[sylvanSpider]

The halfling's eyes widened and she turned her gaze from the ground to the dark mage, “Do you mean...my own patron?” Arabella, admittedly, did not have the most experience with the darker magics, but she knew enough that all of the power came from a patron, similar to she and the goddess. She'd spent time praying, asking the goddess if it was alright to pursue other magics. In her heart of hearts, she knew that to be narrow minded was to sentence oneself to death, especially if she was to continue to take up this liminal space. “But...I fear I will have nothing to offer, save for myself. Would there be one willing to accept that?” Her voice was low. There was no need to cue anyone else in to what she was planning with Wisp, and she had no intention on doing so – especially to her mentee and companion.

“She...”Arabella began, turning to look at Waltz again with a dreamy look in her eyes, “She can hide them if she chooses. What I've seen so far is enough to know that she would be worth it.” From her pack she withdrew a small long-stemmed pipe, packed it, and lit it- puffing it to keep the embers running. Offering it to Wisp, she exhaled, “She won't have to explain anything to me. Besides, at this age? We all have baggage that we need to sort. I'll...I'll talk to her and...and see where I end up.” Her brooding reverie was interrupted with the thought of Percival and Waltz, and she grinned, snorting, “Lucky you. The image I got was vivid. Didn't end well for our healer.”

Percival looked anything but amused, but mostly he simply looked tongue in cheek agitated, “It's Per-ci-val. Percival. You know, like the extremely common name in the North? Where you come from? How could you not have known this? We've been in the same party several times. And, Waltz, if you start calling me “Hobbly” may the gods save you because I don't appreciate it. You'll still get your healing because of that blasted oath I took, but I'll make the least soothing spells I know.” The white mage was scowling, his hands itching to reach for his flask, but he was at least somewhat of a man of his word, and grabbed his water instead. The booze could happen when they camped for the night. His water, however, went undrunk as he was soon in the barbarian's arms, gasping for air, his hat being pushed into and rubbed against his scalp.

Struggling free, he glared at the barbarian, taking off his hat, poofing it up again, and put it back on his head huffing, “My bet's still on the knight.”
> > >

Kastivi had no experience with hounds, but she wasn't going to risk anything. She flew through the forest, jumping fallen logs and running against the trunks of trees, ducking when necessary. She was fast too, the weights no longer on her ankles meant she was faster, if only because she was now free from her shackles. It wasn't long before she came across Christoval and she blinked, “Is that... a gobline?” she asked, already knowing that it was, “What's it doing here?”