Private Tales For What Do We Bleed?

[Lyssia D'avore]

This is not going to work, she thought. The aim was to try to ally herself to Taros in some way, but given her...situation...it was not likely to work. "The pegasus doesn't seem to appreciate me as much as you think," she said in a dry tone of voice. It wasn't a lie; except for when she fed the beast apples, it was unlikely that she could have the same level of trust Taros. "I am sure she wouldn't be of a mind to let me," she said. Certainly true if she got to speak with Elijah first.

Why am I even doing this? Taros was not entirely wrong in his base supposition: she did indeed dislike Elliot enough that he capture - his death even - did not mean much to her. She would not kill him, but neither should she be doing what she was right then. The old smuggler was not the only way across the strait - simply the easiest for three of them. She did not think that Gypsy would appreciate four miles of flying with both of them on her back, and she did not particularly like the idea of being alone on this bank with Elliot and the likes of Taros around.

The half-blood was crass and dangerous. He cared not for the lives of anyone around him saving that they served his purpose. And you are different how, exactly? A sobering thought. She was not any different, she realized...or hadn't been any different until she was caught between the woman she had been and the woman she was now.

She just wished she knew who that woman was.

Her eyes found Elliot's. There was an idea. It was not particularly nice, and there was a fair amount of risk in it even for her. Much more for Elliot, though.

There was a chance, slim though it was. It was far, far more difficult to heal someone without laying her actual hands on their actual body. It could be done, with enough skill...and she felt confident she had enough skill to pull it off. It would not be a particularly powerful heal without being localized.

To, say, a cut throat.

She desperately wished for some way to communicate with the man. She could strike Taros from where she was, and he would have time to at least start carrying out his threat. If she could maintain her focus, she could immediately heal the cut.

Taros would expect Elliot to be dead. He would not expect the sudden attempt to get free. Then she had to hope that the coward would not abandon her to deal with Taros alone, or stick around and pay the price in blood for still having any blood.

She smiled, and it was a twisted thing that displayed the sickness she had even playing at the next part. "Could simply come along with us, and take him once he puts us on the other side. If he tries to escape, I will personally help find him to meet out that agreement." Truth, however unpleasant. That was assuming she did not take the other route, of course. A lot hinged on his answer. "Beyond a way across, this...criminal...means nothing to me."

Truth.

 

[Elliot Aldmar]

One of the keys to a successful negotiation was to ensure that your interlocutor didn't know all of your options (and who didn't like a little bit of mystery, hmm?). Certainly so if the option being presented at the negotiating table was better than your alternatives. And what Lyssia was offering was a hell of a lot better to Taros than flying the fair skies of fortune on the other side of Tsagaan Ereg's walls.

"You know, being from a House most known for treason against its homeland might detract the more dubious personages among us," Taros said. "But if there's one thing I trust in, it's that. Right there. What you've just said, Lady D'avore."

He turned his head just slightly, just enough to speak more so into Elliot's ear. "'This criminal means nothing to me.' My friend, are those not six of the most truthful words spoken upon Arethil?"

Elliot said nothing. Just kept his solid gaze on Lyssia. Blood dripped lazily from the tip of one of his fingers from the wound further up on his arm.

Taros just chuckled. Said to Lyssia, "This is probably your preferred version of our esteemed Elliot Aldmar here: the shy and unbothersome version. Certainly better than the version liable to talk your ear off disparaging and belittling all that you're fighting for." The bounty hunter flicked his eyes toward the barn and back to her. "Where's the good captain Elijah, hmm? If this arrangement of ours is to progress any further, I will ab-so-lute-ly be owing him a hearty apology with an extra side of 'no hard feelings.'"

Elijah Lyssia D'avore

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

"The Captain was dealing with some trouble in the stables when last I saw him," she said. It was quite likely that trouble was to do with her 'friend' here and his capture of the criminal Aldmar. And she very much believed that the conflict that had occurred was what would necessitate that apology. "And my preferred version of this man would include chains and a gag," she added in a dry tone of voice. A very dry tone. She broke eye contact with the half-blood, head swimming with possibilities good and ill.

"If you will follow me," she said. She did not wait for a response; the skin between her shoulder blades itched, waiting for a crossbow bolt or a blade to pierce them. When one did not immediately appear, it did not make it any more comfortable. The ball of ice in her guts was still there. Outwardly, she appeared confident and composed, as if this were something ordinary and not completely batshit insane. "You can make that apology if you want, or not - I just want to get out of Erdeniin and be rid of this....man," she said.

Back to him, walking away. Appearances counted for a lot, she knew, and with power pulsing in her head, burning in her veins in such overpowering waves that she could scarcely stand it, she could almost believe the lie she was trying to portray. Senses heightened while holding the prim, she listened for footfalls behind her.

And moved like a coiled spring, awaiting sudden and violent action. It would be best if she was closer to help before she did anything - Taros could snap her in half like a twig if he wanted to. But he had to know that, too, and had to know she was aware of it herself. So many subtle games to play, but this was no court bickering. Blood would flow, hers or his or Elliots or all three, at the first misstep.

And the question of why she even bothered still hung over her head. She had no answer, but there was something there - something just at the edge of understanding. There would be time to examine it later, if she lived to see the other side of this mad day.

 

[Elliot Aldmar]

"Yes, chains and a gag, I concur," Taros said. He obviously needed some kind of a solution for this business of keeping Elliot hostage. Poisoned or not, wounded or not, if the dark elf could stand then he could fight, and could likely fight hard enough to be a nuisance about it.

And, of course, Taros knew he'd be far better off with Elliot hobbled and his own hands much more free. Especially if the good captain Elijah couldn't let bygones be bygones and accept a humble apology.

If you will follow me...

"You heard the Lady," Taros said to Elliot, giving him a slight jerk forward to propel him into compelled motion. A slow and awkward walk, of course, but Elliot complied well enough. Saving energy for an inevitable spot of rebellion, if Taros had to guess. Shrewd.

As they all walked, Taros spoke further.

"And I would be more than happy to do said ridding for you. Ah, but I do suppose I can offer some of that apology to you, can't I? I could cry your pardon 'til the moon goes full, but alas, my duplicitous affairs this whole time were a necessary wrinkle for us to endure, you understand. I'm sure by now you've gotten a fair taste of just how...slippery our sharp-eared friend here can be. My employer knew what they were doing. A snake to catch a snake, you could say."

"We're all snakes here."

"Now, now, Elliot, that wasn't a very charming thing to say of our lovely hostess. Keep moving." And then to Lyssia, "Excluding the grayskin among us, we're all civil here, yes?"

Lyssia D'avore Elijah

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

Power thumping in time to the beating of her heart, a quick and staccato. Not a hint of the tension that twisted her guts into a ball of ice showed in her manner, face, or actions - or at least, so little that only those who knew her well could see them.

She moved along, heading back towards the scattering of outbuildings and the still burning ruins of the smugglers home, mind spinning in a circle. This all felt wrong to her, and it was unfathomable to her why. Elliot was a scoundrel and a scofflaw - everything he stood for was in direct opposition to everything she stood for.

That is a lie. Her lips tightened. Despite her best efforts, her expression soured; Elliot wanted much of the same things that she wished for. Ideals that could not stand the test of the real world. The trouble was, the route he planned to take to achieve them was soaked with the blood of innocents and the destruction of entire societies, however wrong they might be. She would have loved to see the world he envisioned, but...

...that is why I should just follow through with this unpleasantness.

Except...

And then it dawned on her, like throwing the curtains back on a dark and dusty room. She despised the grey-skinned man, but she herself had principles. Taros might be willing to carry on his duplicitous act in order to achieve whatever goal he desired. Come to it, Elliot might as well.

It was those very immoral ideals that had laid her low. She was little better than they, for she indulged in the same immoral activities. She hated Elliot, but she could not do this. Not especially when it was in the interests of the very enemies she stood against.

Her resolve firmed, but fear oozed through. Even as she spun, suddenly and without warning, she wished to turn back and pretend it was all a mistake. It all was a mistake. "There is no civility in this world we three occupy," she said. Even as she said it, she called upon the magic coursing through her.

The world went blue-white, and the crack of ear-splitting thunder was so close that for a moment, she could neither see nor hear, only feel the wicked heat of the lightning as it struck.

 

[Elliot Aldmar]

The crackle and the flash erased the world in an instant.

In one fraction of a moment, Elliot had no idea what just happened. The ringing in his ears and the burn of light in his eyes were all he knew, all he could possibly concern himself with. That fraction passed. Another fraction. It seemed an impossible stretch, to reach back across the chasm of thunder and brightness to access the memory of what came before. Another fraction. He got it. Lyssia had turned around. Said something. What did she say? Another fraction. He remembered. It was a good quip, what she had said, and one he agreed with in the crushing majority of situations and circumstances. More importantly, what Lyssia said hinted that, while she may not necessarily be on Elliot's side, she had firmly placed herself as not on Taros's.

Tactile sensation was available for him again. Maybe only a single second had gone by. Maybe several. He didn't know. All Elliot knew was that Taros was still behind him, still pressed against him, and yet the dagger to his throat and the arm around his torso had each slipped somewhat. The crackle and the flash had gotten him too.

Elliot didn't specifically need his sight nor his hearing. Not for this. His left arm was useless, weak and throbbing with a cruel selection of pains, but his right was not. Elliot reached up and wrenched Taros's knife-wielding arm away, lurching his body back some as he did to throw a portion of his weight against the sellsword as he did. Luck was with him. He felt Taros slip away, perhaps having lost his balance and fallen (he did, though Elliot couldn't be sure).

Somewhere distantly, he could hear Taros calling, "Elliot! You fool! Don't!" (And Taros as well, in his own disoriented state, was trying to draw his sword from his sheath whilst down on the ground.)

Elliot, still mostly blind and mostly deaf, went stumbling forward. Forward. Away from where he last felt Taros's presence. He wasn't quite sure where Lyssia had been standing, but he had, had, to get distance from Taros until his senses came back.

Lyssia D'avore Elijah

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

This was a different situation than she was accustomed to, and for a split second she did not know what to do. Always before, she had been the one lying on the ground, or fleeing for her life. When her gambits had paid off in the past, they had only served to keep her alive. Not necessarily intact, and certainly not in the position she was in now.

She did not smile as she looked at the men she had downed, stunned and blinded. There was no joy in success, no surprise evident. Only the straight line of her mouth and eyes a vivid and pale purple. Her own ears remained untouched by her magic, and her own sight was just fine, even if there were faint afterimages that managed to get through her eyelids.

"Don't what?" she snapped, and then there was surprise - at the rancor of her words. "Escape? I truly do not care if he lives or dies, but at least I won't stab him in the back." She did not approach the man, did not draw a weapon. There was no need to, after all; the power she had pulled still hummed in her veins, enlivening her and draining her at the same time. Although her ability at casting under duress were mixed at best, she would have several chances to strike Taros down. "Leave the blade where it is," she said.

That voice brooked no arguments. In fact, it carried a tone that was commanding, and quite unlike her normal diffident self.

"You...had better not try sneaking off again," she warned Elliot, eyes snapping to his body trying to get clear of the mercenary. They immediately went back to Taros. "Don't move unless you want to be roasted," she snapped.

 

[Elliot Aldmar]

Slowly, vision started to return, the bright white crackling away and the world, piece by piece, filling in the gaps. Sounds which were distant started to come nearer, nearer, not perfect, still it was like having scraps of cloth stuffed into his ears, but it was enough to hear was being said.

Elliot stopped and turned around, finding himself at a healthy distance from Taros's downed form and a few steps off from Lyssia herself. He hunched over and with his good hand steadied himself on his knee, his left just dangling limply. A bead of sweat dripped from his forehead to the ground.

Despite the creeping pain of the assassin's poison, however, Elliot didn't miss the extraordinary thing which had just happened. Something he would have never guessed, and something he surely would've bet against if he had to wager. Even after what Elliot had done back in Merissa's home, Lyssia had gone out of her way to save him from Taros's captivity. She did what Elliot, admittedly, would not have done for her.

Would not have done for her, at least, prior to this moment.

It was...surprising. Pleasantly so. His cold appraisals of the world, of individuals guided exclusively by their self-interest and practicality, were almost always right. Yet on these rare occasions of being proven wrong, nothing felt quite so liberating. Carrying such cold appraisals for so long left little room for warmth...and each special ember of it was a treasure indeed.

He was, in a word, impressed. He didn't even have any smart remark with which to retort to Lyssia's warning.

Taros, meanwhile, bit his bottom lip as he considered his own position. He glanced to Elliot, looking at him as if he made of gold but was just frustratingly out of reach, and then to Lyssia. Taros kept his hands down by his waist as he lay there, but he did flip his hands up to show his palms in a small gesture of surrender.

"And here I thought we were all getting along quite well for once." Taros clicked his tongue, then asked, "Satiate my curiosity then, Lady D'avore, lest it gnaw away at me. Should I have waited until we all landed on Dalriada's shores? Would you have minded the parting of Elliot's dear company then?"

Lyssia D'avore Elijah

 

[Elijah]

A strong, solid, hand suddenly came down upon Taros' shoulder.

"And why would we be parting with Elliot?" he asked in a voice that clearly suggested there would be no such thing and than any answer to the contrary would land the man in the hot coals, so to speak.

It didn't take a fool to piece together what had been going on. The crimson along Lyssia's cheekbones was a flush of anger he knew all too well, what with being on the receiving end of it all too often. Elliot looked like a rabbit caught in the lantern lights on a moonless road and wary too, his eyes swinging from Lyssia to Taros and back. He might not have known the details but he could with confidence say it was nothing good.

That grip tightened, fingers digging in.

"I don't believe we will have much need of you any more Taros. Your men can collect their gold and then go," the Captain rumbled then slowly brought his hand up and down in another firm, spine jarring pat. "We thank you for your service. Now we must be going. Lyssia, Elliot?" he motioned towards the river where a boat was being prepared hastily. "It seems our friend has found a bout of speed."

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

She gave a start at Elijah's sudden and more to the point, timely arrival. Speaking with strength was one thing, but having to kill the man when he tried something silly completely another; he would have, eventually as she was barely a hundred pounds soaking wet, and shorter than the mercenary by a couple feet. Sooner or later, he would have tried, and her opportunities to strike back would diminish the longer he wait. After all, the stun and the blindness wouldn't last forever.

She stood by while Elijah took control of the situation, said nothing of the offer to take his winnings - and concede his defeat - and leave. The smart thing would have been to cut his throat and tie up the loose end. That was certainly what her mother would have done, and so many other in the court. The court, with their politicking and back room deals. The same place where every angle had to be carefully watched, just in case there was a knife hidden in it.

Expedience and practicality. These things were not moral, and bound to no principle but power, convenience, or a combination of the two. It was why things stood where they did, now. And she would no longer suffer herself to fall prey to the easy road of dubious immorality in the service of her cause.

Still, she could not help but grind her teeth at the fact that Taros would just....slip away. She already had enough enemies without making the list longer.

Her eyes flit over Elijah, and a knot that had been tied in her guts loosened, one that she hadn't realized had been there until that moment. The Captain seemed every bit as strong and capable as ever, even though she herself could see the lines of weariness in his face. His very presence brought with it a measure of relaxation that could not be defined, nor pointed to.

She stepped along, and paused at Elliot's side, considering simply moving on and leaving him to deal with his own problems. She grit her teeth again, and shook her head as she offered the accused murderer a hand. "And Taros?" There was a momentary pause, but not long enough for the man to slip any words in. "I will not be the hand holding the knife, even then. Dirty dealings brought us here, and I refuse to be a part of them any longer. You catch the grey-skin elsewhere, I do not care. But my hands will not be stained by the deed." Excepting, of course, that he actually tried to carry out his ambitions, but that was a story for another day - and would not be achieved by underhanded dealings, regardless.

She did not look to Elliot or Elijah. If Elliot accepted the offered hand, all well and good - refuse or accept, she stalked away after, heading toward the vessel and only just containing fury...and unbelievable, melting relief to walk away at all.

 

[Elliot Aldmar]

Not one to push his luck, Taros, once back on his feet, didn't overstay what good graces Elijah and Lyssia still afforded to him. But a parting word to all those gathered couldn't hurt. It wasn't personal, after all. Except perhaps in Elliot's case. My, he did hate to be the bearer of bad news—especially to a friend.

"Mayhap we'll meet again," he said, already taking his first few backpedaling steps, "in circumstances of leisurely pleasure rather than dreary business."

And with that, with a healthy distance gained before turning his back as well, Taros started away. Back across the field until eventually he would come to disappear with the Tsagaan Ereg townsfolk in their final struggles to quench the fire that was Merissa's home.

Elliot, in all that meanwhile, had come to sit on the ground. The vacating of adrenaline from his body and the further intrusion of the poison left him feeling winded and pained. Lyssia offered her hand, small and delicate. He looked at it. Ruminated.

And after Lyssia was finished telling her part to Taros, and after the man himself said his piece and departed, Elliot took her hand. With her kind gesture of aid did he rise to his feet.

Elijah had said the boat was being prepared—Merissa no doubt in a hurry to get the hell out of here until things calmed down. But...

"I can't go just yet," Elliot said, glancing to Elijah, glancing to Lyssia's departing form. He made a small motion with his right hand to the wound on his arm. "It's poisoned. I can feel it. I have to..."

Elliot pinched his eyes shut for a moment. A bead of sweat rolled down into the valley of the socket and nestled there and then it was taken by gravity over the upward curve of his cheek. He opened his eyes again.

"...find an apothecary."

He didn't know if he would even make it across the Strait otherwise. And if there wasn't one here in Tsagaan Ereg, then...well, the side of him that entertained pessimism would be pleased in his final hour.

Lyssia D'avore Elijah

 

[Elijah]

"You can't leave him to die, Elijah. That's not justice," Samantha's voice whispered in his mind like a haunting song. She had said those words to him many years ago when he was still a young soldier, a man full of anger at his lot in the world and the lot of his family, with a person before him to take it all out on. In the end he had listened to her and carried a criminal, a man responsible for the death of a friend, home to face the Judges Scales. It hadn't been as satisfying as driving a blade through his heart but it had brought its own satisfaction and one he had grown to develop a taste for as one might a fine wine over his years.

Though when it came to Elliot, Elijah thought driving a sword through him might just bring more satisfaction than justice.

"If there is one here the owner might be dead, or the house might be one of those on fire," he considered the wound thoughtfully. "But there is something else that might work," he admitted begrudgingly and glanced towards the pegasus. It was a closely guarded secret amongst the Pegasi, and a secret only to be used on members of their own ranks. But desperate times called for desperate measures, and if he was now an outlaw did that not make Elliot one of his own rank, thus fitting in some round about way to the rules and laws he still strived to live by even as they cast him out?

"You're not vegetarian are you?"

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

Melting relief that, step by step, faded with the unbelievable surge of adrenaline that had come from standing her ground. Now that the moment had passed by, she could not believe that she had done what she did. Of Elliot, well...true to her thoughts, her morality would not allow any less than she had done. That she had put herself directly in harms way, but voluntarily...

She wanted to faint at the thought, but she had done it. Had taken an extreme risk and lived to tell of it and, better still, slain not one soul to do it. It felt like a victory so sweet that she should have celebrated it in the streets. If it wasn't for the monumental hill of toil that lie before her, one complicated by her own notion of honor and moral righteousness...

Elliot had been right. Elliot was also wrong; neither of them were completely correct in their convictions. She could achieve nothing without risk and without bloodshed...but neither was it necessary to fill the world with an ocean of blood. The doctrine of ends justifying the means was, after all, how they had come to the present situation.

She made it to the first of the buildings of the town, and stopped when she felt a hand on her arm and something sharp at her neck. Out of sight of the others, she opened her mouth to scream.

"Please do not do that," a voice said conversationally. "I really have no desire to kill you...now," he added, and drew her further from sight of the other two, turning her as she did. The visage of Sloth was pallid and decidedly unwell, but he held the crossbow in his hand steady as stone as he stepped back.

"What do you want," she asked of him, and he smiled in response - a twisted grin that was half malice and half amusement.

"Well..."

 

[Elliot Aldmar]

You're not vegetarian are you?

"No. That's foolish."

A day of surprises, was it not? Lyssia, and now Elijah. Out of the two he had thought that any notion of charity towards himself would be rebuked more so by Elijah. Elliot could make no guesses as to how either felt in their heart of hearts. For now he was content with letting his aforementioned cold appraisals be withered beneath the shadow of these surprises.

He would follow Elijah toward his pegasus, curious as to what remedy the captain might have ready at hand. His steps were weary, but he could still move under his own power.

And little did Elliot know of Lyssia's encounter in the more proper bounds of Tsagaan Ereg. This with the assassin who had expressed a concerning familiarity with him.

Lyssia D'avore Elijah

 

[Elijah]

Elijah suppressed a sigh; perhaps Drow's did not understand humour.

Gypsy eyed them sideways as they approached, her ears switching between an alert forward position and flat against her skull as she tried to decide whether the stronger emotion was joy at seeing Elijah or hatred at seeing Elliot. The Captain pressed a hand to her neck and scratched beneath her mane to quieten her but the dark stare did not leave Elliot.

"It's a well kept secret that pegasus blood has certain healing properties," Elijah explained as he took a dagger from his belt. "People would hunt them if it became widespread, and put them at great risk," as well as their riders. The mare snorted as the cold steel touched her neck but she stayed still as Elijah pressed it to her skin drawing a very fine thread of blood. Gold droplets slowly slid down her white side which Eli caught in his empty water flask. He passed it to Elliot when three droplets were collected.

"Drink," he nodded whilst he pressed a piece of bandage to the fine cut on his horse.

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

"...I want you to pass on a message," he said evenly. She looked at him with a blank look, as though she could not believe what he had said. It was a tacitly absurd reason to haul someone into shadows at arrow point.

"You wouldn't understand if I explained it. All that matters is you relay this to the grey-skin," he said, and grinned. "'Carry on with your work; carry the torch for the sons and the daughters.' Nothing more, nothing less. He will understand."

She let the world roll over her. He couldn't know that she knew something of the man he spoke of, and she knew exactly what it was that he was saying. She just couldn't understand why, and so she asked.

"You would not understand," he said, and then took a step back away from her. "But I, at least, have seen enough to see that he will do the world great good."

"He will kill tens of thousands, perhaps more, with his ideological bent," she countered faintly. "Why..."

Sloth simply smiled enigmatically. "Good day, Lady d'Avore," he said with a flourish. She took a step forward, but then he was simply gone. For a moment she stared into the place where he had been, but the man did not suddenly reappear. No painful bite of a bolt, not sting of a blade. After a moment, she leaned back against the wall behind her and let out a shuddering breath. She should not still be alive, and the fact that she was filled her with a deep dread at being alone. She stepped back out from concealment, and returned to the other too many at a hurried pace, trying and not succeeding at seeming at ease.

 

[Elliot Aldmar]

People would hunt them if it became widespread, and put them at great risk.

"They would," Elliot agreed. The surprises of today likely part of the few exceptions which proved the rule, it could be well relied upon to assume the vast majority of people, "civilized" or not, acted in their own self-interest before anything else. On that naked fact itself Elliot cast no judgment, merely observed it for what it was: pervasive.

But the secret of the pegasi was well kept enough, that was for certain. Neither he nor anyone he knew, even exceptionally well-traveled mercenaries and learned men the world over, apparently knew of it.

Elliot accepted the vial without complaint or suspicion. This was the best option he had.

So he drank.

Elijah Lyssia D'avore

 

[Elijah]

Elijah left the Drow to it; he wasn't his nursemaid. If the man wanted to live he'd drink and then shamble off wherever he intended to be that with them or far, far away from here. It had got to the point the Captain simply didn't care. His mind raced instead with thoughts of his women and men who had travelled so far, risked so much, in the name of his cause that were now already scattering into the wind with handshakes and hugs shared amongst companions they might never see again.

Have I done the right thing?

It was not the first time he had questioned his following of Lyssa. It would probably not be the last. He kept his features smooth so as not to trouble any of those looking to him for a pillar of strength after the arduous time they had just endured, but inside he was a knot of worry.

"My Captain," the elderly voice caught his attention and he broke from his reverie to glance down at the woman who had promised passage across the sea. "The ship is ready."

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

Hurrying along, with the unwanted message in her head, Lyssia contemplated its meaning and, more importantly, whether she would or even should tell Elliot what had been said. She owed the assassin nothing, after all, and she at least understood what it meant if the grey-skinned criminal continued down the path he had chosen.

Death. Destruction. Dissolution...and, perhaps liberation and hope for those cast aside by their societies. The question was whether the end goal was worth the cost his methods would require. She did not believe so. She had been at arms length from death and penury prior to all that had transpired in the fall of her family. She was now keenly aware of it. Even so...

Even so, she was also aware of the value of life. There had to be another way to clean the societal problems of both Oban - a place she knew little of - and Erdeniin. If only she knew how, and if only she did not agree that it needed to be done.

She could tell Elliot. Tell him that the man that tried to kill them wanted him to continue his work. If she was certain of his morality, she might as a way to manipulate him into not doing it out of concern for why it was so desirable. But....Elliot was not trustworthy. Not wanting to be underhanded and bury a metaphorical knife in his back was quite a long way from trusting that she would not regret the decision later.

Best not to tell him at all.

She came back into the presence of the men and Marissa without a word, moving with the painful, careful mannerism of someone suffering from pushing themselves too far and suffering the cost of magic. She came alongside Elijah, the pillar or strength he had absently thought himself to be lending her the strength and resolve to push forward, and nodded in response to the ancient harridan's words.

"Its time we retreat," she said to Elijah, pointedly not looking at Elliot. She would not tell him. He did not need to know....but Elijah would. Together, they could try to pick through the nightmarish mess that had become their lives, and seek a safe way forward. "Have had enough of being shot at for one day," she added in a poor attempt at humor.