Yevaud 28/45
Yevaud gratefully accepted the help up, ceasing the mumbled incantation he had begun preparing. He bowed to Anarrima and thanked her for her spell and it’s saving of his life. He also thanked Vincent for his quick thinking and surgical strikes. As much as his body longed for rest as the adrenaline faded he refused to allow himself the luxury. It would not be long before his talents were tested far greater than they had been in this battle, he had barely survived the beast in this room, if a greater guardian was near… he did not like his chances, not that he would ever admit that. With a bit of an exaggeration he twirled once, flaring his cloak with the spin and sat down with the fluid grace of an expert dancer (which he is).
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Morguerat
Morguerat felt the tears fall; they ran down his face and disappeared into his mane. YES it was an answer he hadn’t expected to ever hear again, but whether he did or not his duty was what compelled him, a duty that had been justified by the source most important to him. The world around began to disappear, the danger was of no concern to him, as the large man, who guarded so much about himself broke down silently weeping. His companions said nothing, either from respect or focus on other concerns he knew not, nor did it ultimately matter; but he appreciated the silence. The blood on his hands and on the floor was beginning to dry, but there was much of it, Larry had lost a great deal, and even though he had been fully healed he would likely be weak for some time. But Larry rested easy, the wound was whole and more importantly an answer had been given from a God not well known for bending, compromising, or forgiving. As all of this was sinking in he heard the end of Joseph’s statement, something about a poisoned blade. He nodded numbly and jerked upright looking up the stairway as he recalled the weretigress. He saw her form crumpled on the stairs, and above and beyond her an owl, herald of the WindBringer, but this one had a sinister air about it, evil eyes that glowed and pierced, seemingly through to the bared soul most men hid. Morguerat confident once again stood, looked to the corrupted owl (corrupting the toys of others had long been a favorite pastime of the Modding Mage he suddenly recalled) feeling the heft of the staff he hurled it up the stairs in a dual challenge; look into my soul and fear righteousness, mingled with eat this, bird-brain.
The tears continued to fall silently as he smiled grimly watching the staff sail up the stairs.
[ 07-30-2006, 11:58 PM: Message edited by: Larry_OHF ]
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