• Event • [Moderated Thread] Digging in the ruins: Flora

[Pegasus]

PvP Combat Active

Padraig moved in front of the slave and there, in that moment the group seemed almost to freeze in time. The sword of light appeared in his hand and pointed it, leveling the tip of it at Delta as she charged forward. As she saw that, Delta stopped.

But that was all that Delta did, in that moment. She stopped.

The weapon still hung there, in the air. She still held it in her hand aimed at where it was, killing the slave. Padraig's sword did not lower, he maintained with what he was determined to do, protect the slave.

It seemed like the world itself held its breath.

In that few trill where the two of them stood, Padraig could feel the slave trembling behind him. He could see the knife in Delta's hand. Delta, in turn, could see that Padraig stood unwavering and the tip of the sword was pointing at her.

Then Lakia spoke.

"Drop it or I'll put an arrow through your damn skull" was what she got out, and all she got out before Varn answered. His bow was not pointing at Delta or Padraig as it turned out.

It was pointing at Lakia.

"Only if you're quicker than me. And you're not. Drop it."

And so, Pash was the only one not involved directly in this strange stand-off. Which was probably no bad thing. His head was pounding and he felt really, really nauseous.

!

Message from: Pegasus

Hey all. Ok. To clarify. Because of the nature of PvP, we got only as far that in terms of Lakia's post. Sorry, Lakia, to nerf your post, but by the time Lakia said the rest of it, if something hasn't changed Varn will have shot. So. For the next round: 1. Posting order. Delta, Padraig - you two first. You two can act whilst Lakia and Varn say those things. 2. Then Lakia - and you can react to what Delta/Pad have done. 3. Pash. Soz, you're last to go. Please, Delta & Padraig, don't take this too far time wise - keep in mind that this might be a case of Varn/Lakia now in combat, so no long speeches or stopping for a coffee. Lakia - keep in mind that if you don't lower the bow, Varn will shoot. Therefore, if you're not lowering the bow, please don't take it very far. Pash - you'll have a much clearer idea by the time you post, I'm sure. ANY questions, ask them. But I think we're looking at short - next four seconds kind of posts because situation is still very much critical.

[Delta]

Blinding yellow light flashed through the haze of white fury that was clouding the slave’s vision. It was enough to slow her movements and focus on her surroundings. Delta did not know what it was, or how it got there, but she did not care either. It was there, it was stopping her, and the man Lakia trusted was wielding it. Of course; he was a free man, he would not understand what it was to be nothing. He would not understand how much energy and will it had taken Delta to not fall into the pit of darkness in which the emaciated slave now resided. He would not understand how degrading, how degenerate, it was to have your life dictated by another.

Even now, Lakia meant to protect her, but contempt spiked in Delta towards her own Mistress for having the arrogance to speak for her, to decide how she must be feeling. It was disgusting. Delta had stopped her attack, the blade hanging limply in her hand, but her arm was still raised, as if poised to strike. Her body sagged somewhat, as her gaze hovered over the slave for a moment before looking back to the mighty defender. The tears that threatened finally fell, red rims lining and illuminating her verdant irises.

She could feel the naer just behind her, and was keenly aware of a number of offensive weapons now raised, most aimed at her. For a trill, she almost wondered if it would be worth continuing. She could free the slave… and then Padraig would free her. A wave of warmth leaked from her stomach, whispering sweet promises of peace if she continued. It felt like psinia and she wondered if eternal sleep would be the same - a constant, pleasant high, escape from this shit. “That’s all we are to you, yes?” Her accent was thicker than usual, emotion making it even harder to form the words, but she tried her best to speak the common language of the free. “Slaves. Nothing.”

Off Topic

For the record, I have many more feelings written down to spew at you folks! But I have cut out all Delta's explanation to get to the 4-second rule!

[Padraig]

The sword drawn from the sunlight around them, thrummed through his curled fingers as if it was alive, and it wrapped his arm in warmth. It struck Padraig in that split trill that given the nature of weapons and what they were meant to do, it ought to feel cold as ice instead. His focus was on Delta, not the others and not Lakia. He was vaguely aware of the bow raised and aimed his way, and of her words. If there'd been the time or opportunity, he'd have answered that it wasn't his intention to kill her friend, but to prevent her in whatever way was necessary, from murdering the poor girl behind him.

Suffice to say he didn't drop the sword, or whatever one did with a sword made of light, but simply kept it aimed in Delta's direction and held his ground. He might as well have been shielding Faith behind him. When she stopped though and spoke, still holding her weapon, he lowered the tip of his sword in response. Not completely, he wouldn't take any chances. But it was enough to send a message. Not just to her but to Lakia too. When she dropped the knife, the sword would follow and he would stand down. We? Nothing? "The woman I love, who I'm going to marry, was a slave," he said.

Was. If there'd been time, and if they all survived this maybe there'd be time later to tell her that that former slave had marks and scars too numerous to count. The ones on the outside paled in comparison to the ones that went unseen. But though the trills ticked by in slow motion, there wasn't time to say it. He simply stood his ground with the lowered tip of his sword suspended in air between him and Delta, his slightly relaxed posture sending another message, and waited.

[Lakia Amaranthine]

Lakia's attention snapped to Varn when he spoke and she growled. She didn't believe for a moment that the city-born braggart was faster than her, and besides, Padraig was threatening Delta. Then she realized that he was likely acting to protect the slave from Delta and she let out a haggered sigh. "Sorry, knee-jerk reaction." she said as she lowered her bow to hold it and the arrow in one hand. "That being said, you've got a sword aimed at quite literally the only person I've ever had anything even close to a positive relationship with, so if you hurt her, I will shoot you, whether Varn likes it or not." she said, her tone calm but firm.

Lakia turned her attention to Delta then, hoping for a way out of this that wouldn't end in a fight between the group. "Delta, explain please. You're more rational than to act like this without good cause." she said, before she noticed that Pash was apparently growing moss. "Uh...anyone know a way to remove plantlife from people? A heat source maybe? Plants don't usually fare well in heat." she said, before grimacing. She wished Arwel was here, he had done wonders against the ice growths on Amaris. "Anyway, Delta, explain please? Or anyone who knows Rakahi? She's not always great at common." she said, her tone indicating she was trying to keep things from getting worse.

However, as she had speaking she had slipped a hand into her bag, grabbing a dark stone. If things escalated, she had to hope it would blind Varn long enough for her to act. Then came Delta's brief explanation, along with Padraig's answer and she gave a half mocking grin. "What's your love got to do with it? Life is pain, but death could be sweet. Maybe we should let Delta end her pain, as a mercy."

[Pash Raj'oriq]

Terror was not an emotion the seafaring minstrel felt often—he’d been afraid many times alone on the Orm’del sea during a storm in his little sloop, he’d been in bar fights that he was sure would leave him injured or worse, and he’d lost at least one person he did not think himself capable of living without. But this kind of fear was new, unknown, and had Pash not been the foolhardy slave to his fledgling spark that he was, it would have also been overwhelming.

Weapons and threats and social issues and moss growing on his damn body.

People were wounded, but not on the outside. Inside. Always that internal emotional bleeding that no one saw—that no one treated because it was invisible. There was blood everywhere and only he could see it, not his silver kind, either. No, the raw, coppery smell of untamed emotions. It would have been delicious had it not been so terrible.

He still held Padraig’s medical bag that had been shoved into his calloused hands right before the other man began to glow—what?—and create a weapon—what again?—out of light itself. He had, clearly, gravely underestimated him and had he at all been able to fully process everything that was going on despite the nausea and the headache that was clearly already warning him of his magical limitations, he would have been both impressed and even more afraid. Varn and Lakia like dogs, teeth bared, weapons drawn. Delta, clearly confused and hurt in the presence of another slave who hardly knew they were even made of flesh.

Slave?

Faith had been a slave?

By all of Chrien’s ire, could this trial get any weirder?

Someone had been, was perhaps still, already using Empathy magic. He’d seen it, felt it, wrestled with it, and tied it down with all he could—knots. In Padraig’s head. Were they working in the others? Was this the result? Was this what he could do if he let himself go unchecked completely? If he came unhinged, was he capable of this much emotional destruction? They had to be nearby if they were still at work—were they in Delta’s tangle? Lakia’s? Even Varn’s? His own? The paranoia was excruciating, but no more terrible than whatever was also now growing on him.

Thankfully, this was where the salty bard’s bravado kicked in.

Because, honestly, he had nothing else. Eyes hardened like stone, a grey rimmed with gold, and Pash closed them for but a trill despite the risk in doing so, madly attempting to find whatever mental ground he had to stand on. It was quicksand. Rotten wood in the bowels of some sunken ship. Nothing solid to grasp at. But still, he tried.

Zanik, he thought desperately to himself, to the Immortal not only of his beloved music, but also of strength, of seduction—persuasion of a specific kind—I am in great need of strength. Because, right now, it’s clear the melody of sanity must be heard above this din of ugliness. If you’re so inclined, please share yours with me.

With that, Pash looked to Delta, speaking in words he knew she understood, and if he got her attention, he would look beyond her outward anger and into the clearly chaotic, tangled mess of her emotions as well, aware that he was already burning his magical candle at both ends by doing so, but he pushed himself past that with his typical hedonistic flair,

“Enough!”

The baritone of his voice rang out as though the seafaring minstrel was addressing a crowd before a performance in some rowdy tavern full of drunks, but he was only speaking to one: he was speaking to Delta. The tall Biqaj’s words were firm and loud in the Rakahi they shared, even as he sought to weft his way through the threads of her anger and disgust and fear and hatred and self-loathing and—Immortal’s help him what a mess—every other ugly emotion he’d seen in the hearts of so many others. Every other ugly emotion Ari’nne had told him he would come to hate because it was so much more common than the beautiful ones. She was right. Damn her. She was so right, but this was the edge of madness and he was walking on it.

“This is not the way to fix things. This is going to get all of us killed. And while that may be what you want, I can assure you, that’s not what everyone else wants. Before you snuff someone’s life out, they should at least be given a chance to know they are alive.” Delta deserved the same, in Pash’s opinion, but this place, these ruins, this immediate danger from something none of them could see … that was way, way more important right now. Clearly, Delta was not a nothing. The other slave was not a nothing. The Ne’Haer-born Biqaj desperately wanted to help her—and help the other slave—but killing either of them was not the solution.

The fledgling Empath literally wanted to crawl through it all in the short number of trills he even had to do anything with, but he couldn’t, and he longed to be able to cut it out like Padraig’s blade of light, but he couldn’t. While he did not have it him to knot every hideous, sickly thread color that glared at him, he sought desperately to knot the threads of violence, to knot the most fiery of angers, to knot the fear. He sought to knot whatever he could touch, to quell the chaos, no matter what it cost him in the few minutes he had in the woman’s emotional tangle before he crashed face-first across the terrible boundaries of overstepping. If he had anything left at all, if he could reach past the thick wall of all the ugliness, he’d reach for calm as if trying to bring a cool breeze to Suan’s heat. He’d strum that if he could, but it may have been out of his reach. He would strain, his voice wavering as he spoke because his magical self was so far into someone else and he’d already pushed himself too far.

“So stop, please.” Pash all but whined, no longer concerned about whatever the heck was on his arm so much as the emotional battleground he wasn’t strong enough yet to wage the necessary war on,

“We all need to stop—“

[Pegasus]

20th Ymiden, 717

Cause and effect.

The thunder rumbled and the strange situation continued.

Lakia lowered her bow, but maintained that she would get into violence in a heartbeat. Delta started to cry as she sagged slightly, although her hand was still raised. Padraig lowered the sword made from light and yet all three of them remained taut as springs.

When Lakia spoke, said that maybe they should kill the slave who currently cowered behind Padraig, the slave let out a whimper. Lakia, the one who had said the breath before that no one would hurt her now wanted her dead too? The young woman looked as terrified, horrified and traumatised as it was possible to be. It was likely that only Padraig heard the whimper, but there was no doubting how terrified the girl was.

And Pash saw it all.

Just outside, yet in the middle of it, the minstrel knew Padraig, yet didn't know that he could apparently conjure light swords from nowhere. Nor had he known that particular snippet of information about Padraig's soon-to-be wife. It seemed that there was more to the physicist than met the eye.

Of course, then there was Delta.

Pash didn't know her, but the minstrel examined her weave, used his Empathy once again, knowing that it was potentially a VERY bad idea. But, he felt that desperate times called for those desperate measures. Whether it was a good idea or not? Well who knew.

So, Pash saw

He'd never Empathed with a slave before, so there was that to consider. The damage done to a person, to their sense of self, their soul. It was incredible. Whereas the girl cowering behind Padraig had been a slave since birth and so struggled to have any sense of worth, any sense of self, Delta had been captured. She had known freedom. She had understood it and it had been snatched from her.

In that moment, as he felt as though his head exploded in pain, Pash saw what Delta was feeling.

But Pash was a novice Empath, even though he teetered on the cusp of something more. More than that, Pash had no skill in meditation nor discipline. So, in many ways, that trial his actions were more rash than anyone else's.

In that moment, as Pash moved from mild overstepping to more moderate, increasingly serious overstepping, he experienced something which, if he could but harness it might just take him over into the competency he so nearly achieved.

In that moment, Pash and Delta shared each other's emotions. She felt his, and him? He felt hers. It was a surprise to them both and, whilst both felt their own emotions still, they also were aware of each others.

For Delta and Pash, they had their own emotions and the other person's to deal with. What they did with that, of course, might be different for each one.

Varn, blissfully unaware of this, had started to lower his bow, raised it again as Lakia suggested killing the slave as a mercy. "And that's it," he said, his voice shaking with fury. "The slave owner suggests her slave kills another slave as a mercy. Bits after promising that girl wouldn't be hurt again, that is one screwed up game. I'm done."

It had to be said, the people that he looked at when he said that were Padraig and Pash.

OOC Stuff ~ Pash & Delta

@ Pash : Welcome to mild - about to go into moderate overstepping. As per the Empathy write up, you are experiencing "Thread Share" with Delta. If you do not shut this down sort of right immediately now, you are about to traverse into moderate overstepping and the experience is likely to be damaging to both you and Delta.

@Pash & Delta: Please feel free to communicate via pm or just go on what's written here. But you are experiencing thread share. How you each experience it is up to you.

OOC Stuff ~ All

!

Message from: Pegasus

Things to note: Varn Varn is leaving. Whatever you do next, that is happening. He will go back to the boat and will happily be accompanied by Padraig and / or Pash. But to his mind, Lakia and Delta are not invited. I am very happy to continue this thread without him, so please don't feel concerned about that in any way. In your next post, I'd like you to tell me what you are doing. There is no posting order now, but please do not respond to any posts after this one. Just do what you're doing in relation to this. You've got longer this time, so please go back to normal posting. You guys!

[Delta]

Pathetic. Weak. Insignificant. The words were cyclical in her brain, a mantra she had never quite forgotten when they had tried to break her. Worthless. That was what a slave was. She had so much she wanted to say, but they would never understand. They would never know that it was to be used used, to have no choice. To have someone present to care, to be kind but still use her. No slave would ever be free. Any kindness was good, because it was better than pain. Clothing was better than being paraded naked. Food was better than starving. A roof over her head was better than rain and snow and cold. Slaves obeyed in the hopes of receiving some basic comfort.

Delta shook her head, as if that would free her of the cycle she was locked in. Her face contorted in a myriad of negative emotions. Only upon seeing the slave had she realised that they were only being kind with ulterior motive. A slave’s life meant nothing. They had been kind to her, and they would be kind to this new slave. Then Delta and the girl would be sent in first: bait. And no one would care. They were replaceable.

But could no longer summon the energy to explain why she had wanted to help the slave; the fight leaving her with every attempt she made. She had been fighting for so long. Now… she was tired. For the first time in her life, she felt her will surrender, submit, to the whims of those around her. “I used to be someone…” she finally whispered in a defeated voice.

The knife twisted in her hand as she kneaded it. The warm glow was still there, frighteningly alluring. ‘Act’, it whispered. She didn’t. Then, her mind was clouded by agony. It started so slowly that she did not realise it; fear sat quietly, unnoticed. Only when it was too late would she realise how much it had eroded her mind. She could not appreciate the origin of her own emotions, let alone new ones that assaulted her from some unknown source. “St-tstop it…” she whimpered to the air, to whatever invisible force was suffocating her. Both hands were now gripping her head, blade also resting there, pointing diagonally to the sky.

Delta could almost taste the tension in the air - the fear, the mistrust. She flinched, as if burned by the confusing cacophony pouring into her already overwhelmed mental fragility. Everything seemed brighter, louder, more potent. She couldn’t handle it; and that was all it took for the wracked sobs to finally burst the dam of restraint. With a violent twitch, she dropped to her knees, as if her limbs were barely coordinated with the signals coming from her brain. Why so much fear? She wasn't frightened... was she? Her eyes were squeezed shut as she bent forward, still clutching her head with a fervour that suggested it might explode if she didn’t apply pressure, and the devastated tears fell freely.

It was a constant hammer to the head, a twisting of a knife in her gut. The impulse to run was overwhelming, and only the paralysing hurt kept her from doing so. The forgotten knife pricked at her fingers as she repeatedly dragged them through her scalp, trying to alleviate this unknown trauma. “Stop.” If she heard Lakia agree with her, or the minstrel try to reason with her, of the guard throw in the towel, or Padraig admit to loving a slave, Delta showed no sign of it.

Numb, yet somehow still in agony, it occurred to her that maybe this was the end. Maybe the golden beam of light had pierced her chest after all; Delta’s mind was starting to fail. Any action would lead to yet more pain. There was no way out. She sobs slowed, not due to rationalising the trauma, but simply because she had nothing left in her. All that remained now were the ragged, uneven breaths. She could not formulate a single thought. A million strands of colours flew across her mind, circling round and round. They all meant something, but she could not distinguish a single one - a blinding tapestry was unravelling into something truly grotesque. Spasms shook her huddled form, so acute were the lacerations of her strands, like a corporeal whip to her core essence. “It hurts… Make it stop…” the slave whined, her voice cracking. She had never felt so alone, so lost. So… incapable.

And now… without the strength or fortitude to go on, she opened her eyes, and looked up. Before so full of life, a charcoal gaze now stared blankly through the tears, illuminated by the red-rimmed skin. No, her eyes, chasms of emotion that they were, could not be described as dead. But they did not contain the same vibrancy, the same spirit she had had throughout life. Something that was a clear reflection of her vulnerability - the shattering the very fibres of her spirit, her soul. The relentless energies and meticulous attention of psinia had to stripping her down: first of her sanity; and secondly of her resolve; before finally moving on to her freedom. It had ensured that, even though it was no longer a part of her life, she would forever be a slave to the will of another. “You win…” She breathed out the final admission of defeat, uncaring as to whether or not she was even heard. “Make it stop.”

Off Topic

I have considered Delta's actions in this post and am aware that repercussions may result in future threads being retconned. I am okay with this, as it felt like the best way to stay true to Delta and the evolution she has undergone during this thread. Please do not worry about how any PC/mod interaction from this point on may affect Delta.

[Pash Raj'oriq]

And with that, Pash sat down.

Calloused fingers curled into sun kissed hair and weathered palms pressed far harder than necessary into his temples, uncaring of his own silver blood still staining them. He didn’t crumple or fall so much as slowly, deliberately sit.

His body did not hurt, but his mind felt like it was on fire—licking flames of someone else’s mind raging through the belowdecks of his innermost self, turning all the polished wood of his own feelings into charcoal, into ash. Or, worse still, a cacophony of sound that had no rhythm, no tempo, no harmony what-so-ever, just layer upon layer of song out of key assaulted his invisible, emotional self. Instead of reaching to affect Delta’s tangle, he had, it seemed opened the floodgates to her feelings and literally laid them all upon himself. He’d reached too far, and it hadn’t been into the tangle of anyone familiar, of anyone safe, of anyone whose threads were at all woven into something he was capable of making sense of. Padraig had been a warm current, swiftly moving, but not overwhelming. He could tread there. Delta was a storm far from land, cold waves threatening to drown out any sane thought.

He had done this to himself. The consequences of his own reckless decisions were always his to reap. Magic was far more unforgiving than any person, or so it seemed,

“You have to be willing to wade into someone else’s emotional mess and see it for what it is—a tapestry of feelings … some of them amazing but most of them rather horrible.”

Arcs ago, he had been warned. And arcs ago, he had insisted he’d taken that warning in stride. It wasn’t as though he had never overstepped before, never attempted to stretch beyond what he knew he could bear. It was just that he had never, never seen the feelings of anyone like Delta.

He had done nothing.

Or, perhaps, he’d only made things worse. He couldn’t tell. It was hard to think for himself.

Everyone was still talking—Varn, Delta, whoever—and no one was making any more sense than the fear and self-loathing and confusion and contempt and concern that flooded every fiber of his own tangle, a ceaseless stream of the Biqaj woman he’d only hoped to talk off the ledge so that they could get on with their purpose there, so they could figure out what in the name of all the Immortals was going on. He was, in fact, still growing moss. On his damn body. Pash heard their words but found it difficult to respond, desperately attempting to close the floodgates he’d opened, to sever the traumatizing connection he’d made.

“No. I’m no’ leaving.” The seafaring musician managed through grit teeth, his words a growl of pain, a groan of confusion more than sounds in Common strung together, “No’ until this damn mess ’s seen through to th’ end.”

Whatever that meant.

And it could have meant any number of horrible, horrible things.

He dragged his hands away from his temples with obvious effort, squinting or wincing with a pain that was written on his face but invisible to anyone’s immediate vision. Pash stared at Delta but found he could not find the right words to say right away—Was he sorry? Did he even know how to comfort such a creature? Did it matter?

“Look,” Pash’s baritone voice was strained by the unseen, still struggling to maintain a sense of self in the flood of the thread share he’d invited, grasping at his own feelings in order to talk about them instead of succumb to someone else’s, “Things ‘re happenin' here, things we can’t see. Yolande’s gone an' disappeared, but th’ damn archaeologists came here on purpose? Someone’s been messin' with us from th’ beginnin’, messin’ with a’ least some ‘f us in ways no one can see—“

Well. This was incriminating, but he didn’t care.

“—ways only I can see. Have seen. Did see. Dealt with ’s best I could, but can’t finish alone. Damn it all, I don’ even know what’s happenin’, but I can say somethin's been in our heads ... apparently all o' yours b'cause everyone's actin' sardin' crazy.” His stormy gaze fell on Padraig, as if in explanation, as if inviting him to draw conclusions about earlier discomforts but not quite willing to spell things out with everyone bristling, armed, and dangerous. He called out the glowing blade between Delta and Padraig and the other slave, called it out without accusation because he’d already outed himself as something other, something else entirely underneath the salty bard skin he wore so well, “But, then again, don’ we all ‘ave some things unspoken that ‘re now plain t’ see, eh?”

And then his gaze dragged back to Delta because while he wasn’t speaking to her, he couldn’t stop staring at her,

“Whatever th’ case, sink y’all, I’m no’ walkin' away until it’s fixed.” His phrase may have been to her life or about the expedition. Or both. Pash had no idea, but he was determined.

And afraid.

[Padraig]

This, all of this Padraig thought, was like debating the essence and minutiae of quanta and quantum mechanics, in a lunatic asylum.

Padraig heard them all out, while keeping sword in hand, maintaining his stance between them and the terrified slave, with much of his focus shifted onto Lakia. Not just one what she said, but more importantly what she was doing. She was quickly becoming the source of the most immediate danger in the room. But he was quickly coming to the conclusion that all of them, with the exception of Varn, had come completely unhinged. If they hadn't been there already. Pash, perhaps, could be considered simply a victim of his own overwhelming desire to make peace in spite of the reasons for that peace being broken. And all the dangers that would inevitably follow the fracture. While the trait was admirable, it could end up being the death of him if he didn't take care.

Under other circumstances, he could forgive Delta. He was well aware of what slavery could do, not just to the body but to the mind. If she was damaged and broken, it was probably others who'd done the breaking. But in Padraig's mind, the most immediate threat in the room, to all of them, was Lakia. What was chilling about it was the way she first threatened him, stopped midstream and redirected course to discuss the moss on Pash's arm, and then back to as good as reigniting a flame in her slave, as good as provoking her to kill the poor girl who cowered behind him. And focused as intently as he was on her, he didn't fail to miss her hand reaching into her bag.

He was going to assume she wasn't reaching into that sack for a lipstick or a compact mirror to check her hair with. Hopefully Varn noticed the movement as well, and was forewarned. He didn't bother responding to her comments however. It seemed strange that she hadn't seemed so...well, this, during their time in the Ice Caves. Not that she'd been particularly focused on niceties and social graces, but she hadn't seemed this unpredictable either. Was Pash standing behind him with a spreading fungus on his arm and foliage growing out his ears? Possibly, but it seemed an odd time to take the aside.

Ultimately, aside from giving Varne a nod that indicated that yes, he'd be leaving this place on the boat and taking the girl with him, it was only Pash who he responded to. What he'd said seemed at least sane and non combative, and driven by a genuine need to help rather than hinder. Still, there was no question that some of it rubbed him the wrong way. But while he spoke to Pash, his focus remained on Lakia. The sword remained in his hand and would stay there so long as there was a weapon trained on him. "You're right Pash. Earlier, something or someone was inside my head. If you sorted that out, then I have you to thank for it. Now, however, I can assure you that my thoughts and actions are all my own. Unless you consider it to be unreasonable to shield an innocent girl from another who'd kill her in cold blood, or to be less than trusting of another with a weapon aimed at my skill while egging on the would be killer...to be unreasonable."

As for the bard's confession, and his intrusion? "And while I appreciate the spirit behind your earlier actions...In the future, I'll thank you to stay the hell out of my head." It was, Padraig had always believed, the ultimate trespass. "You're right though," he conceded. "This place is full of dangers, present and unseen. Some we haven't begun to to consider." Padraig would argue though that it was made all the more dangerous by proceeding alongside others who you couldn't risk turning your back on, or trust to have yours in a pinch. He wasn't even sure he'd dare to blink around a good half of them.

"It's your choice," Returning or going forward, he meant. "I hope you don't come to regret it." As for him, he'd taken responsibility for the girl and needed to see it through. "Keep the medical kit. You'll need it more than I will. Clean the scratches, apply the liquid bandage. It'll seal the wound and prevent further infection." He had another in his sack that he'd picked up at base camp. There'd be plenty there to tend to the girl. As for him, he wouldn't be dispelling that sword until he and the girl, and Varn, were safely out and cleared of the ruins. But with a nod of his head, he instructed the girl to stay behind him and head for the exit. He'd follow as he assumed Varn would, but never letting his focus stray far from the other weapons and dangers in the room.

[Lakia Amaranthine]

!	Message from: Lakia
	Naughty naughty, boys. We weren't supposed to react to anything after Peg's post. She told me to go ahead though, since everyone else already did.

Lakia's attention snapped to Varn again as he announced his intention to leave, her eyes narrowing in thought, her grip on the shadow stone in her bag loosening, causing the stone to slip from her fingers. The others spoke, but she didn't react immediately to them, letting their words feed her train of thought. Then she looked down at Delta, whose fire had burned no matter who had tried to stamp it out, and her apparent giving up. Then she growled as it all connected, the weird behaviors, what the slave had said, Yolande's disappearance, and Varn's repeated attempts to ditch the group at the first opportunity presented, and she turned back to the guard and raised her bow again, the arrow aiming clearly at him.

"Oh no you don't. None of us are leaving." she said, her voice calm and cold despite her sudden rage. "Don't worry, I haven't developed sudden homicidal tendencies. But I'm not willing to put the entire population of Scalvoris at risk. Oh no, I'm not falling for that trap." she said, grinning slightly. "You slipped up though, messing with Delta and having her go crazy. See, Ellie doesn't have a killing bone in her body. I knew she wouldn't kill the girl, and I said we we should let her to snap her out of it, letting her get angry at me for my callousness like she usually does. After all, I promised she'd be safe, why would I go back on my word." she said, though that last bit was complete garbage. She had let her own dislike of living and longing for death get the better of her there, but she didn't want Delta to worry about that, and the biqaj would worry, despite what Lakia had done to her, so she lied through her teeth.

"If you hadn't messed with her, I'd have missed it. Oh, but I've got your plan figured out now, Varn." she said, her grin widening and turning somewhat feral. "Why would anyone release a plague here? Nobody lives here, after all. But that makes it easier to set things up, doesn't it? No risk of being found out before you're ready. But how to getthe plague to where it'll do some damage? Well, anybody with a brain can figure out that Scalvoris would send a rescue party after the researchers went missing. Speaking of, are they in on it too, or were they just who you tested it on?"

Lakia knew she probably didn't sound entirely rational, but she felt she was right, in the intended outcome if not the specifics. "But how to keep the rescue team from interfering with the plan? You plant the guide and the guard, that's how. Yolande was all over Pash before she vanished, and now he's growing mold, which if I had to guess, is the first sign of that plague the girl mentioned. Also, isn't it convenient how she vanished just like the researches? How did you all figure out how to do that? Of course, it could be you, Yolande, or a third party whose been messing with our heads this whole time, to prevent us from being functional to figure it out or be a threat to the plan. And for someone who claims to be dedicated to keeping people alive, you certainly seem willing to leave every time you're given half an opportunity, to get us all to abandon this. So when did she infect Pash? Before we even made it to the camps?"

She was getting to the point now. "That's the whole plan, isn't it? And the girl was the backup, wasn't she? One of us would take her back to the boats? We've all already got it, don't we, the plague? And the whole plan was to get us to take it back to the island and spread it? Sorry, not falling for it. Besides, you've been messing with our heads, too. What else is in there? Latent suggestions or hidden triggers? Are we all going to flip and turn on the people we care about? No, nope, not today. I may be an abrasive pain in the ass, but I do like Padraig and Delta. I'm not about to let him be a risk to his special flower, or let myself be a risk to Delta."

"None of us are leaving and bringing that crap back to the island. Maybe I'm wrong about your involvement, but I won't take that risk. Besides, for apparently being dedicated to keeping everyone alive, you'd rather leave than stop me and Delta when you thought I'd let her die? Not buying it. We're going to stay here and do the job. The people loosing this will have a cure, otherwise they wouldn't be able to reap whatever rewards their twisted minds think they'll get." she said, finally winding down before glancing at Pash. "Pash, you say you can fix whatever's been messing with us? Can you un-break Delta? She's smarter than I am, and we'll need a guide."