Navyri was braced for more fighting when the Ithecal came hissing and flinging bread, looking at her. Go help, Ferret.
She glanced at the door, at the chaos building in the room and nodded, rushing off in unspoken gratitude. Surely he would be okay, but if he wasn’t…
Blue eyes hardened as she rounded up the stairs and fell in line with her new teammates, her new dagger in hand. Ferret laid down the rules - you fall behind, you’re left behind. Then, just to clarify he meant no special treatment, he reiterated it to her. She rolled her eyes. No matter why they were in this place now, Navyri didn’t believe in innocence, and this one had been just as quick to leave her as he had to grab her. She understood that type of persona well enough. She had played that role once or twice, “Be still my beating heart,” she muttered, sarcasm dripping from the words. They might have made it out of one mess, but that didn’t mean they were out clean.
Navyri’s eyes bounced between the Biqaj and the hooded leech.
She didn’t trust either of them.
She didn’t think she liked either of them, but they were her best shot. The irony of her situation was not lost. Just trials ago she had been organizing the revival of a very expensive and soon to be beautiful (again) playhouse. She had laid investments, been in the beginnings of becoming a patron of the arts, plotted to take down rival competitors and through her partnerships, she had fostered a business relationship that had her pockets singing. She was on a warpath to success.
The Naer gripped the handle of the weapon, more upset with each step she took. Was it because she was an outsider, or because she was more than? Desnind, Rynmere, Etzos and Melrath. They scorned her still, for her wings or for her blood, they wished to kill her. To cage her. To contain her. Fuck ‘em all. Just like the Miasma, she would find a way out… She had to.
Saying nothing, the winged Naer pushed onward with the weapon close and her ears strained for any sign of activity. They ended up before a dark corridor, poorly lit for those lacking night vision, and Ferret motioned for them to crouch. Wait.
She fell into a thief’s step and watched him grow chummy with a guard, a man named Rolf.
She committed that name to memory, and tried to look unassuming, hiding the blade behind the back of her calf and smiled. Thankfully, Ferret did the talking (and it worked), meaning they were waved into a room - no, an alchemy lab - and at once the Naerrik’s eyes began to sparkle.
Alchemy was an expensive science.
She didn’t know much about it... outside of her... recent experiments, and glanced at Alex who had a hand hovering over a few vials. Ferret seemed possessed with cutting up some bread and that left Navyri with… well… finding something of worth when she hadn’t the first idea of what they were doing.
“What exactly are we making?” she leaned over a table, collected a small cauldron and a few things that caught her interest - a jar with a number of pink flower buds
which rattled from the dried seeds weighted at the bottom, another with a silvery liquid that seemed to glow faintly and reminded her of biqaj blood, and another much smaller vial of powder that looked unassuming. She threw in a small wooden box of matches, half filled. All the bottles were sealed and she kept it that way, gently laying them in the pot and carrying them to Ferret’s table. The flower looked familiar from her time in Desnind, but so many arcs ago and not much of an herbalist, Navyri neither knew its name or properties, “Yay or nay?”
She slid her collection on the table and looked back at Alex who was looking down at something, his back to them, “What are you doing?”