Kevin's Watch

[ooc]Yay![/ooc]

While tending to Led, Laurel casts her glance about to assess the others in the party. What she sees is cause for concern. After she bandages the surgical site on Led, she calms her own racing heart and does her best to relay what she found to those affected in as calm, level-headed manner as she can.

"Crushspike, you have also been implanted with slaad eggs. I am willing to do for you what I just did for Led, although your different anatomy may affect my ability at this. I am unsure if what you would need for removal of the slaad egg would entail healing surgery, or crafting metallurgy," she smiles at him in a half-joking manner.

"Both you and Vynarkus have caught Slaad Fever. You both need to fight against the effect of this disease daily, unless there is someone present who can Cure Disease. Failure to succeed against this disease over time means daily harm to your Intelligence or Wisdom. Typically, should a sufferer loose all Intelligence or Wisdom before beating this disease, *poof*, a new blue slaad appears, although I do not understand if this means you will become a blue slaad, or if one manifests out of thin air..."

Turning to Vynarkus, the bard adds, "Notice I said typically a blue slaad appears. However, you are so similar to an arcane caster that you will cause a green slaad to manifest instead of a blue.

"Spirit Stalker? Sigrid? Do you or any of your collegues here have the ability to cast Cure Disease? Or even Mass Cure Disease, if such a thing is possible? If two of our own party are infected, how many more may there be throughout this gathering?"

Spirit Stalker reaches within his pouch, and withdraws a pair of potions. "Both are Cure Disease. I have a scroll with a few iterations of the spell also. I feel they will be sorely needed."

Kalindriel ruffles Aednat's 'hair' as she passes. "Good luck tomorrow," she bids it in Ignan. She then angles for the assassin's dagger which she dropped when the Slaadi appeared, snatches it from the ground with a fluid motion, and wanders towards the outskirts of the battle where the lay elves scattered.

Reaching towards the two vials of Cure Disease, the bard asks the cleric of The Blood Hunter hesitantly, "Is there something I may offer to Darethon in return for the use of these for Crushspike and Vynarkus? I myself have cast my lot with The Wild Bitch," as she gently fingers the tiny pair of wooden dice hanging around her neck, "but I see no harm in offering thanks to whom it is due.

"Also, would you know if standard surgical procedures would work on a War Forged? Or would a crafter be the one for this procedure?"

Shrugging her shoulders and deciding to ask the bard for news of her father when she wasn't actively trying to dig out eggs and whatnot (and making a mental note that the shifter wasn't fond of things in his skin) Anna sits with her back to a large oak. Satisfied that the threat is long past, especially with the presence of the Gold Dragon, she decides to clean the various fluids off of her flail and check her remaining injuries. As she cleans her flail, her eyes and ears are drawn to the conversation between the bard and dragon. While she doesn't understand a bit of the conversation, she admires the sinuous beauty of the dragon. Then she sits back and does what she does best: listens.

Led stares wide-eyed at the wiggling little slaad-pole that Laurel pulls out of him. His panic is still too great for him to comprehend what it is, only that it's no longer in him and he's safe. At Laurel's urging, he holds the tongs with the little wiggler in them, simply staring. Slowly, reason returns to him, and it starts to occur to his fuzzy brain that... he's looking at the squirming thing that had been about to kill him.

He slowly gets up, careful not to drop it, and carries it over to a nearby fire. Ignoring the heat of the fire on his hand, he holds the tongs deep in the flames, watching eagerly until the tiny thing squirms more franticly, and finally bursts from the heat.

"Are you leaving? What's happening tomorrow?"

I follow next to Kalindriel and talk.

"I cannot cast Cure Disease, but I could read the scroll. Maybe. I can help heal the injuries. So others can cure the diseases."

Spirit Stalker looks at CrushSpike, and says, "He's made of adamantine.... ..digging within him will be very difficult."

SKyseeker walks over to Annelysei, and greets her, "My apologies for the lateness, but things were" *gestures to encompass the battlefield* "a bit...preoccupying. I am called Skyseeker, and hail from far, far south and east of here."

Aednat wrote:"Are you leaving? What's happening tomorrow?"

"It sounds as if they plan on attacking their leader tomorrow." Kali gives a slight look back, "Led did not appreciate my advice and asked I take my attitude elsewhere. I have no stake in this fight, and rather a lot to lose, so I might as well."

"Then you won't talk to me." My flames die down a little.

"Led's mean. Don't listen to him."

Kalindriel stops walking and frowns. She thinks for a few moments then says, "Alright. I'm not used to being alone, so that might not work well for long. Just for you though, 'cause Led is a wet blanket and I don't think either of us like those."

"That might kill me. I don't like Led if he wants to kill me."

I take Kalindriel's hand, and walk back to Sigrid.

Kali smiles though she tries to hide it, unused to being shown such warmth.

"I don't think it's want so much as his nature. Metaphorically. Unless he takes another bath in the snow..."

Once the slaad-pole has burned to ash, and the tongs are getting too hot to comfortably hold, Led looks around at everybody around him.

"I'm sorry, did somebody say we were attacking the Protector tomorrow? That's very interesting news. What's the plan?" His words are coherent, but his manner seems a bit... dazed. As if he were still at one remove from reality. There are small blisters forming on his fingers from holding the metal tongs in the fire too long, though he doesn't seem to notice.

Gently taking the rapidly cooling tongs from Led's grip, the bard draws a preserved piece of aloe from her kit and does what she can to reconstitute its nectar to apply on the blisters. Addressing him calmly, she gently berates him, "You are a Scribe, Led. Although we have set off on this quest, and you have been engaged in combat lately far more than scribing to the Lorekeeper's honor, you must stay true to yourself. Like my voice and my own fingers for playing my harp and composing, surely you need to be aware of the state of your hands at all times?

"Come sit, just for a bit. Let plans be made among the elves and Khaurum." Continuing under her breath, yet switching to Draconean and modulating the pitch of her voice so it carries towards the gold dragon just so, "Perhaps the dragon will let it be known exactly who sent him to protect the leaders of the elven resistance..."

Anna nods in greeting at Skyseeker "Hail, Skyseeker. I am Annalysei. I come from the frusvolk lands where Maartyn is lord. He is my father. My fight is with the Protector and his people, which is how I ended up here, I suppose. It's been a long journey. *she gestures to her battle-scarred arms*"

Led, still a bit punch-drunk announces loudly, "Ah, but your father's fight did not include ALL of the Protector's people. Else your ears would be less pointy."

"This is good. It proves that forgiveness is possible. There's hope yet!"

"Led! Shhh..," the bard quietly soothes the shifter. "Just sit still for a bit..." as she looks him over for any bruising or concussion not noted earlier.

[ooc]...what the heck...another heal check on Led please...[/ooc]

Having been led back to Sigrid by her elemental, Kalindriel stands there awkwardly while trying to think of something to say. She finally manages to ask the ever witty, "So, um, were you hurt in the fighting?"

[Still speaking in Ignan, so as to not exclude Aednat.]