[BlueInTheShell]

Deadwaltz's trodding along became more concise and the woman's face drew to something more akin to a serious, determined look on her face. Waltz had always hated forests, even up north where the pines surrounded villages. It was the perfect tool for things to hide in, and as much as Deadwaltz would hate to admit, the barbarian was on too many bad ends of an ambush to care to remember. Each time it was an atrocious affair and she was pulling arrows out of her body. "...Ah was supposed to be on the list. Did they not add me?" Waltz huffed. Typical Midlanders. "Ah'll just have to clobber the clerkboy then. Good thing ah like bashing things more than the money for bashing." Pointing towards one of the rocks, Waltz looked at Arabella. "Ah hope the omens don't mean anything. Ah ain't cut out for omens and prophecies and that. Gods can shove themselves in the ass. Ah go mah own way."

Christoval's trek finally became something more akin to a challenge; the boy weaving and ducking through bush, as not to get his bags stuck in the thick of everything. The boy's trot became an awkward dance through the forest and finally, Christoval decided on trying to offer the weights back to Arabella. "I need to make sure our stuff isn't spilled out, would you mind?" He pleaded, finally looking over to Kastivi and giving her a nod. "I'm just trying to be my chivalrous self is all. I understand what you mean though." He beamed, wiping a glistening brow with his arm and exhaling. Sweat soaked into his eyes and made them a shade of pink, and his cloak was becoming hotter and hotter with each step. Still, he had to press on. "Gonna be a sore night, that's for sure." He mused to himself with a small chuckle.

Situation defused with Percival, Christoval did his best to ignore the Healer for now. His presence was irking, and the constant slugging of alcohol was a problem and he knew it. He had seen what happened to militia men who had to be on the field and were either sloshed, or recuperating for it, and it usually ended with farmers digging ditches for them. Mustering the courage to speak out, Christoval decided to address is. "Would you prefer water, sir? Alcohol diminishes the soul.

"I wouldn't wanna taint your soul with forbidden knowledge. Your goddess would frown on that, would she not?" Wisp teased, looking towards the Halfling and smirking. Harmless banter, but she had yet to get under the mentor's skin today. That began anew on this moment. For now her attention was on the squirrel, and snapping her fingers, the Dark Mage sent a bolt of sickly purple energy towards the squirrel, which prompted it to retreat into the woods.