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A Weird Thing ... Chapter One: Fair of the Fog that Fit Me.

All right, folks, gather 'round and let me paint you a picture you probably won't remember painting yourselves. That familiar, metallic tang in your throat -- the kind that only a bath and a good swig of strong coffee can't dull -- that's your first clue things went sideways last night. Your thoughts, bless 'em, are trying to to warn you it's time to wake up. But, frankly, it's being a total bard about it.

So, you crack open those eyelids, letting in a horrifying amount of sunlight that feels like a thousand angry bees stinging your eyeballs. Not cool, sun. Now, where in the Abyss are we?

That's the real question.


May 3, 2024, 8:30 p.m.

Hosted By


GM'd By



Ciaphas Avita



Outside Arx - Eastern Approach - Gray Forest Outskirts

Largesse Level


Comments and Log

Avita checks stamina at normal. Avita fails.

Ciaphas checks stamina at normal. Ciaphas is successful.

Ciaphas' comes to his senses faster and seems clearer-minded. Avita's -- saying that she is nursing a headache is an understatement.

Nothing that a little bit more of the fair of the fog that fit her can't cure --

wait. That's not how it goes.

They are in a clearing. Nowhere close to where the Maudlin Manatee. Sunlight filters through a canopy of skeleton branches, dappling the forest floor in a mosaic of light and shadow. The air is thick with the scent of thawing snow and decaying leaves, and there are cries of unseen birds. The forest feels unfamiliar, and as the Seraceni pair slowly focus -- they realize that not only are they in a forest, they are NOT ALONE.

Ciaphas checks perception and survival at normal. Ciaphas is successful.

Avita checks wits at hard. Avita is successful.

To say that Ciaphas awakens gracefully would be a lie, as it's with an agitated snort of breath that he rouses himself, a low throaty grunt escaping as eyes that feel like they've been held open against the fierce sandstorms of Eurus. That begs the question if he's actually in Eurus, which he thinks he might actually be in for the first minute or two of consciousness until he takes another deep breath.

No, this isn't Eurus. There is dirt beneath him, there's thawing snow, and the echoing cries of birds. A forest is already enough of an indicator as he begins to rouse himself up and on to one knee, a motion that makes his stomach decidedly more uncomfortable than it already is; but that begins to sober up as he begins to realize that he hasn't picked a lovely spot to pass out with his wife, but he can't remember getting here either. Or why Avita would have even considered coming with him.

The tickle of overindulgence bubbles away, heads can turn left - right - and center -- even overhead. That's when they both notice there's an unconscious body in a net overhead, hanging from the sturdy boughs of a tree. That body belongs to a shaggy shav'arvani that is knocked out and snoring, with a goose egg bruise on one side of their head. There's a banded chest. Closed, perhaps locked. And it's *tapping.* There's a broken wagon -- a broken barrel of Cardian wine, and that's it. There are horse tracks leading right -- and footsteps leading left. There is also zero sign of Viviana Whisper.

There's a squint of Avita's eyes as she sits herself upright, cast toward the sun as though in accusation.
How could you betray your own image?
She simply lies there, eyes closing, soggy, leaves clinging to the back of her body as any red-blooded individual with a pulse would if given half the chance. At first, it would be simple to think she was dead.
The world is not that kind.
She takes in a slow breath through her nose, blissfully cold, soothing her spinning head and heaving stomach, a quiet smack of her lips, a quick dart of her tongue to wet parched lips before she dares open her eyes again.
She finds herself staring at that shaggy Shav, her lips pursing as her brain winds itself up to a point that it might actually figure out what's going on. There's a slow release of the breath she took in, fighting back the impossible urge to vomit her suffering all over the already moist ground.
"... What ..." Nearly, Avita.
"... is that infernal -tapping-?" She asks of no one in particular.
She still does not sit up.

There are a couple of items scattered around in the melting slush and leaf detritus -- the glimmer of something metallic.

Perhaps the weight of a pocket feels differently.

Best to start looking around and taking stock.

Tap, tap, tap.

Ciaphas was dragging himself - considering the sound of his feet through decaying leaves being an indicator of the amount of liveliness in the Eurusi man - until he finally sets eyes on Avita, and there's a deep sigh of relief that escapes his form, shoulders rising and falling in that deep breath that escapes from him.

He hasn't noticed the tapping yet. Probably because the sound of his own heartbeat is enough to make him not want to concentrate or think about anything, which is why he just dumbly stands tehre until Avita asks a question, and he gives a low 'Nnhuh?' in a form of response.

Good job, Ciaphas.

His gaze becomes more fixed and pointed, and he blinks hard as he looks down at the unconscious Shav, and then there's a brief moment of clarity as Ciaphas remembers that there was a question asked. He grunts in response, lips pushed together as he tries to get some form of moisture on his tongue. "I'm looking, my Dove." Ah, even with a hangover.

He shuffles over the unconscious Shav, heading towards the banded chest.

"Alright! Alright!" His voice sounds too haggard to be reassuring, more just a decleration that someone has heard the tapping, as he goes to try and haul the chest over towards Avita.

If it was treasure, she'd be upset if he opened it outside of her line of sight. He has priorities.

The chest stops tapping when it's moved. Once it comes to a stop again, it starts to make more noises - thump, thump, thump.

The shav doesn't care about being noticed -- they are sleepin'.

For her part, Avita couldn't care less about what Ciaphas is doing.
"... Good." She provides, the pinnacle in witty reparte.
She slowly rolls onto her side, one hand slapping wetly down against the earth below her, clawed fingers splaying as she hesitates in this position a moment. Finally, she pushes herself up, and slinks to her feet in a way that is far too artful for her hung over state.
Maybe she's born with it.
Maybe it's ...
She's far too groggy for this.
Her head turns about, clearly looking for something as Ciaphas handles the investigation into the unforgivable tapping.
"... Vivi, darling?" She questions, head tilting to one side, scanning the nearby woods, and then to the other to do the same.
"Come now, my dearest V, you cannot bring me out on the town only to abandon me on the forest floor." She insists of the silence. "It's improper."
Some people don't care about etiquette.
Her head finally turns to witness Ciaphas and the box that could be a treasure, distracted only momentarily by that glint of something, before letting her gaze slink back like twin suns on distant horizon.
"... Can you not do this any faster? I'm beginning to remember why I don't bring you anywhere."

"For you, my Queen, I will aspire to greater heights."

You'd think he'd be saying that sarcastically, if it weren't for the fact that he hauls the chest up a bit and begins to walk with it rather than try to drag it, resulting in him gathering a better pace than the slow limping drag that was occurring previously, until he then has to set the chest down.

It isn't an entirely gentle affair, as those last few inches between the banded chest and ground are closed in freefall as the Eurusi man drops the chest a few feet before Avita, before he then takes a knee as he begins to fiddle with it to get it unlocked.

If it even can, that is.

Viviana checks stamina at hard. Viviana is successful.

The chest -- or the contents -- make a VERY disgruntled noise.

Avita checks perception at normal. Avita fails.

"See that you do." Avita offers, supportively.
She stands there, draped in scarves, casually shining like daybreak for all the gold and gems that adorn her, an expression worn that is about as kind as one might imagine of a hungover sun. Her brows crease and furrow as the chest makes a disgruntled noise, arms crossing over her chest as she observes like a Civil Engineering Supervisor.
"I think there might be someone inside." She mentions, though doesn't seem particularly fussed about the discomfort he must be feeling.
Her eyes again scan over the area, jaw working, muscles screaming, head weeping behind the auric veil of her eyes. The problem is, however, that the world seems to be ... moving... around her.
The act of searching the area, simply the idea of it sets her to salivating in preparation for the unnerving amount of wine waiting to be expelled.

Ciaphas checks strength at normal. Ciaphas marginally fails.

Ciaphas doesn't think as clearly as Avita.

One might question if he's thinking much at all considering he knows someone is inside there and trying to not get bashed around too much, but then again nobody ever said that Ciaphas was a man built of incredible intelligence.

Especially not with a hangover like this. That simply doesn't work. There's a moment of consideration, before he then hauls up a rock and smashes it into the lock -- but he instead manages to just knock the chest around a bit harder for a moment as he begins just bashing at the lock.

The contents of the chest start hitting back. On their end -- to no avail. There's angry cursing in Arvani, but Lyceum-flavored, and muffled through the wood.

Ciaphas checks strength at normal. Ciaphas is successful.

Wood cracks and splinters around the a now broken iron lock. The chest can be opened. It finally allows the slender acrobat that was folded inside to take in a breath, "FINALLY. I thought we had a deal --" she starts to say.

Only no one remembers a deal, do they?

Ciaphas simply hovers there, holding a rock.

It's hard to tell if Ciaphas actually remembers anyone or anything other than Avita, sometimes, and it becomes uncomfortably apparent that specific rumour may be more true than might be comfortable, as he shifts his grip a bit before he then gives a bleary blink.

That's right. He remembers now.

Wait. No, no he doesn't. That becomes visible by the way Ciaphas' expression begins to fail, turning into a slow frown as he begins to stare down towards the acrobat folded up in the chest.

"Darling giver of Light, did you have a deal?"

Avita checks composure at normal. Avita is successful.

The sigh Avita sighs.
Blankly, she watches her husband try to caveman the lock open, upper lip curling in distaste until Viviana pops free like some deeply violent jack in the box.
Nostrils flare faintly, eyebrows raise by minute fractions, but her stoic mask does not break.
"You will have to be more specific." She begins, clawed hand lifting to cradle the side of her head, her shoulders rolling back in a rigid bit of a shrug. "I -always- have a deal."
Her gaze softens only slightly as she redirects her attentions to Viviana, the corners of her mouth quirking in the most subtle of smiles, a preening posture taken as she takes a few easy steps that way. "So good of you to join us, darling, I was starting to worry that I should have to suffer his boorish company in solitude."
Come on, man.
He's right there.
"Now, what amazement have I brokered again? It's so difficult to keep track. You know, I do so many incredible things..."

The acrobat -- cap of dark hair, tan and slender -- cocks one hip, plants a calloused hand on it and stares. Only some vague resemblance in that the woman must be from the Saffron. Glancing from Ciaphas (the one who freed her) to Avita (the only that must be in charge, clearly) and she HUFFS. "Gale." Flatly. Allowing the name to sink in. "Whirlwind. Of the famous Whirling Winds from Tor," with an elaborate gesture, allowing for a longer pause. "You were going to help me with my brother. In Frontier -- er, town. Fontiertown."

Avita pauses in her step as she gets a better look.
"... You're not Viviana."
She doesn't sound pleased.
As the story is told, her expression slinks further into the displeased catagory.
"... That doesn't sound as something I would agree to."
You mean, helping someone?

There's a few expressions that come over Ciaphas features, a mixture of relief, annoyance, irritation and frustration. It's a common expression that eventually forms, when you've seen enough people with a hangover. It's irritation about having to think and consider things -- which is why he's relieved when Avita begins conversing with the woman named Gale.

He rises and steps back, but doesn't seem to want to put his rock down at all yet -- he seems to have grown attached to it, as he shifts his grip around the rock, keeping it hefted in one hand as he stares off towards Avita, causing him to smile for a moment before it drops as he looks back towards Gale.

"Who? What? Where? What backwater did we end up in?" He states these in a list, before he then looks back towards Avita with a pained expression.

He's like a puppy, almost. "Perhaps they offered you something valuable, my blossoming Dawn?"

Avita's canny. She knows when someone's lying. This young woman is. Ciaphas is intimidating and the acrobat toes a booted foot on the ground. Gale starts "-- you really don't remember? Well, you aren't bound by any kind of LAW to HELP me other than from the kindness of your HEARTS, but -- if you at least accompany me to the next town I'll manage the rest on my own. It's why you agreed to sneak me in a chest." With a sniff. Trying to elicit guilt. Badly. Avoiding. With a chin-up toward the shav'arvani in the net -- passed out and still hanging out. "He gave us trouble." Clipped. "It's why I set up the trap. I have a ring I can trade you for it. For the time and the company on the road."

Avita checks perception and empathy at normal. Avita is successful.

Avita, for her part, doesn't look confused so much as she looks disappointed.
She's not mad, guys.
Just disappointed.
"Wheresoever we have found ourselves, it finds itself bettered for my resplendent presence." Avita informs the world, and for a moment, it actually seems to agree. In those scant seconds, the breeze feels a little warmer, and the trees whisper instead of groan at their presence.
This, of course, passes as Gale begins to lie.
It's not that she's lied that annoys the wrathful sun.
It's that she has the TEMERITY to do it /badly/.
She sneers as the story goes on, a look of revulsion edging onto her features at the sniffling.
Avita has about as much pity as she does patience.
"If you would like to play this game with me, darling, you're going to have to learn the rules well enough to bend them in such a way that I will not notice." Her chin tilts upward, the hangover still making her queasy. "And so, I would suggest one simple thing, my dear, beyond the suggestion that you heed my words."
She looks from Gale to the person in the net and then back again, "If you wish to survive this auspicious encounter, keep your sad little lies to yourself or I will introduce a truth to you so dire that you will lament of the days before you knew what thirst truly is."

Viviana checks composure at hard. Viviana marginally fails.

He recognizes that look, Ciaphas does. The look that he sometimes gets. This time, however, it isn't aimed at him, and it's aimed more towards the one that's scuffing a foot on the ground, and Ciaphas gritty eyes shut and open before he takes in a slow, deep breath. He holds it, then lets it out as long exhale as he rolls the rock around in his palm.

It isn't a threatning gesture, as he's content to let Avita do all the talking; it's apparent that the man is simply ensuring that he has the proper grip on his weapon, so that he can swing it in a firm enough grip that he doesn't have to worry about it slipping out of his hand.

Gale cracks like a leaking clay jug of water. "-- you PROMISED me that you'd help me steal back the --" she shuts up, pieces of the act starting to drop like autumn leaves. "-- we met at that rundown bar after he --" with a gesture toward Ciaphas "-- kicked the asses of all those noodle-armed so-and-sos that hit like they're in a slumber party for unicorns. Then, he -- " with a gesture toward the shav'arvani in the tree "-- came in and started crying about needing to find his own destiny away from his clan. I don't know, real HERO stuff." A beat. "-- my brother was supposed to me in Frontiertown. We were going to steal a liar. Supposed to be MAGIC."

Avita's the only magic liar around here, thank you very much.
She simply watches through those vivid eyes as the story continues on, as things start and stop the way they might when one not versed in the oratory arts is called upon to tell a tale.
She vaguely recalls the fight.
She remembers how Burdock soared like a mighty seagull, at least.
She remembers Barb, and her misguided aid.
Her head tilts just far enough that she can look to the man in the net again, and then back down to Gale. "First things first," She issues in soft tones, "I do not make promises, and so I do believe you are misinformed. My colleagues, perhaps..." She at least grants Gale that, glancing toward Ciaphas briefly, and looking back again.
"... that said, a magic ... liar, was it?" She considers this a moment.
"... I suppose I am curious enough about the story to entertain it, for now."

When she states that she feels like she's curious, one can see the way Ciaphas' frame begins to relax.

It's made more apparent by the loud *thud* of the rock that comes dropping out of his hand, landing on the ground, and then Ciaphas' head lifts up and around to look towards the Shav'arvani in the tree, before he then looks back towards Avita, and when she asks the question about the liar, that appears to satisfy Ciaphas that it's not about to errupt into violence, wherein he then begins to scrounge around the area; looking for anything that might be useful to drag with them on this trip to wherever they plan on going.

"Yeh," again -- short and sweet, clipped. Streetwise talk. "Magic liar," Gale repeats with a sniff. "MAGIC. Just -- uh," She gestures toward her abdomen with a hand. A sort-of strumming gesture. Or a cranking gesture. Or -- no, neither. She's stretching. She has been cramped in a chest for (who knows) a while. While she does, Ciaphas starts to hunt -- and he finds a silver key (for the now open chest) a pair of spidersilk gloves (or imitation), a Dogwood signet ring, aaaaand a beard. Someone's badly assembled disguise. Literally a beard on a string.

Avita checks intellect and empathy at hard. Botch! Avita fails completely.

Avita watches as Ciaphas finds various odds and sods, including a grotesquely poor disguise, her lips tugging down into a frown.
This frown, on such a lovely face, seems a tragedy unmatched since the last she performed upon the grand stages of Ischia.
"... should any ever step upon my stage wearing such a pitiful attempt at costuming..." She murmurs, yet somehow her voice is still clear -- still it carries, as though the breeze itself ushered them on.
Her attentions return to Gale only to watch her strum, crank, stretch.
She doesn't get it.
In fact, her expression changes, the skin above her nose crinkling as she takes a sly step or two back from Gale.
"If you don't mind, darling, I think you might be, as they say at the docks ... "hoachin'"..." With what, she does not say.
In short, Avita now believes that the strumming was, in fact, scratching and that this poor peasant with a story to tell is infested with some manner of vermin.
"Ciaphas." She decides, "Retrieve the moonslave from his rope-bound prison. I've a feeling he might be of use."
Not ominous at all.

The way Ciaphas' head snaps around at the sound of Avita saying his name isn't healthy at all. You could almost hear the crack-pop as he swings it around with such vehement force that turns into a smile as he's given something to do; while he's already toying with the beard on a string. These items, he keeps. The beard itself is tucked away into his vest for possible use at a later time, perhaps simply to torment Avita.

That sounds wonderful.

He then paces up to the tree where the Shav is tied up, and eyes it up and down for a moment before he begins to clamber up onto it, so that he might get the bound Shav down -- even if it's just undoing the knot and letting the man fall to the ground.

"No, I'm clean --" Gale insists, taking steps back when Ciaphas prepares to loose the shav'arvani from the net.

Like so much dead weight. It takes a moment or so for the messy-haired shav to come to with a groan, "STORMHAND STANDS." The Prodigal is struggling to his feet, light-headed and dizzy. When he does, he blinks through the fall of his hair at the trio -- the Seraceni, Gale. Gale, the Seraceni. He grows wan and shaky with fear, one hand lifting and pointing at the Marquessa and Marquis, "Kidnappers!"

Avita checks charm and propaganda at normal. Critical Success! Avita is inhumanly successful in a way that defies expectations.

Avita blinks once as the gentleman newly freed begins his obnoxiously loud accusations.
His fear seems terribly misplaced to the Marquessa, whom does not, in fact, recall kidnapping this unfortunate fellow.
Her lips twitch, and a soft smile is forced to her lips, a kindness afforded in her silence before she begins. "You poor dear..." She coos, turning herself to face him, stepping toward him with all the grace of a dancer taking the stage as her fingers and thumbs press and rest in the nabla she so often holds before her.
"So frightened, like a babe in the moonless night..." Her voice is a lilting thing, almost musical with the way that it drips from her lips like so much honey.
"Let me tell you a story..." Ciaphas has heard those words before.
"Once upon a time..." Like a prayer, a wish, a dream.
"There was a man, stalwart and brave ... but, far from free." Avita continues, eyes alight with the sort of joy only telling a tale can inspire in the Marquessa. "Beneath the silver tyranny of the moon, he made his way into the waiting world, knowing that he would find his way, but railing against fate's fetters as he felt them pull him in every direction but the one he might choose. He thought to himself, "Perhaps, if I run fast enough, if I flee far enough, I will learn my truth, naked and ugly as it pleases, made beautiful for the simple fact that it is /mine/.""
Her smile is such a gentle thing, the way she sways just slightly as she speaks, like the wind would make her dance just as her many scarves, joyful in the decree of the golden bells tangled therein.
"But, every night, no matter how he fought the inevitable truth of the moon, he would succumb to its bitter bonds, dragged under as though in the riptide of destinies he did not know, nor want... and in the morning," A hand lifts, one finger pointing upward as though in pause, "Only as the sun broke the oppressive twilight, his hope was renewed, and freedom -- true freedom -- seemed momentarily within his grasp."
Her hands both part then, lifting to her sides in a grand gesture, bathed in the warm light of the sun, unobstructed by leaves in this season. Her jewels glint and cast myriad patterns across her skin, the gold, seemingly molten, tracing over every licentious line of her body in resplendent crawl.
"... Do you not recognise me?" She questions, pain tainting the docility of her tone.
"... I am the Sun ..." She informs him, the weight of her attentions nearly crushing in her gravity.
"I am freedom."

There's a moment where the Shav man gets a look from Ciaphas -- it's one of those 'don't go screaming now' sorts of stares, with the sort of tiredness that comes with someone who appears to be willing to run up and beat someone if it's entirely required.

Then the sweet tones of Avita's voice come to his ears, and he feels a smile tugging at his features as he seems to get drawn in rather willingly to go with the story being told; the man quite willing to let himself be dragged away with the words and swept up in them.

The weight of her attention upon the Shav causes a small look of jealousy from the Eurusi man, but it passes by as he lets his eys draw themselves back towards Avita, and he lets out a sigh that would have poets writing about denied and forlorn love.

There's a gurgling noise, the noise of someone utterly overwhelmed before they have a chance to catch their breath. "St- stor-stormy Stormhand --" the Prodigal turns, heaves, and settles onto his heels on the ground. Looking bewildered -- as though he were waking up from a long sleep, not dizzy from a knock on the head. His eyes shine. Gale goes a little green and looks away, but she picks up one of the discarded gloves, offering it to Stormy. The Prodigal stares blankly at the glove, throwing it over his shoulder. "-- Stormy Stormhand of Clan Stormstorm. Who bent the knee to the Lycene. I am seeking my fortunes, my lady - my lord, and I intend on being *free*. There's a silver tower -- on a frontier town on the shore. One that contains a treasure. The bard --" the Prodigal swallows hard. "He challenged you to a duel. You won. He demanded a rematch and took --" the Prodigal blinks "-- the horses."

"Did he?" Avita answers with a question.
She knows nothing of Clan Stormstorm, and so she thinks it best if she just moves right on along to things that she knows more about -- namely, herself.
"There is no greater pursuit than freedom, darling ... in this world, which the Gods and man alike liken to the game of chess, I am not Queen, King, nor pawn." She speaks with such conviction that it's hard not to come along for the ride, awash in the vainglory of Ischia --nay, Arvum's-- finest bard.
"I am the one moving the pieces." She concludes.
She glances about between Ciaphas and Gale, then her gaze slinks back to Stormy as something dawns on her. "... And what of my darling Viviana? Striking woman, fashionable eyepatch, glint of murder in her one good eye?" Perhaps surprisingly, she asks nothing of the treasure he has spoken of, as though it meant nothing to her.
"Mmm, I can't conceive of her being brought low, and so I must assume that she is with the horses, as well." Is she? Who knows? Avita seems pretty convinced.
"Come, then. Let us depart, and away to the ghastly front of the Battle of the Bards. I shall kill two birds with my words just as surely as any could with a stone."

The Acrobat -- er, the Thief -- picks up the Dogwood ring, and the beard. Shoving both into her pockets. Gale mutters, "The one with the cloudy eye. She left with my brother."

The Prodigal shrugs his shoulders. "I don't know."

No, Gale, you do not get those. Ciaphas has them. She doesn't look sulky. But she kicks Stormy's shin without provocation.

There's a glance around that Ciaphas gives when Avitagives the command to depart, as if there's a little bit of anxiety gnawing away at him. There's a few reasons, primarily the fact that he doesn't know how long it'll take to get there, and he's not entirely sure if Avita's shoes or feet will be up to the trek.

It's odd the things that the Eurusi concerns himself about, as he goes from willing to beat someone with a rock to fussing about ensuring that someone doesn't have to walk a distance, and he makes his way over to the wagon, eyeing it for a moment before he then works his feet and heels down into the ground where he finds some grip, and wraps his hands over the side of the wagon.

He heaves, muscles visibly straining as he lets out a slow hissing curse in his native tongue as the wagon creaks, groans, and then begins to tip back the way -- where he settles it so that he can eyeball the Shav for a second. "Help me knock this back in." He states, as he goes to get his rock.

He likes this rock, it's large enough to be used as a club. He makes his way back to the wagon, raising it up just slightly with a grunt of effort to wedge his hip in place, and then begins smacking the rock onto the wheel to get it realigned.

Once done, he deposits his collected treasures into the chest that Gale was in, and then hauls that up and puts it in the wagon before gesturing towards Avita.

"Your chariot awaits." He states, as he puts to an early grave any questions about where the horse to pull the cart might be, as he makes his way to the front of the wagon, preparing to haul it.

Stormy, nodding, shoves off to help to ensure that the Sun (please see: Avita) has her chariot. He gestures, preparing to lead them in the direction of the horse hooves trailing off to the right, off-scene -- er, out of the clearing.

Avita seems utterly unfussed as this all goes on.
In fact, she's staring off into the woods, likely working over in her mind how it is that she'd like to spin this story in her next telling of the event.
"With your brother..." Avita nods absently, showing that she was actually paying attention, in her own little Avita sort of way.
When Ciaphas mentions her chariot, she turns to look at him, then to the wagon. As though she had simply expected that he should find a way to ferry her to her next destination, Avita merely pulls herself into the bed of it, and settles herself down. Here, she crosses her legs, and somehow manages to look like the most imperious of Skyrim quest givers.
Ah. You're finally awake.

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