I need is a chair. Or failing that, I can just fall asleep on the floor. I'm not picky."

"Ah'll res', Missus Zia," Muri says to the woodsmith. "Ah'll find ye come morn. Mayhaps dere's some thin' mores we c'n do once light come up." She turns away and looks over to Mysra, listening to the syladris.

Muri's eyes begin to water, her own grief finally surfacing as she nods to Mysra. "Aye," she whispers, raising a shaking hand to clasp Mysra's hand. She hiccups and sniffles. "Haint no med'cine fer a 'eart dats broke." Then the tears come full on and she kneels next to the syladris. "Weren't nothin' fer it, aye? They come t'urts an' dey 'urts." Her voice is edged, but so very sad.

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