RP:The Preklek's Message

Part of the Conquest:The Return of the Prek Arc

Summary: A chance meeting between Rilla, the Fold’s latest recruit and Triyul, the preklek general, results in a battle of minds that escalates to physical violence. Triyul uses his assault of Rilla to send a message to Arien, with whom his Black Dragon awareness has a personal vendetta. Several by standers, as well as a number of Rilla’s clan kin are injured in the fray, most of whom are taken to the clan’s medical clinic for triage care.

Characters: Triyul, Rilla, Taikahn, Quain, Keturah, Wolfram, Neema, Rhoswen

LOCATION: Vailkrin: The Hanging Corpse Tavern, The Fold Clinic; Sage Compound.’’’

Triyul is here. Sitting, a tall figure - robed, secretive, mysterious. Preklek. Near the board - hell, a hairs breath to the left at a table - his gaze fixed on the door as if awaiting company. A cold plate of half eaten food suggested he'd been waiting for some time, no steam rose from that gnawed-at chunk of steak any longer.

Rilla was really starting to get sick of this incessant rain. It had everything soaking wet, including, of course, her. It was really rather unfortunate considering that she lived in Cenril and everything she owned had gotten slightly damp already. There really was only one cure for the kind of wetness that chilled you to the bone: alcohol. The door to the Hanging Corpse would bring her into the driest place she had been in a while, dripping wet from being outside so long. Long mahogany hair was pulled into a braid on one side of her head to keep it from dripping too much which was likely a good thing considering how wet her clothing was. It was a tavern, no one would mind, or so she thought. The gust of cool, damp air she had brought in with her had some of the other occupants glaring, angry murmurs rising from some who watched her rather closely, but Rilla paid no mind to them. Making her way quietly to the bar she sat and gestured to the barkeep, calling him over to quietly request a drink of some sort. Long, mostly bare legs crossed impatiently as she waited, looking down the row of mostly empty stools for a moment while the man left and returned with a rather large mug of amber liquid. Quietly, Rilla sat and sipped on it, eyes looking into the rich depths, thinking and drying off rather slowly almost oblivious to the looks she was getting from the patrons of the bar who likely didn’t appreciate that she was soaking wet or rather scantily clad.

Triyul :: Gray orbs. Deadly orbs, death's gaze - nay, there was no warmth in them. No life left, except all the life he had - that mind tinkered over her dripping form, eyes exuding a slight interest - lids widening in a slight curiosity. A quiet tilting of the head followed an off-canter gesture of the hand that her peripheral vision would not notice - it wiped along the cloth of his robe. 'Sif sweat had formed, 'sif he felt uncomfortable - who wouldn't? The general of an army - to meet in such a place. It had his nerves on edge. The Corpse. Mahri. Her joint. If she noted him here ~ yet the informant had demanded they meet here, demanded, and he pondered whilst grey orbs now started at the toes and ran along Rilla's form if she perhaps was the one he had chosen to meet. "Garthuen." It was deep - quiet, a rumble, from the pit of his chest. An accent so archaic, it belonged not to any Preklek that anyone had ever encountered - nay. A saurian's accent, ancient, death was speaking now. His gaze ~ it pierced a person, intimidated all but the strongest wills into a forceful submission. There were not many who could remain with orbs fixated on his own for long, three actually - only three, to this day. "You there. Woman. Your name and affiliation." To hell with etiquette, he grew weary.

Rilla was fully aware that there were others here, and she knew that some where staring at her, but there was a painful sort of intensity in the gaze after a moment, a new sort of feeling as it pierced her side sending a chill up her spine. Crystalline hued eyes caught the gesture from her peripheral vision, but expected no speech from the strange being that she saw there. Her gaze no longer fixed onto the amber liquid she drank, but rather looking from the corner of her eye every so often, trying to understand where that accent came from. It was different than any she had heard before. Something about the stranger seemed to nullify the effects of the warming liquid she drank even as it burned through her. He was stealing the warmth she so craved. Placing the mug on the bar she turned then, intending to answer the question. Rilla was brave, used to the most chaotic people but this was like nothing she had seen before. The eyes before her were the eyes of a killer, terrifying and yet she couldn’t look away. It wasn’t in her nature to back down. “Rilla Elemiirre, and I am a member of The Fold, if that is the answer you look for.” An elegant accent haunted her words, stretching the vowels and stealing the consonants from them, making the velvet tone of her voice dark, almost haunting. As she turned, her porcelain right hand fell to the hilt of her broad sword, allowing her more movement without turning the rest of her body. Obviously the stranger was making her uncomfortable, for there was no relaxation in her delicate features, but there was no fear either and certainly no sign of giving in and looking away from that piercing gaze. “How can I help you?” Always one to at least try to be polite, her words came awkward for she knew that the other had no intention of doing the same.

Triyul drummed his fingers along the worn table's top. A steady, continuous beat - precise. Just like the male himself. "One of Arien's then." Contempt hard in his tone - "Tell me, how is she handling Cenril now? Are they starving? I've heard the rumours, how many did I kill?" Slowly, as those words were being spoken - the hood of his wide-brimmed robe was pulled back to expose his alien face, and those eyes in full. The male - he growled shortly after. Growled out the number, "Thousands of yours. Rynvalians. Cenrilians. And soon, more." So confident, oh my, that growl transitioned into a normal tone as drumming suddenly ceased: "I am Triyul. General of the Preklek that infest Lithrydel. And soon burn it. To the ground." Drumming resumed - he was working her, his eyes, the drumming, trying to place her off balance - entice her into a situation that would benefit him, over her.

Rilla shrugged slender shoulders at the questions being thrown at her. Truthfully she was not privy to that information, though it was unlikely that anyone would deny her it. However, her lack of knowledge left her uncaring. Gisiae en Adon had held Cenril before she left, and they didn’t likely put up any fight at all. They wouldn’t have been capable of it without her, Kail and Kalina. They simply didn’t have the numbers or experience for it. Her torso turned then, legs swinging over the side of the stool to face him in full. Her eyes were chilled like stones set in her porcelain face, more like a statue than any living being had the right to be. “Death is a part of war.” It didn’t seem to phase her in the least to speak of this, cold and analytical when she needed to be, Rilla was well suited to the jobs she had done in the past. “It’s you then. You’re the one who’s been threatening war. Gave us in Gisiae a bit of a scare considering that we didn’t have the forces for it.” Another cold shrug came then, denying that she cared at all. She was the one who was in charge of getting them ready, not that she even made an attempt to do so. Rilla had seen that defeat was imminent and gotten out. Obviously this woman couldn’t care less about her former clan mates, or perhaps it was just a sort of false calm. There was a stone fastened at her neck, a ruby set in a necklace, and as she spoke, it seemed to glow just slightly. A curious thing it was, for very few would recognize it for what it really was. “You’re quite efficient, really. It’s almost admirable.” Rilla wouldn’t be giving in to the games he was playing if she had a say in it.

Triyul extends a hand to the empty seat across the table, "Come, sit. I am near the fire. Arien knows well, I do not bite." a complete lie. All he wanted - all he wanted was her scent, at the moment, to allow it to fill his senses like water into a trough - full to the brim, "But aye.." The hand lowered to his side a moment later. To his hip, matter of fact, words flowing seamlessly in between. "I point a finger, they move." Most of Arien's folk would jump at the chance to kill him, and easily fall prey to the mental traps he laid. This one. She was tricky. Mayhap even cunning. Yet he had something he had a feeling she was but feigning at the moment. Confidence.

Rilla couldn’t refuse Triyul’s offer of sitting more comfortably by the fire without showing weakness, so, after just an instant of hesitation she was on her feet, fingers of her left hand catching the mug very gently and bringing it with her, glancing back at the barkeep to exchange looks of muted sympathy. Everyone know that Rilla didn’t give in. Movement was seamless then, the muscles of her stomach taunt with each graceful step. Truthfully, she was uncomfortable which forced those long, lanky muscles into such a position. It put that confidence into her stride as she moved to sit down opposite the man she now knew to be the enemy. Being that she was wet, that avian scent would be obvious and, of course, different for every person that caught it. “Admirable, I must say. Gisiae en Adon I’m sure put up no resistance. Useless bunch of whelps.” Rilla was talking like it was the weather, her eyes fixed on that face almost casually. A trick she had learned years ago when she was training with Adrian. Always keep eye contact. Once or twice the woman had to remind herself, crystalline hues trying to dart down to the amber liquid she held between them like a shield. “Tell me, why is it that you seem to want to take over these lands?”

Triyul had learned more than thirteen millennia ago that same trick Rilla had known for but a year - and had thousands of years more practice. His sense of superiority over the avian made it that much easier to maintain - if not look down - at the woman, death's gaze never wavered a hair now. "They -- " Her scent caught him then, it enticed him. An earthy smell. A strong smell. His nose knew, and when his nose knew his mind listened: Do not underestimate her. "The Order of the Violet Rose -- they held the city. Rynvale was but reinforcements. We were double flanked, surrounded, in the final push that would have been my victory." His tone was much more agitated, much less talk of the weather - this was talk of things that affected him, his plans, his lust for power. That comment on Cenril flowed in smoothly with a rolling hand, a gesture 'sif to state the obvious to a child. "I have seen the world. What you and yours achieve. I have seen another world. What them and theirs achieve. I know the world I wish, and it is the world I shall have. It shall be remade." A madman, an idealistic madman. "Things change, powers shift. You are unlucky to be on the wrong side of the fence. Arien. The Fold. They - she - they are...hopeless. Soon though. Soon. Things will change. You will see. I knew her - I know her - I knew..." His tone..he was rambling, that eye contact - what those eyes held - suggested he was but toying with her, speaking a madman's words to throw her off - or control her, manipulate. Time would tell. There were some things that didn't come out of a man's eyes, or a Prekleks. "She..knows me. From a time before --- before now. Yes. Yes. Before now." The male was amusing himself, his hand and forearm ever-so-casually coming to rest on the tabletop, palm turned up - bottom of forearm directed at Rilla. Nothing suspicious, or is it? "The world will burn eventually, I but see the smoke before the fire yes? You follow? Of course. Of course you do."

Rilla could tell that Triyul was slightly insane, but then weren’t they all? She also knew that he had full mental capacity, he wasn’t stupid, he knew exactly what he was doing. This was a game for him, and more and more, he sounded like Daikatana from the few times she had met that particular mad man. The psychological analysis had begun. “You’re searching for a perfect society then? One that is stronger and perhaps less self destructive than the one we have now. And, logically the only way to create such a society is by removing all of the weaker being.” This was turning into a wonderful change for analysis which, of course, was one of Rilla’s more useful talents. “You’re looking to make this a perfect world as so many before you.” Slender shoulders shrugged again, eyes flickering for just be briefest moment towards the arm placed on the table before returning to those terrifying eyes. This game was almost fun for the young woman. She was sure of herself, certain that she wouldn’t misread him, sure that she wasn’t going to misstep. “Perhaps I am on the wrong side as it is, however haven’t I already proven myself to be different than them?” In truth, she could be different than most anyone if she so chose to. “I suspect that if you had a different member of The Fold here they would have given in already and left. They wouldn’t be able to meet your eyes, would they?” Dangerous words came as an intriguing whisper left to hang between the muted whispers of others who had overheard pieces of their conversation. Danger flashed in those brilliant eyes, openly admitting to being a rather volatile person, less prone to fight for good so much as for whatever pleased her at that moment. Rilla was hard to crack, which was likely making this a rather interesting game for Triyul, whoever he really was beneath his own facades.

Triyul :: This was a child’s game for her, something to be enjoyed. To Triyul, it was a way of life - she had made three mistakes as of yet. One of which could be fatal. Trust. This would serve as a lesson to her - and benefit him, if it went as planned. She'd fallen for it - all of it, the facades, the sandwich of normalcy, insanity, and now normalcy again almost had the stage set. His palm was beginning to flex slightly - it looked a simple stretch of digits, "Too true. Too true." those words - sane, precise. Dark. There was no life in those words, hollow - "Your pride my lovely Avian. Your pride is your downfall." As that last word left his mouth, the seal on her fate was placed - in his mind. Just as 'downfall' entered into the second syllable a gas would shoot out of his arm. At her. Her upper torso true, but at a quick rate. A baited trap - she had bitten. Any contact with skin, it would render her unconscious in ten seconds - if inhaled, in less than three. This action, those words, came with a blank slate - a conscience free of guilt.

Rilla often fell victim to her own bravery. She was brave, and prideful, yes. Usually there was something that would show her the danger before it happened, though this was just a little bit different. Crystalline eyes darkened with his words, tensing again as she so often did when danger approached. It made her faster to react, she knew. It made perfect sense. In a situation like this, she really needed to be even quicker. Though the instant she realized what was happening she was on her feet, backing away alarmingly quickly, it really hadn’t helped anything, though Rilla would assume that it had. Usually, gas had to be inhaled. The notion that she had escaped had a dangerous smile flashing through her eyes just a moment before her knees would collapse and the floor would reach up to catch her slender, falling form, her head cracking against it with a hollow thud. That would hurt. She hadn’t even seen it coming, one moment there was victory and defiance, the next black that fell on her so heavily it swallowed her whole. Slow, shallow breaths passed her lips where they parted, breathing the damp, musty air that hung on the floor. Rilla would never notice that. She wouldn’t likely find out what had just happened to her. Somewhere there, in that darkness that trapped her temporarily was another person, a second person that inhabited the same mind trapped just the same was that Rilla was.

Triyul :: As if a man taking his ease, chair was scooted back - his frame stood, over eight feet in height. He came to stand in front of her, foot extending to rummage a shoulder and roll the unconscious girl on her back. His eyes peered down at her, knees bend - hand extending to grasp her under the chin with such force - digits pressing into cheek - that her lips would part in a mock pucker. She was out. Naive, but cunning. That was his analysis. Of course many were, when the mind behind the Preklek was an age such as his. Helich. Dragon. A black, at that, cunning - webs woven from the shadows. "Ah." Victory, in that one noise. "Not so confident now eh?" A pat on the cheek, he rose - en route grabbing a leg and beginning to drag her around the table toward the board. "Not so...confident..at all." Triyul took his time writing a note, slowly, chuckling a bit - a noise that held no amusement at all. Instead of tacking it to the board, it was carefully folded - another blank page wrapped around it, and another, until it was an inch thick. Rilla's back was propped 'gainst tavern' wall, legs limp things - he had trouble keeping her erect. A digit was used to raise the upper lid of her right eye. Oh my. One could say that note was stabbed into the eye - the edge would pierce like a shank. Draw blood, may even blind until healed - but that note was firmly stuck directly into her pupil. Crimson tears streamed down her face. The storm, the storm - it had let up. To leave her here. Mahri. The Wolf would find her. Nay. The body was dragged out the door to a Wyvern tied by a thin rope to a wooden stump. That note, removed, was set into his pocket - a hard grip of paper rolled until it could harm another, it served his purpose well. And so they rode, through the rain - through the storm, finding luck in not encountering many swells. When they reached the outskirts of the sage forest, Xalious side, it would only be another hour before Rilla awoke. Quite a trip, from city to village, but it was made with time to spare. He landed, dismounted - set her against a tree as if she were but a doll, positioning her just so - and pierced that same eye, in almost the same spot. 'Sif it were of no importance to him. An orb three inches in diameter was placed very...very carefully under either leg - right at the back of the knee, where there would be a cushion for it. The pin was pulled from either, just as careful, ensuring it would not move - unless she did, or another did. Hopefully the winds would not stir before someone found her. Real quick like he checked the note - prodded it into her cranium harsher to ensure it would remain - before smiling down at her, a father to a child, and departing aboard his trusted companion, a Wyvern. His only trusted companion. A loud roar erupted from the beast as wings pushed against air, and suddenly, Triyul was flying southward toward Gualon | *the roar of a wyvern echo through the area - so close by that even the raging storm does not quell the noise. Sif it were just down the road toward the west, 'sif coming from the dirt road where a deadly beetle waited in sabotage. This could of course be none other than Triyul, general, leader of the Preklek - and typically the male used that Wyvern's roar to get a point across - and it seemed at this point in time, something had just occurred. Its relevance would remain to be seen, but perhaps one should come and investigate? |

Propped like a porcelain doll, Rilla was an unconscious mass of Avian. Back against a tree, hands delicately folded in her lap - a coagulated streak of blood streaked from her right eye where a thick, folded parchment protruded. Her legs were perfectly extended at such an angle that even limp, they would not move - spread just so, and beneath the cusp of either knee lay a small, round ball full of gas that would rot skin away within seconds. Triyul was no where to be seen of course, having left, and dumped the body off.

Taikahn walks up from... over there. *points* Back down the road aways. He did not, at first, notice the avian, sitting against the tree--but then he saw blood, and immediately got down to business. He knelt nearby, ignoring the blood-soaked piece of paper and carefully examined her wounds. Then he started digging through his cloak, searching for something.

Quain strolls by, his hands resting just below the cloak that billows in the slight wind. Eyes moving to and fro before spotting the duo off to the side, head tilting to the left for a moment he stands there and ponders to himself. Face hidden 'neath the visor none can see the estranged smile upon his features. Turning from his path he slowly makes his way over to them, hand seen moving beneath the cloak, gripping something

Taikahn found what it was he was looking for--a vial of silvery liquid. Opening it and rubbing some on his fingers, he dabbed her eye and any other parts that may have been wounded. They would begin to heal at an immensely quick speed. Satisfied, he turned his attention to the masked newcomer. "Ah, hello," he said. Then he returned his attention to his sleeping patient.

Quain never been much of a talker, took a few steps towards them. His head tilting to and fro as his eyes caught the piece of paper, lips twisting to one side of his face as he moves. Stopping a few paces from them he scans her form slowly. Tilting his head again to the left he squats next to her. Finger running the brim of the hood as he moves a bit closer still. Eyes looking about the tree that propped her up and closely examining her limp form

Keturah's entrance to the area was impromptu, and unfortunately had much to do with a unavailability in herbs. With a coat thrown over her thin frame the healer had relented and decided to make the trip to Frostmaw on her own to gather those herbs. Who could blame her for appreciating a gathering near the tree? One that could postpone her trip to that bloody, cold.. frosty place for a tick, as well. Coming to a slow stop on the road, moss-green eyes flickered over the figures, widening briefly in recognition of at least one: Rilla.. with a trail of blood on her face. It was the Preklek, rather that the hooded man that had the druidess quickening her pace toward the group. Magic ran thick over her lips, a spell ready to be put into action at a moment's notice, and her dark curls bristled. "What are you doing?!" The tree the redhead was propped against shuddered, the roots below already twisting in anticipation with the druid's unspoken call.

Taikahn was about to try a different medicine when another voice called out to him, and the tree started behaving strangely. He sighed, knowing how strange this had to look. He leaned to the side, looking over his shoulder. "I'm trying to help this woman," he said, maybe a bit impatiently. "She's hurt." He turned back to her, and attempted to roll her to the side and see if there were any more wounds--and then he saw the small poison spheres. He had barely enough time to grab her and put himself between the explosion and his patient before it exploded, sending toxic gas a good five feet in less than a second. Nearly running (half stumbling), Taikahn managed to get out of the blast radius with Rilla intact, his own skin damaged in her place. "Aaah," he said, setting her down. "Was... not expecting that.

Quain looked to the man as he started to speaking, eyes widening a bit as his hands moved toward her. He reached out to try and stop him, but to late. Quickly trying to roll away a bit of the gas spills through his cloak and covering part of his arm, another bit hitting the soul of his foot. Listening for a moment he hears the sizzling and shuts his eyes. Words spilling from his mouth silently, focusing more so on his arm and foot as a whole as he tries to keep the gas from seeping to the bone. A feint blue aura covers the arm and foot as his body comes to a stop in the middle of the path.

Keturah was not hit so thoroughly by the acidic gas, but the mist of it that did spray her sent a shock of pain burning through the flesh beneath dissolving sleeves. With a startled cry, the druidess reeled back, opposite arm lifting to protect her face from further damage. It hardly helped, and before she had scrambled to safety, the desert-born was quite covered in burns that continued to eat away at her. With a grunt and several hissed curses in common tongue and her own native language, she began working furiously to remove the outer layers of coverings that adorned her; at least.. the enchanted armour beneath her garb had protected her. Somewhat.

Wolfram eyes the situation as he jogs to the scene, a large bag slung over a shoulder bouncing effortlessly against his back. Among familiar faces, a number of new ones appear, sending a tinge on uneasiness down the human's spine. As he gets closer, azure eyes fall on the unconscious body of his student, Rilla. Pace quickens as the male tosses his bag towards Keturah, knowing full well of her plight, but deeming it secondary to what he does next. At top speed, he drops to his knees, slowing him down during the final stretch, depositing him, in a cloud of dust, next to Rilla. A quick nod to the preklek next to him, and the wolf of the west does a quick examination of the girl. Wounded, but easy to treat. Thank the heavens. Another look is thrown at Keturah, still ripping at her sleeves, then he unceremoniously picks up the girl and tosses her dead weight over his shoulder. With a grunt, he rises, checks to make sure he is clear of the acid cloud, and takes off at a quick walk with a couple hundred pounds over his left shoulder. Anyone stupid enough to stop him will meet a quick draw of his blade, but it doesn't seem like he's surrounded by idiots today. "Let's get you out of here, Ril." He mutters quietly.

Quain tries to stand on his opposing foot, failing halfway up before crumbling back to the ground. Mumbling under his breath he slowly starts to crawl away, his bad arm held aloft from the rest of his body. After the seeming rude words fall his lips return to the silent chanting and the aura return, skin continuing to peel from the bone as he makes his way towards the west.

Taikahn raised a hand as the unknown human carried his patient off, saying, "Hey, wait--I haven't finished treating her yet..." before groaning and collapsing on the ground. His natural regeneration was working overtime just to counteract the effects of the poison--it was tiring him out. He wasn't unconscious yet, just sprawled on the ground

Keturah stumbled near blindly into her own clinic, eyes the dark amber of her tainted existence. The lycan was annoyed, furious, in pain, and concerned all at once. Twas not at all a pleasant mixture of emotions, though aside from the inhuman color marking her irises, one would hardly have been able to tell all of that from beneath the pained mask. In only armour and tattered scraps of clothing, the burn wounds that festered and continued to eat at her dark flesh. One hand remained cupped over her eye, and subsequently a cheek that bore the same acidic wounds, the druidess found herself knocking into one of the screens that separated one cot from the next. "I need a bloody healer, chal?" It was a growl that tore from her throat, her uncovered eye already sweeping across the clinic in search of the others that had been part of that particularly nasty blast. They needed healers too. Though.. the wolf in her was making her pained self especially selfish, it seemed. A final echo of words across the clan link, sent her snorting derisively. "As if I'd die”

Neema was clearly not expecting people to drop by the clinic, judging by what the peculiar beekeeper happened to be doing. Her lanky figure sat before one of the empty cots, on her knees, making the most ridiculous growling noises that have ever passed any being's ears. And what was she growling at? Origami figures. Several carefully folded pieces of parchment were scattered about, giving the depiction of a miniature village constructed on top of that cot, with a monstrous dragon -one of Neema's other paper constructs- clasped tight in one hand. She moved it in a violent motion, causing its poorly constructed tail to flail in the air limply. The avian frowned at how un-terrifying the beast was, set it down for a few moments, and sneakily nudged the nearest paper house over. Seconds later, with paper dragon back in hand, Neema made a noise akin to several villagers screaming in terror, followed by the dragon's horrible screech. Then came Mister Fuzzles, her favourite wolf sock puppet. With it slipped on her other hand, she played not only victim and villain, but the hero as well. That wolf puppet, with the guidance of Neema's hand, chomped down on the paper dragon, to which the avian added even more onomatopoeia. "Fwoosh~! Fwoom~ Rrrawrgrr!!" And then it was over, with good timing too. The dragon fell to a crumpled heap from her hand to the cot, right on top of two other origami buildings. Right as she was about to scoop up her precious toys, her pointed ears caught Keturah's voice, and the sound of a screen falling over. Uh oh. After quickly stuffing the origami figures beneath the cot the same fashion a child would try to hide something they knew they shouldn't have, Neema hopped up to her feet, whirled around, and inhaled a frightened gasp. Never before had she seen the druidess injured, and was under the impression that Keturah was damn near invincible. Without a word she rushed to the woman's side, and moved to help seat her on a cot. Then came the barrage of questions. "Keturah? What happened? Where are you hurt? Are you alright? Should I get more healers to help?"

Wolfram nudges the half-opened door, waiting quietly while it swung into the wall, granting him access. Though he'll never admit it, and neither will the unconscious woman over a shoulder, he got lost looking for his new home, and had to backtrack. Not a very 'hero' thing to do, but even heroes get lost. Shuffling warily around the agitated lycaness, the man deposits his student gently onto an empty cot, taking care not to jolt or shake her unnecessarily. No good causing further damage until one can figure out what's already wrong. With the defiant avian out cold, it was rather easy to assess. Despite the unknown number of bruises, cuts, and injuries he had personally inflicted upon his student, those not preoccupied with their leader in absentia's tirade would see gentle hands toying with the freshly healed eye, turning her head this way and that to check for trauma, and overall checking to make sure all the parts move as they should. His inspection yields good results. "Just a knockout. Heh. The one I help is the one who needed it the least. Way to go, old man...A headache is her worst concern." He dusts himself off as he rises, casting another wary glance to the lycan. "Keturah, on the other hand..." It is likely he'll be doing a lot of work to hold her down while the nurses treat her wounds. He jerks his neck to the side, sending a flurry of popping noises into the air. "Sit down, Keturah. Your rage can be used later. Being fussy in front of a student is a surefire way of discouraging them!" Booted heels plod across the room to stand near Keturah, hands ready to restrain an errant swing or attempt to flee. Sometimes those who need the most work want it the least.

Keturah could hardly keep such an angry face when confronted by the avian beekeeper. It was impossible, so impossible, in fact, that the druid's shoulders began to relax and her head tilted slightly. Though her hand did not move away from the hole being eaten into her cheek and that tensed expression of pain was still strung upon her features, something within the druid's eyes softened. "Healer first, Neema." Speech was going to become quite quipped until the burn wound near her mouth was healed; it simply hurt too much to keep talking. Allowing herself to be led to the cot, the desert-born looked over the avian in quiet assessment. "You.. would be well. Good lesson, no?" With a nod of her dark head, the druidess allowed her arms to move outward so that the healer might have done her work better. Despite- Kail was shot a dangerous glance once she realized he had entered-, someone's belief that she was set to be the misbehaving patient, Keturah was quite willing to do just the opposite. Pain running through her, and across her nerves, the lycaness relented, and lowered herself to lay upon the bed. "I am angry." She stated, matter-of-factly, as well as obviously. "I would be calm. Fret not." Slowly, her gaze flickered to Rilla, and with healer's eyes, the druidess did a quick look-over. She did not seem hurt so terribly, and the lycaness assumed at least that if she was, Kail would be doting rather than standing alongside her, and willing to hold her down. Shrugging inwardly, the brunette turned her eyes back upon Neema. Who knew with Kail? "I am ready."

Neema 's jaw just about hit the floor when the male entered with a woman slung over his back. Was that a corpse? It better not be a corpse. Those smell really bad. She began to fidget uncomfortably, almost shoving one of her hands in front of her face to gnaw at already jagged fingernails…. Phew. Knocked out. Just knocked out. The avian produced a small version of her usual, giant goofy smile, made a little nod, then turned her attention back toward Keturah. Whatever had happened had to be all kinds of awful. Never before had Neema thought of, heard, or even seen for that matter, Keturah angry. Well, first things first. Assess the damage. That didn't take long. Burns. Simple, yeah? Wrong. Neema had never seen, much less heard of, an acid burn before. This was going to be a bit on the difficult side for her. After a moment of hesitation, she called forth her healing magic, causing one long-fingered hand to be illuminated with a buzzing, crackly pale blue light. She looked over the druidess with a troubled frown. Where to start? "Um..Face first, Keturah?" She didn't wait for an answer, for fear that whatever was burning her might get too serious for her to manage on her own. Illuminated hand hovered over Ketu's cheek and mouth, blue light flowing from glowing digits to reach out like thin tentacles toward the wound. Dull colored eyes shut while the little light threads poked and prodded, getting a general feel of what the avian was dealing with before beginning the healing process. Stopping the burn from eating any more flesh came first. A pair of the little threads expanded, creating a wall of sorts to guard from that and ultimately bring it to a complete halt, the others went to speed up the body's natural process of repairing burned tissue and all that. It was very slow and tedious, but once finished, Neema moved to repeat the same process with the nearest wounds she could see.

Kail sits on a cot, watching the healer in action. Magical healing. Quite a feat. His mind wanders to the bag of herbs he had carried from Frostmaw, now rotting along the dirt road where he had found the pair. He snaps back to the present, for fear of dwelling on the fact that he will now have to hike back to Frostmaw for more. Eyes land on Keturah, the sharpness dulling quickly, the longer she remains docile for her student. He absently smiles, but forces himself to keep a straight face, since he knows what his smile does to Keturah. Time to start patching things up. “I’m…not sure what happened tonight, but it looked like things were well under control long before I arrived. Thank you for saving Rilla. I’m sorry that you had to take such injuries to do so, though. I should have been there.” His eyes hint at the concern in his mind. “Might I hear what transpired fully? I doubt this will be the last Preklek sabotage attempt, and I’d like to know what we’re up against before removing their scales one by one for this act of darkness.” Though it can’t be seen, the simmering rage in Kail’s chest has invoked sizable wrath, coupled with guilt. In one fell swoop, two of his students had been placed in mortal danger, and he was delivering herbs while it had occurred. There will be retribution. These emotions are masked by a different one, however. “I’d like to apologize for some of the things that have happened since our meeting in Cenril. I said a lot of things that were less than kind, and, in the process, made an a…” He looks to the healer. Censor. “I made myself look callous and unfeeling. I’ll be working to atone for that, as time goes on.” Azure eyes return to the lycaness. “I’m sorry.”

Keturah played the part of patient well, though there was no denying her slight fidgeting. There was a part of her that wanted to help with the healing, but she most certainly could not. Another impossibility. A ghost of a smile graced the druid's burned lips. The larger part of her believed Neema was capable of the healing on her own anyway. Tensing, then relaxing under the magic balm that spread across her wounds, the desert-born closed her eyes. Dark brows remained furrowed with the thoughts that roiled behind them. Was it a Prek attack then? If she'd walked across the scene sooner, perhaps more would have been revealed. The image of the Prek she had seen leaning over Rilla had brought with it its own series of questions.. and no answers. It was possible the male spoke truth when he mentioned he was only healing her, and that the acid had burned him as well.. Eyes opened to reveal a return of moss-green color beneath her sooty lashes, and moved toward Kail. With the wound on her face healed, it was easier then to part her lips to speak, still.. his continuing words made her hesitate, and with a wrinkle of her nose, the lycaness' stare narrowed on him. Her temper bubbled, if only briefly, beneath Neema's work. Oh, if he did not burn her nearly as terribly as the acid! Riling her one day with words so unfair and horrible, and the next apologizing for them. Hesitantly she shifted, moving to a seated position rather than her laying one; though she so hated to move whilst Neema was working. "Sorry.. you are doing very well, Miss Neema.. I feel better." Was the melodic murmur that drifted toward the avian before the druid regarded Kail again. "Forgiven then." The words tasted like vinegar, which hardly made her feel as though they were.. real. "Teacher once said.. you can shoot an arrow into a tree.. and take back the arrow. But the hole, you could not take back. Just. I would forgive, just." Her head tilted, gaze lowering to her lap. "..I suppose we would have to wait for Miss Rilla to wake before discerning what happened."

Neema felt somewhat out of the loop while the woman she healed and the man nearby spoke. She kept their conversation tuned out by both ears, however, not wanting to be an eavesdropper or appear to be someone nosey. Instead, the avian continued her work, only pausing for a brief moment while Keturah shifted her position on the cot. During that pause, her hand that wasn't illuminated with healing magic moved to her head, readjusting the enormous purple hat that balanced precariously upon it. The avian grinned. "It's alright!" Was her cheery reply, "I'm glad you're feeling better." She resumed working, healing every visible injury she could get to, but the magic was slowing down to the point where it took half as long to heal an area smaller than the first burn on Keturah's cheek. She pressed on, however, only coming to a final stop once she was certain she had done all that she could. The thin tendrils of blue, healing light twisted and writhed their way back to Neema's glowing palm, then all of the light fizzled out with a tiny pop. From there the avian stood up straight, and flashed her usual tired, goofy grin. "There you go, Keturah! All better! Is there anything else I can do for you?" Her head turned, peeking over a winged shoulder at Kail and the knocked out woman, "Or you two?"

Wolfram looks up at the avian, flashes his 'everything's fine' smile, and pats his chest. "I'm alright. I arrived to the dance late, and didn't drink the punch." He hooks a thumb to Rilla. "She's unconscious, but her major injuries had already been taken care of before I arrived. She just needs rest." The smile fades as quickly as it appeared as eyes shift back to the druidess. "I know that the hole will remain. I cannot undo the past, but I can ensure that I do not make another blemish in the tree. I'll be working to earn that trust again. Promise." He stands up again, looking, very briefly, like the old man his age implies him to be. Then he straightens, returns to Rilla's bedside, checks her temperature, then elevates her feet to get more blood flowing where it needs to. He looks back to the avian healer. "Neema, right? I'm Kail. I can be a bit rough at times, but I try to be nice as much as possible." Again, that smile erupts. It's hard for him to stifle it when he meets new people, after doing it for so long. With fluid motions that prove his ability, the man pulls a flask off his belt, unscrews the cap, and pours a small amount of cool water on the unconscious girl's head while his free hand gropes for a towel to dampen. Found one! Quietly, he dabs at her forehead, waiting quietly until he can figure out what happened. After that...it's hunting time

Rilla:: Darkness had always been so heavy, that was her first thought as Rilla started to come to. Mostly, the darkness was still pressing on her, forcing her to be still as it crushed her. It was her head that was hurting. It was like a massive weight was there, but her arms were bound to her side so she couldn’t move to lift it. Somewhere she registered that someone was lifting her feet, she felt the cool water as it dabbed on her forehead, but still she couldn’t seem to open her eyes and banish the darkness that found it’s way into her not-so-empty head. With quite a lot of effort, the fingers of her left hand twitched, then her arm as it found its way to that stone she wore around her neck- her soul stone. For whatever reason the fact that it was still there was important. Rose lips parted, a soft groan passing them as she shrunk back from the light she predicted, her eyes shutting tighter. They hurt quite a lot, actually. The smells around her were unfamiliar, strange and that her the more curious side of her aching brain forcing her eyes open. It didn’t help one bit, through those red, bloodshot eyes it was obvious that Rilla couldn’t see a thing. The expression on her face was terror for a moment before it was stifled back and she gave in to a quiet whimper. Trembles shook her body like she was furious, or devastated. For all she knew she had just shown weakness to the man she had just met. The one who had attacked her with gas. Once more those eyes closed and she looked away from where she suspected he was, turning her head quietly, resigned and calm once more outwardly, though the speed of her breathing suggested panic. Who wouldn’t be panicked after waking up and not being able to see a damned thing? It was only logical, and then there was the terror of the complete unknown added onto it. Even Rilla had a breaking point.

Rhoswen made her way through the compound, her pale blue eyes scanning her surroundings as she moved toward the clinic. The half breed stopped in the doorway to the medical ward, looking at the others present. The avian known to her as Neema, near to her the human turned lycan Keturah, at another cot was a man she vaguely recognized from having met him once or twice, and another avian unknown to her. The unknown winged female was stirring, and seemed quite disturbed by something, though the half elf could not tell from this distance what it might be. She stepped in closer, between the two cots, and cleared her throat to make her presence known before speaking, "Is there anything I might do?" She inquired softly, knowing full well that she was likely too late to be of any service. She felt guilty about it too. While her clan-mates had been suffering, she had been trying to sleep, and having some difficulty in the attempt. But she was here now, and ready to serve her purpose. The woman looked from face to face, taking in the expressions on each, but mostly the fear and anxiety on the unknown avian's features. She nibbled her lower lip, so this was what came from war...the injuries, the trauma both mental and physical, was she ready to endure this to face the preklek that haunted her waking nightmares? With a soft sigh she closed her pale orbs.

Keturah looked over her arms as Neema pulled away, the digits of her left hand even tentatively lifting to brush against her cheek. Aside from the single line of pink scar tissue below her eye, not a single mark remained from the Prek's acidic bomb. The skin of her arms, though red and flushed from the healing, had been treated of the burns. Shamefully then, she was aware of their bareness, and swallowing back her embarrassment, the lycaness swung her legs 'round so that her feet dangled just above the clinic floor. Neema was granted a thankful look and a warm smile. "Brilliant, Neema~! You are a wonderful healer, indeed. I am utmostly thankful!" The cheerfulness of the praise was only slightly dimmed as the druidess turned her face toward Kail, a single-shouldered shrug given in response to his statement. "Chal.. Kail.." Eyes followed him as he moved toward Neema, the druid's expression thoughtful. "You are angry.. We know naught yet who is responsible.." She paused, moving to slip from the cot. "Be a good child and behave until we have gathered more information, no?" It was the closest thing to an order the druidess could think to give, at least. In between sliding from the bed to the floor, Neema was given a brief hug of thanks, and move on to the redhead's bed. Yet unknowing that Rilla stirred, the druidess would even give pause, her attention turning to the clinic door before it had opened to reveal Rhoswen. "I do want to talk to you,~" she lilted softly, an attempt at a warm smile restless upon her lips. "About that one."

Neema was a little bit surprised that a complete stranger knew her name, but it had happened before. Kail was given a nod of her hat-covered head, the movement being more than enough for the oversized brim of her hat to slip down to her nose, temporarily blocking her vision. A common occurrence. After fixing it so it went back to resting properly atop her head, Neema flashed yet another of her big, goofy smiles. Any more of those and her face might start to hurt. "Yep, that would be me." Her tone had gone from troubled and concerned over Keturah, back to its normal cheery one. "Nice to meet you, Kail." Her eyes travelled over to the unconscious woman who appeared to be stirring, and that cheery smile faded right back to a worried frown. "I hope she's alright," the avian muttered, then found her attention jumping to another, familiar face. Rhoswen. It had been a long time since she'd seen that one. Big smile reemerged yet again. "Hey there, Rhoswen," the avian greets, then jerks her head back toward Keturah. She was beginning to look like a bobble head doll, and probably felt like one too. The smile remained on her thin lips, especially after the druidess praised her improving healing abilities. "I wouldn't have gotten any better without you, Keturah! You're very welcome." From there, without much else to say she fell silent, and went to fidgeting. Not out of nervousness or anything, just fidgeting. The odd woman never could keep still.

Wolfram watches the girl panic quietly, watching her eyes, where she could rarely hide her emotions. Bloodshot. Temporary. Good. Without a second thought to the fact that his former student might retaliate out of reflex, he grabs hold of her hand and starts talking quietly. "It's OK, Ril. You're in a clinic. I'm right here." His free hand continues to dab at her head, though the damp towel is likely no longer cool water. "Your eyes will be good soon. Calm...calm. Just breathe." Of all the people in the room, it's generally understood that Kail is the best candidate for calming the girl down. He had spent years earning her trust, while sharpening her skill. He treated her as a daughter he could never have, and it showed every time he knew she needed help. Contrary to his stoic attitude, in these moments, his emotions are defined by his every move and expression. The mixture of rage, love, and concern plays a deeply furrowed brow and unflinching scowl, but his voice remains soft and caring. Keturah's orders, condescending as they are, are acknowledged with a nod. Find out which lizards lose their scales one at a time, report, then commence the removal. If the orders were meant to be clearer, they may have to be made clearer than calling a man, consumed by wrath, a 'child.' A sheer force of will turns the man's attention to the newcomer. "Whatever toxin knocked her out left her blinded. Can you do anything for her, miss...um." He had no idea who she was. "Sorry. Hi, I'm Kail." No smile. He continues patting Rilla on the shoulder and holding her hand.

Rilla couldn’t quite deny how relaxing Kail’s presence was in such a situation. He’d never steered her wrong before, and honestly, she probably trusted him more than anyone else she’d ever met. Fighting to do as he was asking her, she began to slow her own breathing, squeezing his fingers ever so slightly. “Kail.” She breathed, a sort of desperation in that velvet voice. No matter how much she wanted that black to lift, it wasn’t going to just yet. She was blind, making it near impossible to do much of anything useful. Rilla found herself lying there, mostly silent. Her head ached, and her eyes were sore but it was the blackness that bothered her most. Normally life just moved on after someone managed to knock her unconscious. Usually, she had some sort of a chance to protect herself. Gas was a dirty move. He was going to pay for that, not physically, but rather she would play his own game, and find the information they all so desperately needed. Determination marked the curve of her mouth in a way that likely only Kail would recognize as being such. It was that almost sad smile that caught just the bottom lip and changed the set of her jaw. It was with that expression that she turned her head back, facing straight up to the ceiling as she thought and tried to ignore what people would say about her. And surely they would talk about how the new recruit was blinded by “the enemy”. People always talked. “Kail, I can’t see a thing.” There it was again, weakness, expressed in little more than a breath meant only for the man’s ears. He was the only one that she really knew from what she had heard, and, of course the only one that had actually seen weakness in her aside from this moment.

Rhoswen turned her attention first to Keturah, who had spotted her before she even made her presence known, "Yes." Was the simple reply given to the little druid. She would speak with the other when the time allowed, about that nightmarish creature that caused her such restless nights. Pale hues then shifted to avian which she knew, "Hello, Neema. I hope you fare well..." She was tired, and it showed in her soft, weary tones. Hearing the male speak she shifted pallid gaze to him, "I am Rhoswen, it is a pleasure to meet you, Kail." She bit her lip at his question. The woman's eyes were damaged, and that was something beyond the half elf's knowledge and experience, "I do not think I will be of much use." She sighed softly, sadly. Even in the healing realm she was useless. Her eyes landed with some sympathy upon the blinded avian, how she wished she could be of service, "I am sorry..."

Keturah 's attention was drawn toward the movement from the cot near her. Though she had no velvet ears to twitch toward sounds, the deceptively round human ears heard just as well as the wolf's. Rilla was awake. Lips thinned to grim line, her hand lifting to cover her ear from whatever words were spoken between the two. Inked fingers curved around the lobe, her eyes centred on the snowy-haired Halfling before her. "Miss Rhoswen.." Thoughtfully, Keturah bit into her bottom lip, turning on her heel to face the avian and the human. "She must be tired.. I do think we might all be in need of rest.. and so.. we would debrief another time, no?" Healing her.. The slight canine dug into her bottom lip, moss-green gaze shifting toward Neema. The beekeeper must have been tired as well, after such a healing. "If you need to, Neema.. call another of our healers to the clinic. Do not stay up if you are weary, chal?" Smiling faintly, the druidess sketched a quick bow toward Kail and Rilla, before Neema was offered a waggly-wave of her fingers. She moved slowly, closing the distance between herself and Rhoswen. "If you are well enough, Miss Rose.. I would like to speak with you." Ushering the Halfling from the clinic, the two quietly disappeared from the room to discuss a particular Prek.

Keturah made a rather frantic appearance, regaining her composure only paces before she came through the doorway to the clinic. "And Kail-" A shock of ebony curls appeared around the doorway, moss-green gaze seeking the male's frame. "Orders.. are to stand down, no? No hunting anyone out until Djarun and I have been debriefed, chal?" Keturah will also spend the night in the clinic.. for sleepover time. You know. >> Once she and Rhoswen are done talking.. << Certain people shouldn't make her player nervous.

Neema continued her usual fidgeting, idle fidgeting with the oversized brim of her favorite cranium accessory. She was beginning to feel tired and drained from healing Keturah's wounds, and would probably take a nap on the very same cot she had hidden her origami toys under. Them and Mister Fuzzles too, since she crammed him beneath the cot and floor as well. Poor little guy, he was probably squished. For the briefest moments, the avian frowned at the thought of her squished sock puppet, and almost went to retrieve him. Now wasn't the proper time for such things, however, so before she even began to lift a foot from the floor, the avian made herself stop. She made another little grin and wave as the half elf and druidess made their exit, then turned toward Kail and the blinded avian. With waddling steps she approached, hat-covered head canting off to the side just enough so her hat wouldn't tip over. She didn't know a thing about healing blindness, and knowing that she wouldn't be able to provide assistance was more than enough to make Neema's smile, for what had to be the tenth time, fade back into a frown. She watched the pair for a moment, chewing on her bottom lip, then sighed. "I don't think I can do anything for your friend, Kail..Perhaps another healer? There are others wandering about." Without waiting for a response, she turned around and waddled off to disappear behind one of the screens that separated patient's cots. A few moments later, and Neema returned, pulling a half asleep woman by the arm toward Rilla and Kail. The woman, clearly another healer that Neema spoke of, yawned, and after a few shakes of her shoulders by the avian she appeared to be wide awake, but clearly annoyed. With a little chuckle, Neema spoke. "This is.." Then she paused, forgetting the healer's name, which caused the healer to roll her eyes. She continues, "This nice lady will make her good as new!" Both she and the rudely awakened healer jumped a bit with surprise at the sudden reappearance of Keturah, but each waved, and then Neema took a half step back so the far more experienced healer could see what could be done to repair Rilla's lost vision.

Keturah said to Neema, "Rhoswen and I will be talking a little longer, Neema~." Her eyes wandered toward the woman, to whom the brunette offered a nod. "See that she's comfortable.." Neema was offered a second waggly-fingered wave, along with a grin from the druidess, "Goodnight, Miss Neema.~"

Wolfram lets go of the girl's hand and pulls a cot up next to hers. A look, then a nod signifies that he knows his orders, even if he would not leave the girl's side until she could see. The comical display in front of him, nice as it is, does not fill the man with much confidence. His frown breaks into his usual smile, in hopes of alleviating the situation. "I appreciate your concern, both of you, but all Rilla needs is rest tonight. You two get some rest. Our illustrious leader and I will be here with her, and by morning, you two will be wide awake and happy as ever." His charm is just enough to get the other nurse to return to her previous spot. Kail nods. "Good night, Neema. It is a pleasure to have met you." Without another word, the simple human sits and reclines on his cot, patting the girl one last time, as if to say 'I'm not going anywhere' before closing his eyes. Once those eyes can see again, the wolf will begin stalking his prey...even if he isn't allowed to sink his teeth in just yet. The Preklek have not yet seen, nor will they forget the rising flames of an angry wolf.