#troupe1.lastnight

[temperednuvi]

who? @alessiathepath where? the caverns, the iron cells when? a week after the last night

There is a constant movement, that of the cart pulling them forward and towards their grim fates. If any hope had remained in Nuvi after her escape from the mines, if it had been strengthened through their journey through the mines, it did not matter. That hope is done, replaced only by overwhelming fear and grim realization. There are echoes of something dark on the Weave, and the more she understands the darkspawn, the less she believes they will make it out of this ordeal. Not without a sacrifice many of them will fear to make. Perhaps a quick death would be quicker, trying to fight likely useless, but— 

A quick glance around makes her wince once more. The mortals are so young. Many of them barely look more than a decade beyond maturity, and even if she doesn’t quite believe there is a way out, she doesn’t want to doom them. Nuvi has long made peace with death, her own misadventures a balancing act that one day could push her towards the edge, but she is older than all around her and there is a tragedy in that. A tragedy she wants to stop, even if she doesn’t quite know how. Even if she were at her strongest, she would not be enough to allow for an escape, and she is far from her strongest now. Broken and shattered, eight years removed from her blessings, she doesn’t know if she will be able to call the earth or the plants with the deft hand needed for any sort of plan to take route.

“I almost preferred the mines,” she mutters to herself, not bothering to lower her tone even if there is a stranger sitting close enough to her. Wrapping her arms around her knees, she sighs and closes her eyes. “At least the monsters guarding us there wore a human guise.”

[blightedmikhael]

who? @vuldak-juneau where? just outside the nornwatch tower when? post troupe 1: the last night

The bodies need to be piled up, not a single one forgotten, and the least Mikhael can do after failing so many is dedicate himself to the grim cause. The battle is long over, but the tension still weighs upon them, the feeling of loss keen for all that had lost people to sickness or the darkspawn. It’s been a tough week for all, but they had no time for grief or daddling around, not when there is work to do, not when they still are not out of the woods. 

He is returning to the tower from setting yet another corpse in the growing when he sees a thin slip of a woman slipping around in an increasingly suspicious manner. Being a vuldak does not help her in this manner, either. Carefully, he steps closer and places a hand on her shoulder.

“It would be best of you to remain inside,” he tells her quietly, eyes flickering around as he looks for witchers. “If you haven’t caused trouble yet, it’s best to remain out of the witcher’s sight.”

[temperednuvi]

“We will serve her after that, too, our bones and flesh just what these little darlings need to grow strong,” she coos down at the mass of tentacles on her grip, loving care clear on her tone. Nuvi is unflinching as the blighted mass reaches and swipes her cheek, the feeling familiar already after so very long in their mother’s care (how long have they been in her care? She cannot quite recall, how odd). “What a joyful fate, to know we will serve the whole even after we are gone.”

Sensibilities gone, rationally disappeared and in this numb mad state of being, she finds peace from consequence, grief or pain. She does not think about the way she ran or the way she didn't bury her fathers body so he might find peace in the afterlife, all she knows is that there is new life in her arms and it is hungry. Gore gushes from the babe's mouth and when it smiles, it's teeth are stained red.

She thinks she could stay in this cave forever, the darkness had made a home in her. The wolf within her bares its teeth as the moon grows more full.

"There is no other way. We'll serve Mother until we die."

[temperednuvi]

who? @freydis-freydat where? the caverns, inside the iron cells when? the last night, after the kidnapping

There is little time to process the terror and adrenaline pumping through her veins as she is dragged away from the Nornwatch Tower and back into the darkness. If she were to be completely honest, Nuvi doesn’t remember much of anything until her back hits the iron bars and the pain and hot pain snaps her from the vague darkness that had clouded her senses as soon as they had entered the mines. Vaguely, she remembers screaming, scratching at the rock they dragged her over to try and stop her descent into the darkness, but she cannot be sure of anything but the way her nails have been ripped apart blood on her fingertips at her desperate attempt to avoid the caverns once more. 

A whimper escapes her as she shifts and hits the iron bars again, and she does her best to make herself smaller, to avoid touching the bars and anything else that might bring her pain. This drives her to sink into one of the other kidnapped woman’s side, and she mutters a quick apology even if she doesn’t make the effort to move. 

“My apologies, but any other position and I will be touching the bars, and— Well,” she shrugs minutely as she tilts her head to show her ears. “Iron doesn’t agree with me.”

[blightedmikhael]

who? @heroic-ignus where? the nornwatch tower when? post troupe 1: the last night

Mikhael had meant to check earlier, but he had ended up getting distracted with a thousand and one different self-assigned responsibilities. Or so he keeps telling himself, despite the grim reality of the truth that he keeps to himself. Deep inside, he is still the same wide-eyed child looking towards Maferath's branch of the Warrior Guild and dreaming of becoming a blademaster. It’s all he wanted then, and one of the goals he hopes to accomplish now. The respect he feels for the Blademasters is overwhelming and all-encompassing, and to know one of them is a Vuldak? 

It’s a startling realization.

Initially, Alder’s demeanor had almost convinced him not to worry, but the more time passed, the odder his behavior became, and— He is worried that staying in his hand and not revealing the former werewolf’s true nature will come back to bite him in the ass later, he truly is. But it is too late to say anything without revealing himself as well, so all he can do is watch him carefully and hope for the best, while preparing for the worst. 

“Quite a night,” he muses as he comes to stand next to the Blademaster, eyes falling on the Vuldak and taking a moment to examine him. “Were you wounded? I might not be a healer, but I know the basics so I might be of help if you were.”

[blightedmikhael]

"Noted," Mikhael says with a nod and a grimace, finally admitting to himself that his idea had been a long shot by the kindness of definitions, and the height of stupidity by others. He can't blame himself on his curiosity, but it seems he has not made the best impression on the legionnaire. He was kind enough to answer his questions, though, so he can't begrudge him by his harshness. If someone were to test the Ankhurian deserts, he supposes he would react much the same way. It doesn't matter much, in the end, for once they reach the Lysaran border they will make their separate ways. Mikhael is not conceited enough to believe everyone he meets will like him, so he can live well enough with the knowledge there are some that dislike him.

"The blight does not discriminate; devil, dhampir, or cambion, we do our best not to help it along its path." Empathetic and informative, Alucard did his best to put it gently but delivered every word with characteristically harsh, deadpan severity. Blood didn't flow through the dhampir's veins, but he could feel a throbbing at his temple as a migraine began to set in. Alucard hoped the man was better with his weaponry than exercising common sense. Legionnaires were immune to the effects of the blight, but this one would make a poor member of their ranks. "You're far from home, put your thoughts first toward survival, or else you won't live long enough to worry about how quickly the blight will consume you." That was the best advice that he could offer before he moved to put the fretting man behind him.

[temperednuvi]

“No need to thank me, as I said,” Nuvi dismisses the thanks kindly, a shake of her head enough to make her point, she hoped. She would have helped even without their shared background bolstering her truth in the witch from zero to a hundred, but even then, it is nice to be thanked after so long without the word. It almost felt like understanding, coming from someone who knew what the last eight years had been like for her. It had been an awfully long time since she had felt understood. “Let’s pray to our gods for guidance, for I hope you are right despite all odds.”

Alessia gratefully nodded and positioned herself. "Yeah, please." She winced at the pain, her jaw tightening instinctively as the joint was finally set back into place. But the cloth between her teeth didn't let her make a sound or cry out, which was what she had also wanted to avoid besides the chipping of teeth. The witch let out a sigh of relief - the pain now just about gone. She took out the cloth from her mouth and threw it to the side.

"Thank you," she breathed out. Alessia rubbed at her shoulder and turned back around. She considered the elve for a moment before speaking. "... We got out of a prison once. We'll get out of another one too." It was an empty promise, but hope was important to keep up. Without hope, she would have gone mad in the mines.

[blightedmikhael]

It is odd to be praised as thoroughly as he is by someone he has not decided yet whether to trust or not. Mikhael had begun the conversation with the goal of delicately mentioning his awareness of the other’s status as a Vuldak, to let him know that he is being watched but the more they talked, the less he felt it necessary and the less he wanted to say anything of the sort. The heron mark on the warrior’s blade is clear and stark even in the dark, and Mikhael knows what it means. He knows the man before him was worthy of respect once, enough to gain the title of Blademaster. He still doesn't know if he remains worthy of such respect still. 

He has to hope he does. 

“There is something both humbling and inspiring to realize that your heroes are just like you, yes,” he agrees easily, his mother coming to mind the easiest. His respect for her is ever-expanding, the more he learns of the world around them and what it meant for her to choose him. 

“The Divine is anything except a spokesperson for the One God, yes,” Mikhael says, and leaves it at that. Few outside Ankhuria understand the Great Baal as a physical embodiment of the One God, and he does not think leading the conversation into a sermon will be beneficial, not when he is still trying to gauge whether the vuldak will live up to the mark on his blade.

All of what he'd said was part of Alder's philosophy, so he couldn't hide the smile that appeared on his features while he listened to the other speak. "I like the way you think." He said, although it could seem like he was repeating himself at this point by praising the other twice on the matter so far. "And with that said, I think our exemple should be more than enough to make them believe in themselves. We show conviction when they fall to doubt so they can get back up on their feet and brave the storm." That was a simple thought to a complicated situation, but everything mattered. "In my opinion, what is missing is empathy, and that's something few of our soldiers really have... We're trained to fight but not to talk to our people, to show them we're living beings just like them..." Was he though? "-We should be showing them we're people like them... At least that's what I try to do... But I see most just playing Demigod and making them feel like an obstacle..." At least that what his fellow Guildsmen seemed to be doing.

Alder was far from someone who would know the words to the book one might follow - if there was one - on specific religions, mostly because he never had help from anyone his whole life, be it the Gods, the One God or even his fellow neighbours. He had to fight for himself, survive by himself and learn how to do it himself, if he owed anyone recognition it would be his old master, but even that person had disappeared long ago. "I see... So, as always the problem lies on people... I'd say it's a matter of them following the decision of men blindly by believing them to be akin to spokesmen of the Gods, but we can't expect our people to be as reasonable, so I see your point."

[temperednuvi]

"The Weave still has use of me, so I remain through it all," Nuvi acknowledges, a rueful smile on her lips. It is not her time to go yet, she thinks, but that means nothing in the face of the Dark One and his tools. The Weave might say one thing, but if they do not manage to escape the darkspawn, it will mean nothing at the end. Thousands of lives had been ruined under the pressing weight of the darkness, and all she had ever wanted was to push it back. All she had ever done had only guided her to it's borders, though, and she wonders if that says anything of her prospects. "It does not make it easy, but I have been told I am obsessive on my pursuits, so I tend to have a difficulty letting go of my desire to see them fulfilled."

It's not quite youthful naivety what she finds on Freydis' voice, more similar to steely determination than anything, but it is a statement that she has difficulty believing. There are some people that cannot be reasoned with, their believes too deeply entrenched into their very soul for them to want to change them. Nuvi thinks that the witcher and the princess that have been kidnapped as they had been will fall into that category.

"You already have," she offers quietly, eyes falling on where the jarl rests her back against the iron bars. "I heard you were kind, and I see that it's true. Everything else is not as important as that."

“You’re still here, aren’t you? That ought to count for something,” Freydis reminded her, letting her heavy head fall back and rest between two of the bars. It did little to ease the weight of her troubled mind or the tension headache that had plagued her for days. These were minor complaints in the face of what likely awaited them. “I’ve heard people can die of broken hearts… after losing a child or a life partner. The same is probably the same of fear or despair.” Her eyes met Nuvi’s as she continued to explain. “If you gave up then–or we did now–death would probably be faster. A little easier even, if we accepted it. Survival is the harder choice, but you don’t need me to remind you of that.” 

The both of them fell into a short-lived silence. Nuvi in her own thoughts, while Freydis’ mind wandered into whether or not it would have been better after all if she had let her anger bait her into violence across the years. Perhaps she would be calmer, more like the witcher, sitting in her corner in violent anticipation. She would spring like a viper rather than cower in a corner. Instead, Freydis had practiced grounding and controlling herself in the face of all the rage-seeking men stupid enough to tread her battleground. Freydis could have seasoned herself into an experienced killer, desensitized herself to what needed to be done here, and perhaps been better for it. Not that she wouldn’t kill when the occasion called for it. 

“I will reason with them, as best I can,” she promised quietly. She could surmise who Nuvi meant–the witcher and the princess, and other nobles like herself if they were there. Freydis didn’t know if it would be hard to get them to see reason, to set aside the world order of their fallen kingdom in favor of living to see another day, but already she was resolved to help anyone who could help her under these circumstances. It sat like a rot in her stomach that she was only bold enough to take action beyond turning a blind eye when her own life was on the line.

Freydis looked genuinely shocked to hear that word of her at all was circulated beyond the midlands–let alone words in a positive light. Perhaps she was too used to adversarial viewpoints, but she felt almost every victory under her leadership had been hard-won. “I hope to live up to what has been shared with you,” she told Nuvi, but something in her voice faltered slightly. She had never believed she deserved praise in any of its forms; her beatification in defeating the jarl in her youth, her kinship with someone as highly stationed as the princess, the blind faith Ormir had put in her by upholding her as worthy of her station when she was untested and unproven–this woman, here, in the bowels of their own private hell. She bit her bottom lip hard, and tried to find it within her to transform her hope to live up to those good words to a vow. A vocation.

[blightedmikhael]

“There is always time for some levity,” Mikhael pretends to muse thoughtfully, a snicker dancing on the edge of his tongue as he peers down on the Vuldak. The quick slap is nothing but a sting, but he takes the warning as it is. He has amused himself enough, he thinks, and prompted her to move along quickly despite her seeming fearlessness in relation to the Witchers. He is curious as to how someone with such strong emotions regarding the horrid warriors does not seem to see the danger in drawing their gaze. They are in their territory, as simple as that, and the Witchers and the nobility they serve as dogs could do away with any of them if they wanted to. Considering the way Iskaldrik was set up, government wise, he cannot easily believe that they will be fair in their judgment, especially in a situation as fraught with fear as the one they are currently facing. 

Vuldak and cambion, both hated for existing, both ostracized by most. Mikhael has heard enough stories about Vuldak to understand the weariness, and frankly he remains suspicious of the little slip of a thing he knows could transform into a monster nearly impossible to stop. Yet she has done nothing to provoke him just yet, so he will wait and see whether she becomes a threat to the refugees or not. 

“A mistake, I know, to leave you with the role of the brains, Cloak,” he says tone playful as he meets her eyes challengingly. She is not one of the people he has to please to remain alive, not one of his clients and not someone in need of protection, so there is no need to keep his tongue reigned in and his temper even. Perhaps he is just looking for some relief of the stress that is increasing slowly, pressing down on his shoulders with a weight that will not be lifted until they finish their journey. Perhaps he is being reckless and a tad mean spirited, but it is almost freeing to voice some of his judgements after months of keeping himself leashed to avoid the all too dangerous attention of the Witchers. “And yet, my size does give me an advantage that you do not have, so I will keep this choice of mine.”

He waits patiently as she goes through the first bag, eyes watching intently as she pulls out a writing pad and miscellaneous instruments. It’s bittersweet, to see the care put into packing the items and knowing the owners will not be able to use them, but by now he knows that he cannot waste what the departed left behind. Reaching out, he takes the bag from Juneau and browses through it briefly, picking out the writing pad and putting it into his own bag, before settling the loot on the ground. 

“That is what I will be taking for this one.”

For as much distaste the man had of witchers, he also seemed to have a fear of them or whatever authority he perceived to be looming in the shadows waiting to punish them. Sensing this, Juneau was tempted to stall. The witchers might be interested in punishing them over their flawed, arbitrary honor system, but Juneau felt she would have been teaching him a lesson about minding his own business. 

She was distracted by the idea of drawing out his misery by his next action. It took her a moment to realize what he was doing as his hand hovered some short distance in front of her to demonstrate he stood a full head above her. Juneau’s expression soured, and somehow she managed to keep her grip on the mound of sacks and bags in one arm as her other hand lashed out and slapped the back of his hand harshly. “I thought you were in some big hurry,” she chastised him, clearly disapproving of his size demonstration. It was evident she was over his slight as quickly as it had happened. Her gaze flickered back to him at the mention of weapons and combat. “Why would I reveal that to you and yield any sort of advantage I may hold? Besides, you just volunteered yourself as the brawn in this operation, Dagger.” 

Juneau didn’t mind allowing him to lead the way to a chosen spot to review the spoils that awaited them in the baggage they held in their arms. Sometimes it was easier to allow someone else to have a small degree of control to avoid unnecessary arguments, and based on how precious he had been about the location where he found her she was almost certain he would protest ad nauseum if she chose a secondary location he didn’t approve of. 

The fact that he did not argue about her claiming system was a welcomed surprise as well. Once they were settled, she crouched to the ground, bracing her back against the stone wall, and plucked one of the sacks on the ground. She opened it wide, peering down into the opening to see if it contained anything of remote interest. There was a small leatherbound writing pad and a pot of ink–any sort of writing utensil notably missing. Beyond that, was a slightly larger sketch pad with a small tin of charcoal within it. Someone had apparently felt it necessary to pack something to record images and words. Beyond that, there was nothing of remote interest in the bag. Juneau chose to take nothing and gruffly held the bag out to Mikhael to review for himself.  

[blightedmikhael]

“It is our duty to endure when they cannot, to remain strong when they feel weak.” They are the light that stands against the dark, part of the One God’s will despite not being aware of His intentions. It is a life full of struggles, but if done right it will bring them and the world one step closer to the light. As long as they remain steadfast, the Dark One will not be able to win, and at the end, that is what matters. Afraid as he might be, he will not falter against the darkness, be it around him or within. Fear is a constant companion, but for all experience, he believes it makes him wiser. 

“In Ankhuria, the Vanguard of Light is charitable and does not involve itself in matters of the state, nor pay attention to any god but the One God,” Mikhael comments thoughtfully, as he wonders if he would join the ranks of a holy war if King Baal were to call for it. It is likely he would, for his faith is his guide and he cannot deny his King’s divinity, but he rests peacefully knowing that it is unlikely to happen. “It’s our duty to help our fellow creatures, and war rarely makes that duty easy.”

The last Ignus had to nod at that man's commentary, it was hard to find decency in the midst of tragedy and loss, and it was even harder to hope for it when they knew most had lost so much and that some would take advantage of that for their own benefits. "It really is, but it's our job as servants of the people to make sure society finds a way, right?" At least that's how he saw himself, someone

Alder shook his head at the idea of using faith in such a way as the Astorians had been using it, but it'd be foolish of him to attribute that scene to only that kingdom in specific. "I think any war that carries the symbol of religion is obscene in nature." He spoke his mind, not really caring if the other thought the same, but at the same time trying to see if his thoughts would be acknowledged or denied by the other. "You know... Holy and stuff."

[temperednuvi]

"As you wish," Nuvi agrees to the plea easily, without hesitation. They are in this hell together, and she will do anything in her power to ensure it is a little bit easier for those around her. If the first step to it is making use of one of her many skills, all the better. Moving to adjust, she places her hands on her position, but waits until the witch has prepared herself.

"My name is Shenuvun, but most call me Nuvi," she begins chattering away quietly, voice as steady as her hands as she wrenches her shoulder into place. "I am a researcher of the Veil, and I have traveled through most of Tavarell. And, oh, the stories I can tell you about it."

"Please," Alessia managed with a small nod. She knew the technicalities of doing it on her own, but she knew it would be difficult. Alrik has always been there to help her, she had always been there to help him. This was new territory. So the witch moved herself, wincing at the pain as she showed the elve her shoulder.

"Can you tell me your name or... anything?" A silent plea for a distraction. Not a moment afterward, the witch ripped a piece of her already destroyed pants. Balling up the linen and then placing it between her teeth.

[temperednuvi]

"Not at all," Nuvi says kindly, delicately sidestepping the sadness she had seen in the witch's eyes as after Nuvi had made a clear differentiation between the Iskaran and them. It's heartbreaking, to know that there are countless Iskarans born and raised in the country, but that were not recognized as their citizens by the government. Truly shows how lacking the ruling family is, and how far they have fallen into the Abyss.

"I am well versed in medicine, I can pop it back in without much issue, if you will allow me to do so," she admits easily. Medicine is one of the few of her skills she is fully confident on, and she does not mind using it to help her fellow prisoners. Medicine should be offered freely, and she refuses to stop helping others despite their dire situation. Although, if Arros were the one that needed healing, she would likely allow her to die and kick her while she was doing it, honestly.

Outside their own. She wanted to argue she was Iskaran: born and raised. This was her home, these were meant to be her people. But the elve was right, and it was one reason it hadn't been hard for Alessia to dream of a life elsewhere. The Iskarans had only seen human Iskaran's as their own for so long. Her own people had betrayed her and betrayed so many others like her. She didn't reply, her face a mask of dark stoicism. But there was sadness there - she did agree.

"Just dislocated," she muttered afterwards, a hand coming up to her shoulder. "I'd put myself between the bars to fix it, but..." Alessia hesitated. It was incredibly difficult for her to ask anyone for help when she truly needed it. Pride suffocated her, it formed a lump in her throat and made her hesitate. But as she considered the woman before her, Alessia saw a kindred spirit and someone that she did not mind owing a favor in the future. Even if the elve didn't expect or ask for it, the witch always sought to pay her debts. "... Do you mind?" Her ask was quiet and uncertain.

[temperednuvi]

"There is no fortitude here nor there," Nuvi shakes her head, less hopeful now than she has ever been. There is no courage left on her, no hope, no joy, but she won't stop fighting. She won't die side by side by the same monster that had thrown her to the mines, she won't allow her end to be intertwined with hers. Not if she can help it. This is is not bravery, she knows, just pure and unadulterated spite and hate.

It worries her, a little, how much hatred she is now capable of feeling, but it is a worry she sets aside every time it surfaces. What need does she have for an additional worry to add to the pile? None, not when she already have plenty of matters to worry about.

"Survival is always easier when people cooperate, yes," Nuvi admits slowly, almost thoughtfully, as her eyes flicker around the cavern and set briefly on the faces of the people around her. Most of them are unknown, but there are a few that she recognizes. One that she knows almost as well as her own, for it had been the protagonist of her nightmares for eight long years. Abyss, she likely knows the Witcher's face better than her own at this point, because she had not seen her reflection in so long. How does she look like, she wonders. How have the mines changed her? "Let's hope others see it this way, as well."

She nods at Freydis words, a half-hearted smile reaching her lips.

"I heart good things from you, back before. So I can say the sentiment is shared."

“Your fortitude is to be admired,” Freydis responded, clearing her throat slightly. The heat was overwhelming and her thirst left her tongue dry and her throat scratchy, but the conversation was worth the discomfort. One last friend, she thought to herself, at the end of the world. Or at least she hoped. There seemed to be a flicker of recognition in Nuvi’s eyes when she shared her name. Freydis knew she had a reputation, and that much of it was based on her ability to beat down those who dared to oppose her, but there was more to her than the ability to take a punch in a holmgang, even if she struggled to demonstrate that. 

And then, of course, there was the matter of the woman revealing she was of elvhen descent. “I suppose as far as equalizers go, this is a pretty miserable one,” she mused quietly to Nuvi, hoping she would interpret that Freydis intended to cause her no harm based on her status as jarl. What authority did she have down here anyway? “Our salvation is tied up in one another now–regardless of how things were before.” She took in a deep breath–perhaps that was oversimplifying it. “Even if not all of us deserve the help and advantages others could provide.”

“Nuvi,” she said, considering the name as it rolled off her tongue. Alliances would be important if they could free themselves from this prison. She wasn’t about to be picky about who she joined up with.  Either the old ways would be dead, or each of them would. The more of them that survived the better–that was the way she saw it, truly, nonhuman and human alike. “I’m glad to know you–for how long or short of a time that may be.” 

[blightedmikhael]

"I can assume that much, yes," he says dryly, but leaves it at that, more than ready to move the conversation forward and get out of the open. Every second that passes could have a witcher wandering into their presence, and he would rather not have to deal with them or lying to them at this point in time. He is far too time after the fight, and he has no patience to feign politeness with the anti-magic freaks.

A look of amusement crosses his features as he makes a deliberate show of looking at her and then down to himself, going as far as to raise a hand to measure her height against his to make a point.

"I think I shall be the dagger," Mikhael says in feigned consideration, even as his eyes flicker down to take her in with more detail. She is not quite short, probably just a handful of inches shorter than him, but it is hilarious to compare himself against the skinny vuldak. Granted, most of his bulk comes from his almost, but that does not stop the difference in size. "Unless you are in possession of more combat skills than you look?"

Grabbing the pouches tightly, he waits until the other is done shoving things at him and starts walking towards the tower and an out of the way spot.

"What is fair is fair," he finally says, acquiescing to her conditions.

This stranger was not the only person she’d met who shared her extreme dislike of authority figures–whether they were witchers, royals, or nobles. She had met a few others who wore this distaste plainly, and a handful more yet who had revealed their true opinion once they felt they were in the company of similar opinion. “By my count, more people share our view than those who around here,” she observed aloud. She wondered if he had noticed the same thing, though people may have been more protective of their secrets in his presence. Those who didn’t know better thought her miniature stature eliminated her potential to be a threat. 

He knew. How much, she could only venture to guess, btu regardless it was more than she would have liked him to. It was one thing to question the lackluster work of their leadership, but another entirely for him to know she was something other than human. Were she more prepared for this journey she might have known there were other species of being who could sense and intuit such things, but instead, she found herself cursing her loud mouth. 

“I thought you might like to help,” she smirked up at him. Her preference was to work alone, but it might be nice to have a partner in her little misadventures–so long as he remained in his lane. “We can something of a cloak and dagger arrangement… So which do you want to be?” she questioned looking up at him. Juneau was already shoving an armful of bags and pouches at him when he named his condition. “I did the grunt work of gathering all of this–I ran the higher risk according to your own measure–so you can pick from what I don’t take for myself.”

[blightedmikhael]

"Easier said than done, but necessary nonetheless," Mikhael admits. He is far too distrustful of Witchers and most Iskaran nobility to believe such thing as rationality and clear judgment will be kept if they discover how many being of non-human origins are found within their refugee group. Attack dogs as the witchers are, they are unlikely to think twice before attacking, and there is really nothing good that can come from added violence. Specially after the last night. There is far too much tension at this point, to believe that there is a chance for peaceful resolution if something fans the flames.

There is no surprise within Mikhael when he hears the other speak and realizes he is not in the presence of a man of faith. He thinks that he would be more surprised if the vuldak was religious.

"That is the hope, yes," he says with a nod, even as his expression turns thoughtful. He wishes he could speak more on his faith with others, but with the raising popularity of the Astorians' it might prove less than helpful for him to share how little he cared for their mockery of a religion. "It might prove difficult if the Astorian Vanguards keep fanning the flames of zealotry with their stupidity, though."

Alder's gaze quickly analyzed the other as if reading a book in a language he barely understood, a man of God - or one of them. It was a relief and also a concern for he did not think much too well of the blindness that came with faith, but could be glad they could still see a path to be threaded through light. At least the other didn't seem like the other religious fanatics he'd met in life. "Good. I think that is what we need right now, a clear judgement and conviction to keep us from succumbing to primal instincts and unruly behaviour." He nodded, offering another smile, this one following the pattern of the mask he wore, emotionless but sincere in a way.

"Yes, faith could be an option..." He scratched his chin softly for a second as he thought about it. "For some that might be the only thing stopping them from falling into insanity... The idea of higher forces protecting them from afar but also within." It was beautiful when you thought about it, but Alder was far from a firm believer, he didn't deny their beliefs - in fact, he hoped they were right -, however, it was hard for him to believe there was someone looking after them when so much suffering was happening since way before the war anywhere he went. "I'm not well versed in it either, and that's coming from someone who has lived a long life already on these parts." He allowed himself a good laugh. "I think what matters the most is showing that you're willing to believe even in these conditions, then others shall follow, right?"