-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=<* Road To Sendor *>=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

 

    The road to Sendor winds through the northern Alexandrian countryside, which is a mix of hills and plains, marshes and forests and agricultural areas. It is quite a long journey, which is why most adventurers will be making the trip via airship rather than on foot. Still, the area is scenic whether one is on foot or looking over the railing of an airship.

 

-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-- Contents --=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

 

 Darshan         Mechagodzilla                                         0s   17m

 

 Agril           A young human in priestly vestments                   4s   52m

 

-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--= Exits -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

 

The Front Lines <TFL>     Light Woods <LW>          

 

-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

 

It's Gilday, Hattanani 20 18:43:04 1006. The full moon is up. The tide is low and slack.

 

Everything is grey, veiled by mist. It's cool and the air feels damp. There is no wind.

 

"I apprecite both of you helping me with this. You too, Jenner, actually," says Agril as the wagon, a rather large wagon, has had the wounded placed in the back. They wounded that need transport back home for recovery. Home being Alexandria, of course, in this case. "It's not *that* long a trip," especially when its just a handful and he was already on his way back to Alexandria to get supplies anyways, "but it'd be difficult to watch them all on my own. Darshan, I think Alex is throwing up again." Alex would be the soldier in back that's been kept furthest from the others due to his illness.

 

And it smells. Or, Alex does. It isn't his fault, really. Not scent of roiling, rotten eggs that hangs about his form like a stringline of dead fish, nor the sallow, sunken skin or the scale-like color to it. Either of these, too, might have been dismissed as a practical joke, a night at the theatre, or, perhaps, Agril's date, but it's the subtle swaying, the glassy-eyes that eventually does it. Alex's jaw hangs slack, and he burbles and slobbles, putrid greenstuff there in the back of the wagon.

 

The others give him a wide berth.

 

And Darshan, well. He just looks as though he's having the most fantastic day. Ever.

 

"My assistance," comes the black-hued growl from the front of the wagon, "Is not entirely out of charity." Smoky tendrils drifting from the embers of his pipe, he leans back from examining the locking plate of the sideboard, setting an even stare. "Someone has to make sure you stay out of trouble, and much as I trust Xander to the task, his first duties remain out here. Keeping this rabble in order."     

 

He waves his hand, sighing as he glances out towards the carefully-hidden collection of magi secreted away from prying eyes. Or snipers for that matter. "Besides, the Arcanum have asked for an update on things magical." Snort. "As though they couldn't scry for themselves..."

 

Laoise is seated, primly, between two large soldiers who've been at each others' throats, literally, over some slight or other, not letting the fact that they're both too wounded to hurt a kitten stop them. Having a woman - and a tiny, and rather delicate-looking woman, at that - seated between them does rather put a dampener on their most combative urges, though, reducing it to a constant stream of invective going first one way, then the other. 

 

"This is going to be -such- a -fun- trip. Isn't it, boys," says Laoise mock-cheerfully, aiming a vicious little kick at one of the soldiers' ribs. Luckily, one of the unhurt ribs.

 

"Very much so," remarks Agril to Laoise, cheerfully. "This is why I brought friends." After all, friends are people who will help you move injured bodries. And clean up vomit, in Darshan's case. It's notable that he is not asking either Jenner or Laoise to do so for very obvious reasons! One is a small, delicate creature, the other is a halfling. At any rate, he clears his throat and adds, "We shouldn't run into any trouble. The road's been clear, or so it has been said, but let's be on our guard none the less."

 

Darshan lunges forward as Alex begins to topple--the poor lad looks ready to--no, he just DID, he just did fall over, and it did happen at any moment. He lands into the sith's hands (claws) and does not as even budge, once he has flopped to this place. Supported by his head only, the rest of him hangs like a limp ragsock. 

 

And so it is, it is thus, the sith gives him the most bewildered...of looks. And...clears his throat.

 

"Sunblade...one does not think he is doing well." A look up to Laoise, "Mrm. One could use some...buckets," a look from Laoise to the men beside her, "...once you are mrm, finished with your supervisory duties."

 

The small, delicate creature glances out at the roadway. "Famous last words," he mutters morosely. He spares a glance back towards Darshan's current ward, a flicker of concern before Jenner turns back to the horizon. "I suppose the teleport arrays they kicked in last time finally shattered under the strain," he muses, finding a good vantage point atop the wagon.     

 

In case someone needs to call down the great cosmic imbalances of the universe, or anything.

 

Clearly Laoise is not in the cheeriest of moods, for some reason or other. The requested bucket comes flying, with unerring accuracy, at Darshan's head. Luckily it's a wooden one.

 

"Seriously, boys, you're supposed to be on the same side, give it a--" 

 

A weakly flailing arm, aimed at the opponent lying just out of reach, instead finds Laoise. To be precise, Laoise's bosom.

 

There's a burst of unladylike swearing and the sound of another vicious kick, followed by a howl of pain, from inside the wagon. Clearly she found one of the hurt ribs this time.

 

"Teleport..." the sith starts to say, and shakes his head, slowly. Right now he has a fistfull of...hair, and is easing Alex backwards and against the wall of the wagon. The man flops there like, well, a fish. "What kills a teleport...array?" as though not sure of the word, or that he'd heard it correctly. It's that exact question he's in the middle of asking--blink one, a goopy picture of the vomitous Alex, and--blink two, the flying, pulverizing BUCKET OF DOOM.

 

Some days, you just can't win.

 

He lands on his ass, with the bucket around his head like a lampshade.

 

It's probably a good thing Agril is missing the abuse of the wounded, even if it was justfied in this case, by Laoise. He does call back to her, though, "Is everything okay back there, Laoise?" He glances over his shoulder, though he is quickly distracted by Darshan's calling to him. "No, he isn't. but he's already been cured. He's still weak and nauseous and we'll hvae to see if he can pull through it." He frowns, "If you think you can make him more comfortable, do so." Just then the wagon hits a particularly fun bump in the road. KATHUNK.

 

Jenner just closes his eyes, rubbing his brow with his forefingers. Leaning at the lurch, he braces himself before returning his eyes to lookout duty. "A few things," he answers Darshan's question, as though it was the most natural thing in the world... Which, possibly, it is. "Saboteurs breaking the locking runes. Key wizards getting killed, or just being fools enough to burn themselves out sending everyone and anything back and forth to the city. He champs down on his pipe, fingers drifting into an absent pattern of practice. "The stars themselves only know... Maybe they had a fit of good sense and decided to end the practice, no matter the downside for our patients here."

 

"Oh, everything's peachy-keen here, no need to worry about me being MOLESTED-" kick, weak whimper -"by a couple of PERVERTS." Kick, new weak whimper.

 

Apparently having decided that enough's enough, the halfling woman moves out from between the two combatants(who're now too busy dreading incurring the tiny woman's wrath anew) and starts to climb up to the driver's seat up front. Just as the wagon hits the bump. "So why is this particular wagon so we--HUP!" 

 

Cue one halfling lass tripping and tumbling out the front of the covered wagon to land face-first into Agril's lap.

 

Oh yes, she's clearly going to enjoy this trip.

 

-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=<* Road To Sendor *>=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

 

    The road to Sendor winds through the northern Alexandrian countryside, which is a mix of hills and plains, marshes and forests and agricultural areas. It is quite a long journey, which is why most adventurers will be making the trip via airship rather than on foot. Still, the area is scenic whether one is on foot or looking over the railing of an airship.

 

-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-- Contents --=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

 

 Darshan         Mechagodzilla                                         0s   55m

 

 Agril           A young human in priestly vestments                   8m   1h

 

 Jenner          Sailor Mage! Also not fragile.                        6m   45m

 

 Laoise          Ash-blonde, green-eyed halfling lass.                 2m   45m

 

-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--= Exits -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

 

The Front Lines <TFL>     Light Woods <LW>          

 

-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

 

Darshan rips the bucket off his head, though the ascend to standing is slower. The first thing he does is look at the bucket--the second thing is run a hand over the top of his head. The third is straighten the helm...and then, fourth, to trudge towards the moving wagon again, with the intent of watching poor Alex. "He seems to have...settled," the sith guesses, frowning somewhat as he trudges. And, Alex has--he rests, rag-doll like against the side of the cart, bumping and kathumping in his own ragtime tune. "Mrm...more...old technology?" the sith asks at length. He still watches Alex, oh yes, but then glances quickly at Jenner and back again. And, 'old technology,' meaning...something out of the Artificers' Old Madness? "So these things are--what about the Tear of Am'shere?" suddenly. "That's a teleport, isn't it?" Completely oblivious to--"...Whoever's molesting the halfling, you can STOP RIGHT NOW!" roared. And that means you, Agril.

 

"Given the sounds, it would appear that you have everything in hand," says Agril. And then the halfling comes landing in his lap, which causes him to flail and, naturally, that flail is interpreted by the horses as time to SPEED UP. Which they do. Which promptly makes Alex go wide eyed and projectile vomit ALL OVER Darshan's armor. 

 

"I AM NOT MOLESTING HER," says Agril's voice as he carefully tries to wrestle the horses back in control with one hand while, gently, moving Laoise aside with the other. This is so not good.

 

Jenner oh-so-innocently doesn't set out the Crystal Orb of Recording in a convenient position, becuase that would be misappropriation of Order devices.... And matters aren't nearly that good, yet. Confiding himself to holding to his balance (and puffing the pipe quietly), the mage settles cross-legged, one hand firmly gripped on the guardrail.     

 

"Hruthers," Jenner mutters, summoning the ever-ready Unseen Servant. "Please attend to Darshan... Gently." That faint sigh whispers on the air as the spectral force proceeds on its way to do... cleaning. Ick.

 

Ever tried to gently set someone who's tumbled into your lap aside, while simultaneously wrestling for control of horses who think it's RUNNING TIME YAY? Okay, probably not, but one imagines it to be a labourious affair.

 

At last, when the halfling has managed to extricate herself from the rather awkward position, she busies herself, red-faced, with arranging her clothes more properly again, quite pointedly not meeting Agril's gaze.

 

"So! How about, uh, that one sports team, huh?"

 

A Heroic Knight barely has time to register things like projectile vomit. A Heroic Knight instead files a complaint with all things holy as his glittering armor is ruined upon, and Darshan trudge-runs up along the cart, sloshing mud and dirt and worse. "One is--counting. To THREE. One, two--" and he comes level with the cabin. And...a hasty bow, "...excuse me," he says, and doesn't know...what to say after that, except Agril's yelling some sort of explanation, and he's otherwise...in shock. And not...registering, trying to not think...about...the vomit on his Prettiest Shiniest Armor. "I understand softskins usually require privacy for this sort of thing. One...one's sincerest...I..." And he...

 

He is abruptly walking beside Jenner.

 

And there's projectile vomit on his armor.

 

It sort of...drips.

 

"This is just a...bloody good day," half-snarled. And then, THEN he looks at his armor.

 

And he wants to cry. Jenner's magic makes it better, but... He still wants to cry. "...please explain to me what one just...did not...witness."

 

It really is not as easy as it sounds, no, and so Agril winds up trying to stabilize Laoise's position with one hand while *also* trying to restrain the horses. This is a failing proposition in the long run and, eventually, he has to hope she has a good enough grip for him to let go. Which he does when it seems best to get BOTH hands back on the reigns and yell, "WHOA! WHOA!"

 

Sharp eyes slide over with a click. "You didn't see anything," he says matter-of-factly. "Sometimes there are accidents, and sometimes there are troubles." He glances back towards Agril, and one can almost *see* the war of consciences going on over either shoulder.     

 

"...You see, sometimes softskins can't manage to live up to their vows of celibacy completely...." Bad Jenner begins, leaning back with an all-too-innocent whistling. "And when all that pent up aggression finally takes wing, heaven help whomever is near!" He smiles, sweetly. "Rawsone might know more, or perhaps Sandy."

 

Laoise has managed to extricate herself from Agril now, honest. And is sitting, really primly, with her hands folded in her lap, as far away from the paladin as she can. And blushing furiously.

 

"It's nothing like that! I just tripped when going over from inside the wagon, and the pair inside who've been trying to kill each other happened to grope--" Pause. Sigh. "Never mind."

 

After the...briefest of hesitations, the sith'makar mutters, which sounds as though: "...will...Rawso..." and eventually, looks up towards the front of the wagon. "The war mrm, has most likely been stressful. I am sure--Though one fears if we continue this conversation, one will likely end up with the latrines again..." says the vomit-covered sith'makar, "...not that that is very much different than one's normal duties," wryly, with some dark humor. "How.../are/ the apprentices these days?"

 

"...I am so not going to even BEGIN to ask what just happened and why Darshan smells like sewer -again-," says Agril, as if this occurence was not unsuual. "There's a well up ahead. We'll stop there and Dar can clean his armor off." And Jenner can get shoved inside.

 

Jenner folds his hands in a prayer-ful poise, nodding serenely. "As Althea wills..." he says genteely, more than a spark of wicked glee in the bright eyes. "Daeus provides." Oh yes, he's been paying a modicum of attention in those clerical courses... Barely restraining a cackle, he leans back for a bit, stretching with a grimace towards the air. "I'm afraid the apprentices are doing as well as one can expect." He glowers briefly, sdhaking his head. "Xander's managed to get the worst of them sent packing, but some are... stubborn."

 

Laoise tilts her head at that. "Apprentices, huh? Apprentices of what?" She's still not entirely clear on who does what in this motley crew, apparently, and only just getting started on making heads and tails of it. For the nonce, she leans on the armrest - which is about chest-height for her - and tries to enjoy the feel of the wind on her face.

 

Agril is a cruel, mean paladin. If ever there were an example of a fallen paladin, it would be him. Darshan grimaces as he looks ahead of the trail, though a faint smile makes its way to his muzzle as the scripture's provided. "As it is so with the sith'makar," he says, solemn. "The males pretend to lead, but ultimately the authority lies with the egg-layers. ...even with the Huntress," wry, and with no little amusement. "Mrm. One has few times seen Zak so afraid as when his mate asks for clean dishes." And a flick of the tail, then, at the description of the apprentices, "...mrm. Stubborn? Perhaps they're in the wrong field. ...apprentices for the magus' field, Laoise," to the halfling, then. And a pause, "Perhaps some would be of a particular faith? Sunblade Agril's always looking for volunteers."

 

Agril is so not a fallen paladin. He still has the card and Holy Power to prove it. Now, if anyone was going to fall, it'd be Darshan! Especially when his armor has puke on it. Never the less, he brings the wagon to a halt a short time later, near the well in question. "All right, men! Fresh water. Take your time clean up after yourselves." Which means empty the piss buckets somewhere.

 

Jenner snerks, coughing on a cloud of blue-grey smoke before getting it pushed from his lungs. "I don't think they are *that* stubborn," he admits with a wry grin, eyes blazing with mirth. Or insane, he cheerfully non-admits. "They are a few semi-magically talented spirits, who think that a war is good sport, and a battlefield the way to power and everlasting glory." He glances towards Darshan, aside. "Like some other warriors I've known," he adds, bending his head with a sigh. "Some are... learning the hard way that such isn't always the case." He keeps his seat as the wagon comes to a stop, stretching gingerly as he keeps a careful eye out. "Go clean up a bit, Dar," he says, more quietly. "And remember your weight."

 

Laoise takes the opportunity to hops out of the seat and make her way over to the well and procure some water for freshening up, and some for drinking for the trip, before Darshan can get over there. Who knows how the big lizard-man intends to clean himself up? The speed with which she moves to get said water suggests she wouldn't put it past him to dive in and contaminate the well entirely. "I'll never understand that urge," she admits as she returns, screwing in the cap of her canteen. "Going to war for glory, of all things, I mean. Anyone who's seen anything of war should know it's anything but glorious. And if they have a head for magic, why risk physical harm like that?" She speaks with uncommon heat, as though the subject's of particular importance to her.

 

Darshan stiffens, abruptly. "One is not--" he hisses between teeth before the grumble moves to mid-throat and he stalks over towards the well. Of course, he has to wait in line, and...wait in line, the vomit crusting over his armor in the meantime. He looks down at this, occasionally, and shudders at each drying flake.

 

Such pretty armor.

 

Poor Alex.

 

And somehow, it's all Agril's fault.

 

He has little to add to the magic debate--right now, the attention's all on...poor armor. Poor, poor armor.

 

"People want to prove themselves. They want to be remembered" says Agril, "even if its part of someone else's folly." He shakes his head, brushes the dust of the travel off himself and then adjusts his robes. "The urge to be remembered is strong in every being." A pause, glancing towards Darshan. "In this case, though, we did not go to war for glory. We had no choice. We should've gone to war sooner to end the vile slavery." He grimaces.

 

The mage grins towards Darshan, hiding a quiet chuckle in his hand. "I really will have to do something for his armor," he murmurs to himself, almost absently... Fingers tap along his satchel, the book hidden safely within. "Of course, he'd probably have a heart attack...." He pauses, frowning. "Or build a statue."     

 

He shakes his head, returning to the discussion at measure. "Agril has it, for the most part," he states. "It's the hot blood of youth. Makes them invincible."

 

"Oh, I wasn't speaking of this... all this, in particular," says Laoise, gesturing expansively at the wagon and, by extension, the war that's necessitated it. "More of a general grumbling over people being foolish, I suppose." She hauls herself back up into the wagon's cabin, and finds a brush from somewhere, probably that magical space women have that lets them always have various implements of personal grooming about their person, and proceeds to begin brushing her hair. The effort is going to be wasted by the road dust the moment they start moving again, of course.

 

"One has enough scars," muttered, and Darshan plunges his head into the well's depth, peering down at it and...inhaling, a gust of old well water, the tinge of stone. Silence for a while before he yanks the muzzle back out again, and then secondly, grabs a bucket to lower into the depth. "One has enough, but...a sith'makar is more inclined towards...certain things," a pause, then a gentle smile, "though I favor the rock sunning. ...what are you doing to your hair?"

 

Karelin has arrived.

 

"I know, Laoise," says Agril with a grimace on his face, "but reiterating the reason for this particular war is always a good thing. It serves as.. inspiration. A reminder of what we've set out to do. What *needs* to be done." He pauses, glancing towards Jenner and Darshan. When he sees the lizard busily trying to clean himself up, he really does not try to laugh. It just sort of happens.

 

Karelin is actually coming up towards the front lines, shouldering a full backpack as he goes.

 

Jenner covers his mouth with his fingers, smile reaching for his eyes as he shakes his head. "I couldn't say," he admits, stretching easily as he leans back into his chosen seat. "But where the will wanders, the mind goes.... Or is that something else? Hmmm...." He keeps his eyes open, considering the landscape and the horizon and the clouds... And the occasional thought-tossed crackle of things arcanic. "...though rock sunning has its place," he admits, hiding a conspiratorial glance towards the Metal Makar.

 

"Hm? Oh, uh. Personal grooming. Brushing the hair makes it shinier, and easier to manage." Laoise continues brushing her hair. And lo, it does look shinier. As if to demonstrate, the tiny halfling woman tosses her head in what will doubtless, in many years' time, be the Standard Shampoo Ad Head Toss, letting the hair settle naturally back over her shoulders. "Mm," she agrees with Agril. "I suppose. It's still a nasty business."

 

Darshan stands by the well, with puke on his armor. With....oh, hell with it. There's projectile vomit on his armor, courtesy of a poor fellow, Alex, in the back of the sick-cart the crew had been escorting. Now, the sith'makar stands by the well, and now he dumps water over his head, in a sudden RHOOOSH! and it falls down as a vomit-crusted waterfall.

 

That having gone so well, he goes for a second. "The Myrrish have been at it for a time--few enough of them favor it," he says to Laoise, then pauses, "One mrm, supposes. I only work for them. I don't look like them, or hold their blood," wry, and then an almost-grin at the shampoo. "Would that get any of this off?"

 

Agril looks at Laoise. Then Darshan. Then back and forth again. He is about to say something, really, when he does see a single traveller making their way along the road. He's not the first that they've passed and he won't be the last. The difference is that he recognizes this one and a hand is lifted in Karelin's direction from the priest. "Ho, Karelin. The front was well when we left." And with that, he p oints at Darshan and laughs again before saying, "It's.. yes. Anyways."

 

Laoise has disconnected.

 

Karelin lifts his hand towards Agril, "Ho, Agril. How do you do?" A glance at Darshan, and a grin. He's happy enough to put down his pack.

 

Jenner simply shakes his head, gesturing helplessly. "If I knew anything more about war than the history books spoke on, I'd likely be back and instructing in the collegiate again." He stretches out along the wagon, closing his eyes as he continues with the quiet breaths of pipesmoke. "Ho," he calls, mirroring and echoing Agril's greeting. "Could always use another pair of eyes." One eye opens, sharp mirth redirected towards the paladin. "One not focused on recreating the image of Althea and Daeus!"

 

And Darshan's abruptly--choking sounds, vaguely like laughter, get heard just before the bucket's YANK'd from the well and SLOSHED over his scales. Abruptly. Quickly. As though to wash--well.

 

Nevermind.

 

"Daeus and Althea...they call them the perfect union," the sith'makar says, with a hint of a smile, and then nods to Karelin as he lowers the bucket in again. "There's a ballad or two--the choir's taken to singing them. I'd never heard most of the songs." There's still crust on his armor. Still.

 

"We're doing well enough, one and all," says Agril, "Just transporting some of the wounded from Alexandria back home for recuperation," he explains. "Most of them are too sick to do their healing at the front, but they'll manage." He pauses, lifts his chin in his direction, "You're welcome to come with us, of course, should you want to make the trip back again instead of continue on your way."

 

Karelin nods once, "This isn't so heavy that I cannot escort you, no." He reshoulders the pack. "Good." A grin. "I like my set of eyes."

 

Valeska has arrived.

 

"We can use the help," Darshan says gravely, gratefully, when Kor's warrior speaks up. He half-smiles as he pours over the third bucket, and the fourth elicits a peaceful one--the last bits of the...yes. That. And poor Alex, where he sits at the back of the horse-drawn cart, looks little better. The man's pale skin hint at a long recovery, and he leans there, and is given extra space by the rest of the patients. A group of wounded, recently sick soldiers were being escorted, and are now stopped near a roadside well.

 

Karelin is shouldering a heavy-looking pack, and falling into step with the train of wounded.

 

Jenner has disconnected.

 

"The more the merrier, says I," adds Agril, "we can always use more people to ensure that we do not get explosively destroyed on the road back to Alexandria. Bludgun always seeks to terrorize the weak and the wounded." He scowls, shaking his head in disgust.

 

"Mrm. One...heard," darkly, uncomfortably. Darshan pours a fifth and final bucket over his head and armor, before dropping it to his side and trudging back towards the cart. "So far, they've tried poisoning the supply lines...now they're sending beasts after us," a pause, "Mrm, and going after the supply lines."

 

Karelin nods to Agril. "Its true. They're predictable in their petty betrayals, in some ways."

 

Valeska had joined the convoy partly down the way back towards a camp, still looking a bit pale after her last expedition out on behalf of the Alexandrian government, and her own homeland's. She floated along on one of her levitating platforms. sitting forward and looking just a little ill as she tinkered with some parts laid before her.

 

Darshan draws from the well again--it scrapes against the sides as it comes up--and then hauls the now-full bucket towards the floating, pale artificer. He stops just feet away, then--clears his throat and does walk over, "M'lady, you might have need of this," he says, gravely. And the bucket, wooden, is deposited on the floating platform. "With regrets, one advises you stay far from the back of the wagon," a pause, "A few of the wounded are still unwell," they're puking up their lungs.

 

Valeska tilts her head over to the reptillian man, nodding her head a little. "Thank you, Mister Darshan... I'm just a bit nauseous right now. I imagine this must be similar in effect to a clockwork engine that had lost a great deal of pressure in it's hydraulic elements..." she rubs her stomach as the platform continues along. She looks back a bit in thought. "How has your work gone of late, Mister Darshan?"

 

Karelin glances towards Valeska askance. "Please. Do not get killed before you've finished with my armour, Valeska." So caring!

 

Wait. Valeska's here now? Agril looks rather surprised by this newest arrival. "Good gods," he says. "You look like hell. No wonder they sent you out this way." He eyes Valeskka. Just -eyes- her.

 

A pause, and then a slow smile along the creek of armor. It could very well be a grin, "One wears it," Darshan says, a hint of satisfied mischief there. "And, one upsets ones superiors. I think it is jealousy," he adds, in lower, more conspiratorial tones, with a nod towards Agril. And a look back, a look that's half-smiling, half-sad. And then he sneezes, a quick close of eyes. "Mrm, what has you out this way?"

 

Valeska lies a little back. "I'm waiting for some parts, Mister Karelin!" Valeska moans softly, leaning on the bucket. She shudders a bit. "It was terrible." she tries to explain to Agril and Darshan's comments. "I... drank a really bad potion." she adds, before tossing her cookies into the bucket.

 

And the vomit hits water. Darshan doesn't move. He barely even...looks, except--the flesh/mechanical jaw works, and he turns about, and begins to make his way back to the well, the steps slow and stubborn and determined all at once. The contents, of course, are sloshed over to the grass (or dirt). It'll just need refilled. "...bad potion?" he echoes.

 

Karelin looks over. "Bad potion?" He asks, as well. "From that vendor that came through the camp?"

 

Everyone knows of course that Valeska, on a better day, would be all over Darshan, adoring and touching his metal bits. Because she's like that. But today, not so much. "Y-yes, a druid tried to give me a medicinal potion. Some apothecarial healing phial..." she shivers. "Made everything feel so much worse." she says, looking to Karelin with a slightly raised eyebrow. "I don't remember a vendor."

 

"There are some..." Darshan starts to say, as he puts the now-used bucket down by the well, and starts to look for another. "Mrm, potions that...remove a poison. They can make you sick for some time," pause, "Mrm...though...less than the poison, one is told," wry. He finds one, on the other side, and drops it onto the well-hook before lowering the contraption down into the depths again.

 

Giving Valeska an eyeballing, Agril says, "Can you handle this one, Darshan?" He gives him a look, clearly expecting him to do so. Waiting. Patiently. 

Karelin nods. "There was a vendor. I remember him coming through camp, selling potions." A grunt. "Don't remember much more, though."

 

Valeska frowns a little. "I don't know. I thought all studies showed that many of the more common restorative potions were supposed to... improve health." Valeska remarks, leaning the other way.

 

"Of course," comes the response, after a second, thoughtful look towards Agril, and then one towards...Alex. If relief touches his face--Darshan lowers the visor, and whatever emotion was here disappears underneath beaten silver. "The mrm, druid, you mean? We should investigate that, if it's a potential poisoning," and he lifts the bucket, now full, and looks back at them all. "...mrm, generally," a pause, then a wry grin, "Though to hear Sahar tell it...the cure can be worse than the..." words! "ah, affliction."

 

When Darshan departs from Alex's side, Agril moves his way to help him instead. This time, he gets the vomit on the front of his robes. There is a sigh. "I hear that there were vendors of magical items selling their wares at the Camp. I met with a few myself. Potions are at least available."

 

"So... you think some could have been tainted?" Valeska asks, eyes widening a bit. "that's a better explaination than some I've heard. For example, I highly doubt that I'm a 'zombie', so some have suggested." she adds, seeming to have a calm stomach for the moment.

 

Karelin nods slowly. "Right. So, if someone's.. yes. Kinnevack's always liked that kind of tactic."

 

"Available, but we're discussing poison," the sith returns, and says little to nothing as he brings the newer bucket back towards Valeska. It's filled with water, and the liquid sloshes over the ends as he holds it out to her. "...mrm, possibly. A..." and a longer, longer pause. Zombie? He doesn't look like he knows what to say to that, so he just...trusts the helm to hide it for now.

 

"I'm a bit behind on a few events too, I've realized. Despite occasional correspondence to friends and family back home... what does anyone know about Kinnevack? I only hear a little, since I'm usually terribly busy with my own affairs." Valeska asks innocently. She clearly hasn't kept up too closely with current events. "I heard something about Lady Haley being used as some sort of explosive. I wonder how one does that." she taps her cheek. Too soon?

 

Karelin glances over at Valeska. "She made... friends, with a group of hobgoblin necromancers called the Garnaks, as near as I can figure out." He grunts. "What do you want to know. She's at least an ogre magi of considerable magical power, is very smart, very ruthless, and is very unafraid of bold moves."

 

"And soon to be dead," says Agril, firmly, cracking his knuckles. He very much wants to kill them. Now. He then goes to help Alx back into the back of the wagon.

 

"She..." the sith's face crashes, and he drops the bucket on the floating disc. "...died, like Karelin said," and after that, he turns and trudges back towards the cart. The tail-end flicks angrily. "It was some weeks past. Whatever Kinnevack used, and mrm, her using it on of Alexandria's own, spurred the war. Now, with Alexandria's forces /here/, they're worried Blar is going to fall." A pause. "And the war keeps expanding. Now Dragonier's into it. There's at least one...dragon...riiiider...here. And rumors of other...dragons getting involved."

 

Karelin glances at Darshan. "Rumors? If you mean, a rather large blue dragon, hovering over the lines and bellowing its hatred of adventurers, yes, rumors."

 

"How interesting." Valeska remarks. She seems to regard the whole affair as curious, rather than deadly serious. She perks up a bit more. "Hmm. Perhaps I've been a bit too introverted with my work of late. Clearly, artefactual engineering has to be put to good application..." she considers, snapping her fingers. "Is there any way you think we could find these necromancers?" she asks, with clear interest.

 

"Where there's two, there may be more," glumly, at the Korite. "I've met the bronze twice," a pause, and a quiet smile, "He has a loud voice. A..." and he breaks off, staring into nothing for a while before shaking his head, harshly, and looking towards Valeska. And a...an odd look, to his features. "Wherever evil nests or breeds, we will find it," firmly. "The gods would let us do no less." And then, "...besides. I've in mind to personally irritate one or two of them. What mrm, have you been working on that's had you so busy?"

 

"..large blue dragons," mutters Agril, more to himself and irritable about the whole affair. He eyes Valeska and Darshan for a moment, then says, "Excellent work, Darshan. She's still alive."

 

"I would clearly like to learn more about what they do." Valeska comments, before smiling pleasantly at Karelin. "Oh! Well, I was working partially on a mechanical spelunking protective garmet, but recently I have been working with the Lady Sandiel on a mechanical deforestation machine. All that unharvested lumber makes me wonder how fast this war would be concluded if only we could achieve improved industrial efficiency."

 

The metal could smile--it does, and Darshan lifts his visor to show a wry, gentle one. He's about to say something, and looks towards Agril. He shakes his head, and is about to ask something again--is curtailed a second time by the mention of THAT NAME. And at that point, the visor slams back down and he trudges over towards the well again.

 

THAT NAME! That horrible, venemous creature! Agril makes an expression of distaste at her mentioning and then glances after Kraelin before turning back to the other two. "..industrial efficiency deforestation... nevermind. I think I do not want to know, now do I." He loads himself back up on to the wagon.

 

Trudge. Darshan's tail lashes in an angry, low arc as he heads back towards the wagon. "One is...a deforestation machine. An elf," he repeats this, as though to be sure he'd heard correctly. He glances backwards, perhaps worried, or perhaps...

 

THAT NAME!

 

With it comes another lash of the tail.

 

Valeska stares. She's so confused. "What is wrong?" she blinks. "Your equipment seems to be having malfunctions, I believe." she notes as the visor slammed back down. "Perhaps I should speak with the Lady Sandiel about this. She is very knowledgable."

 

"Darshan, are you all right?" asks Agril, a bit puzzled by his reactions. "You seem odd now." He says, carefully. A little confused. "I have long since learned to avoid having any dealings with an elf named Sandiel."

 

"One is...it is fine," tightly, in response. A pause, and a longer, heavier silence before the sith'makar can shake his head, an imitation of a human gesture. "I'm...it's fine," at length. "I'm...one thinks Alex threw up again," suddenly, and a look that way. Though by now...there's nothing left in the poor man's stomach. Currently, he leans against the wagon wall like an old, brittle twig. He's roughly twenty-four.

 

"I don't believe that reaction is normal." Valeska frowns. "Mister Darshan, you do look ill. Please, let me prepare another utility platform for you to ride on until we return to the cantonment."

 

Agril peers at Darshan for a moment. Scratches his head. Turns back towards Valeska and then shrugs his shoulder. "If you could help us with the injured, however, that would be most excellent!'

 

A not-so-subtle, fine twitch of scales underneath the armor--in this case, the armor shudders instead. "...nrnngh," he says, and Darshan shoves forward to help reload the buckets onto the wagon, instead. And to comfort Alex's dry heaving...and by that we mean, give him water to drink.