Temple of Prometheus

[Maugris]

It was a large building made almost entirely of stone, the outside covered in decorations and pictures drawn on it with ash and coal; a feat surely repeated each time it rained. Oddly, for a temple worshiping fire it was located in a marsh rather then your stereotypical volcano or desert. This was for two main reasons; the inhabitants were rather fond of being dry in such a damp place, and fire assisted in that, and there was an abundance of natural methane vents in the area...most of which were under the temple and channeled through out it via a series of copper tubes and valves that allowed for near-perpetual fires of varying sizes throughout the building. As the priest had told his new companions, they'd likely hear things he wouldn't, or couldn't be around to explain, and in fact he'd likely have little if any spare time while they stayed at the temple. On the other side of the coin, he made sure he was never too far away, if they needed something. A member of the red was always nearby, not as a guard or watch, but as a possible messenger, always making its presence known well before it could intrude due to its heavy, rattling steps. It was capable of more stealth despite what most in the temple seemed to assume, and while the female might not completely understand the change in behavior, the male almost certainly would. Maugris felt this was likely the same for his absence, the male seemed seasoned in social graces, he only hoped the female did not find his apparent ignoring of them rude, but she did not seem the kind to care. Or notice. As for Maugris himself, he wandered the smooth stone halls - likewise covered in soot and ash - speaking with this person and that, mostly people who looked to be high ranking, though that seemed to be more by their doing than his, and participating in various rituals and ceremonies as they were requested of him. And there were of course whispers, not all of them pleasant. It, in fact, took only four hours of their presence before one of the monks began screaming at Maugris in one of the larger chambers while the man calmly attempted to explain that yes, he was really who he claimed, and no, he was not an imposter. The man was quite adamant that was impossible, and took it upon himself to try to rid the world of a great deceiver. He hadn't been a weak looking man, he was toned and undoubtedly trained to kill given his guard clothing, but against one of the member of The Red he'd been but a rag doll. It was over before it began, the man was reduced to two bloodied portions, the upper slamming into the wall and the lower dropping at The Red's feet. Maugris disappeared into one of the modest quarters they'd been given shortly thereafter. Unlike the rest, he was not paired in the room - he did in fact NEED both beds for himself lest he hang off not only the end but both sides as well. One of the red stood directly in front of the metal door - something oddly lightweight they gathered fron the mines they painstakingly made under the marsh. A difficult process given how soft much of the land was.

[Slayer]

The temple itself appealed to the redhead considerably. Not for the location or the religion itself, which she knew nothing about until listening to the monks, but the heat it generated from the numerous fires within. It provided that same conditions favored by the ifrit and usually only found in the desert. There was a bit of humidity to the air due to the swamp that lay beyond the temple and the smell of the bog water itself penetrated in to the hallways. Not as strong as outside but the sensitive woman wrinkled her nose at the odor. Really that was the only complaint she had.

Until it came time to receiving a room. There was the option of sharing it with a female monk, somebody Freyja knew little of and risked offending, or sharing it with the Nomad. Gattison and her spoke little on their walk from the Pub to the temple. He did most of the talking as usual and she politely listened but that unease the ifrit within was still evident in her own mannerisms toward the presence of The Red. No smile was offered from the woman, just the steady gaze of those gold eyes. She genuinely was interested in what he had to say and even admired the man for putting up with their walk after stating earlier how weary he was. Thus, he was a better option as a room mate than a stranger.

The complaints came more from Elfric at that time, not even calmed by the partition the room offered for some privacy. < Only some. You will still be able to hear everything. From heavy breathing to snoring. >

Freyja herself did not need to rest and, in order to calm down the infernal spirit, so opted to give Gattison alone time to replenish his own energy. What little she had lost during the walk and out in the night air was returned by simply being in the temple. In here the shroud wasn't necessary but she kept it on to conceal the ornamental armour in what seemed like a modest place out of respect for those who worshipped.

They still seemed to take some interest in the woman, if only for the brilliant red hair she possessed. Even one went so far to conclude, outloud, that she was one touched by fire. But that statement was only made in her presence as she wandered the corridors alone, without the company of the two men she met earlier that day. Inwardy the ifrit was amused by them. It seemed the trip wasn't a waste after all and, when came time for them to move on, it was likely to become reluctant to leave. However, the attention she garnered was short lived as most of the inhabitants were more interested in the Priest himself than his guests.

Freyja didn't really say much either to keep them interested.

The murals she admired, as well as every placement of fire in the hallways, and soon discovered it was best to look from afar than touch the works of art. Quickly wiping her fingers off on the inside of the shroud, the redhead left some smudged mountain ranges behind as she explored another portion of the temple. It was different than the places of worship for the Caliphate, though the devotion to one deity was the only connection they shared. From what she could see, it was a place to celebrate knowledge whereas the Surrahs had a corrupt system to empower some over others. Those were bitter years and it's collapse did not bring satisfaction to the woman even to this day.

< Do you think they'd be just as accepting of you if they knew of what dwelled within? > It was a broad question, though whom Elfric meant by they could mean everybody she's encountered thus far. Even though she was free to talk with the ifrit, the woman was well aware of one of The Red standing nearby. Though the body showed no signs of intelligence other than it's ability to function in sync at the command of Maugris, she did not want to risk any information being passed on by it's spectating without her own consent. So the ifrit went unanswered, partially due to the fact that she did not have one for it to begin with.

[Ire]

Gattison did in fact enjoy the few hours that were spent walking to the trio's destination, at the Temple of Prometheus. As usual the Nomad had done most of the talking during their venture, despite him having been so weary from months of no sleep after the darkest of nights, something normally only understood by the people of Renlorn as a seasonal decor within their territory beneath the sway of the Embiriso mountains. Gattison had already grown accustom, in their short acquaintance thus far, to Freyja's pseudo-silent nature. He held a feeling within him, though, that she did have at least an interest in what he was saying. Intuitively he suspected that many years of isolation, amongst other potential variables, garnered justification in her verbal solitude.

The temple, upon their arrival, was much more than the Nomad had anticipated from the brief description Priest Maugris had given them. The stagnant air held a putrid aroma within it, a thick essence of the terrain and the deposits of leaking methane gasses seeping through the grounds of the temple's area, and through the ducts. He found no discomfort with the warmth, and was actually acclimated to such an atmosphere given his half-ling nature; these subtle and innate gifts as part of whom his lineage did stem came in handy during Gattison's survival and education in the beren. One was forced to endure the rigors of nature itself in all climates, year round, season-to-season and only added to their repertoire of instinctual survival niche.

After it was suggested that Freyja and Gattison were given the option to share a room with one another, he would have initially declined because he did not desire to feel invasive of Freyja's personal space. He knew far too well that such a closeness could very easily sully any such infant friendship too quickly to be recovered. But as the latter offer was to room with a stranger and a Monk of equal gender, inwardly Gattison declared it best that perhaps he would feel, and perhaps Freyja as well to a certain extent, more comfortable with the initial offer. He enjoyed her company, more so than he would be willing to reveal granted they had already found so much in common with one another, and wished to further explore between them other parts of who exactly they were. Though there was no need to rush.

At the time Freyja departed to go about her own business, to which the Nomad left her to her privacy, he took that time to consolidate a comfortable sleep. He found the room almost eerily silent, despite the commotions outside the room itself; monks and visitors, emigrants, high ranks and everything in between performing their duties, hardly paying mind to Gattison's arrival. It was a peaceful splendor not often able to be enjoyed. He took the frontal partition, leaving the larger section for Freyja if she may need it in case she decided to rest. She had more on her person than he did and would require the space more than he. Upon laying down, the scintillating amber hues, which did so subtly glow upon the reflection of the pale light of the hanging moon overhead, closed themselves. He crossed his hands over one another, upon his torso, and lay on his back, body straight and slowly drifting off into a state of practically motionless demesnes. Gattison would require, at most, an hour of time to himself; the regimen undergone in the beren taught the fledglings many useful tactics to keep themselves in prime condition, and a sleep such as this, undisturbed, was one of the most useful things learned in that time.

[Maugris]

The priest wandered out of his quarters only a few hours later, The Red member that was guarding the door remaining there as he moved past the rows and rows of doors towards the library at a good speed, stooping ever so slightly past several archways. He smiled and shook hands with a monk that flattened himself against the wall to allow him passage...and finally he was in a larger hall where he could stand tall again. Moving along, he passed the bath house, the one pleasant smelling part of the whole bog. the water, distilled by the fire and collected again after the impurities were boiled out. And yet he drifted idly by, eyes focused ahead on the large doors down the hall

He pushes these doors open and wandered into the library, the flames in here shielded by glass. The man found a book that he wanted, and quickly made his way to a small table and chair- the latter of which creaked as he sat into it and began to read through it...

[Slayer]

By the time Maugris passed the bath house Freyja was already in it. Much to her own delight it was a place that freed her of the odor of the methane and the dirty water that plagued the bog. It was also very warm, adjacent to the distillery that filtered the water for the residents. Clean to drink and clean to take a bath in. And the woman never passed up a chance for a warm bath in and of itself.

Rather, this was a hot bath. And Freyja didn't dare to think how long it had been since she had one.

< Since you last slept? > Leave it to Elfric to taunt her. Constantly until she was done and only was quiet for a short while. Mostly cause the time it took to assemble her armour back on took some concentration on her end. Although burdensome, it served it's purpose of protecting the vital parts of her body. Then leather covered where the armour wasn't necessary. This added better mobility on her part.

The armour, along with the Mark, was all that remained as evidence of her time back in the Caliphate. It was a trophy for her case, crafted to fit the form of a woman but reserved for one of a higher rank than what she had back in the devshirme. The scar on her cheek prohibited her from gaining any status, but the ifrit within ensured that she stayed alive to see an end to that system. The armour itself represented a lot of pride as well and the metal used was taken from Nineveh. It was her home that she carried on her, probably the only good thing that came out of the Caliphate besides the woman herself.

< If you can call yourself good. > inwardly the ifrit chuckled. She ignored it.

Fresh from her own quiet time, sort of, she emerged from the bath house and resumed her walk through the temple. Hair damp and somewhat tamed.

[Ire]

He went undisturbed for much longer than he originally meant in his consolidated slumber. Not even the faintest sounds from the hallway of the clattering Red seemed to pierce the veil of sleep the half-ling put himself under. This was extremely good for the Nomad for several reason, including one which went unspoken even with Freyja. Gattison was one of sound mind and body and had many ways of practicing the ability to sustain them even under dire circumstances. Yet, like any other, he was susceptible to the effects of sleep deprivation; pushing his limits too far would release the anchor he held over himself as the Ire he was known as during his service in the Legions of Renlorn. The Virulent Phuri Dai laid within him, and was forcefully brought to surface in times of war by the High Council and his Rank superiors. It was not a state of mind Gattison enjoyed either attaining or consciously enacting that which he was ordered to do.

Upon waking he released a subtle yawn; unclasping his hands and stretching his embodiment, tensing and relaxing his muscles every so often to rid himself of the mortis effect by laying too long in a single position whilst re-invigorating his breathing and blood flow. He'd minimized his breathing capacity during this slumber, nearly falling into a hibernation-like state of being. His eyes regained there own sentience upon opening as that evanescent amber hue flickered within them; rolling himself to the side and coming to sit at the edge of the makeshift bed, to notice that Freyja had either not returned, or was kind enough not to disturb the Nomad.

"I must say," he spoke unto himself nonchalantly, "this is one of the most comfortable sanctuaries I have ever had the pleasure of visiting." Coming now to stand and finalize his reawakening with a deep breath cleansing, as best he could with the less than pleasant aroma weeping from the vents of the bogs.

Gattison exited the room, uninterrupted by The Red which would have seemed to have been standing guard to most, though it was suspected that his duty was more functional than that. Only an assumption, but beings of such simplicity were often very deceiving, especially when one knew not of how their craft came to be. "I hope she is enjoying herself." turning to The Red momentarily, as if expecting a response but knowing full well one would not be given. It was merely an act of subconscious will, after so many years of idle communication the body language of anyone would do similarly. His curiosity was peaked, however, at entertaining the notion of what ordeals Freyja was partaking. Privately, and unsure as to why, he missed her immediate company; he desired to remedy this and seek her out only to quell the thought if perhaps she sought distance between them, for reasons of her own or something else.

Down and through many hallways, Gattison simply went on to explore the grounds of the Temple. Greeting and speaking briefly with those more familiar with the territory, gaining any useful information especially pertaining to this creature Vivi the trio had initially set out to find. Diplomacy, though well practiced, would not suffice in this presence of that creature, by consensus of the Temple. Yet some clue was given that it may turn out to be more useful in unorthodox fashion. In passing he turned a corner to see Freyja going about her own business yet did not approach her and instead turned back.

Satisfied for the time being, the Nomad returned to the room in which he was offered, upon arrival, and would begin to delve about the information he was given. Also he hoped that Freyja would return to the room sooner rather than later, but only after she was done with her business, of course.

[Slayer]

Freyja constanty felt like she was being watched by a member of The Red, well aware of where a suit was as she moved about her own business for the time being. The essence had stretched itself, soaking in the warmth of the building, to keep her on alert. She had gone without her weapons during this venture and eventual bath. They were left at the room to where Gattison was left to rest, at the end of her own bed. The woman did not need them, thinking that this place of sanctuary prevented any threat upon them for the time being.

After all, the creature Vivi knew nothing of their intentions? Or that they even existed? Even so, the temple itself was generating enough energy for the berserker to take and, in turn, use upon her abilities beyond her swordsmanship. Which lacked any real finesse beyond the strength she put behind every swing. She was not worried at this time. There was only the slight brewing of anxiety from within about the unknown and the possible outcomes.

Something tingled on the back of her neck as she walked, a sort of feeling only coming from a different pair of eyes put on her. Elfric said nothing but she could only glance around the hallway in search for the cause. Nothing beyond the red armour and an occasional passing monk. The essence could not reach out further for the woman so long as she stayed mobile and, even so, the range was not that great.

Thinking that her time away was sufficient enough to give the Nomad peace the redhead finally made her way back to the quarters she was sharing with him. With the guidance of the ifrit, which had a better memory than the woman - not to mention a great deal of attention to detail - she was able to find the room. It helped when another red suit was station right next to it. This one drew a long stare from the woman, seeing if it may respond much the same way Gattison had hoped to get a word out of the armour. Upon realizing this was a staring contest that Freyja had no chance of winning she instead moved inside to find the halfling awake. Unaware that he too found some time to explore and inquire the natives.

< Too bad he's awake. Missed out on the snoring. >

"Sleep well?" the question seemed appropriate to break the silence as she entered. To initiate the small talk again with the man before it turned to a subject that the two related to on a more profound level. Enough time had passed since her visit to the bath house that her hair had dried and, for the moment, remained less of a tangled mess.

The room they shared contained their own smaller fires, set on the corner opposite of the foot of each bed, and provided enough ambience to see. Valves on the side of the bowls, set against the floor, the flames licked up from controlled the flow of the methane source. From what Freyja gathered, none of the fires were ever extinguished but only adjusted to lessen the heat or light they emitted as needed.

< Would it be a dishonor to put one out? Want to find out? >

The partition had been folded up against one of the walls, gold panels evenly lined up to save space and allow the two a view of one another as the berserker moved to her own bed to take a seat while Gattison himself responded to her.

[Maugris]

It was perhaps unexpected to Gattison that his words to The Red did not fall completely on deaf ears, but the being's eyes and head did temporarily swivel to focus on him. It wasn't much and didn't last long, but it was something. It at least showed it knew when it was spoken to. Freyja would have considerably less luck with her own venture with the crimson armored people however, she was correct in her assessment in who would eventually win the contest, though she might have noticed how human their eyes were. Distant, distracted, like there was a mind inside and yet...absent.

As for the giant of a priest, he remained in the library, filtering through various logs and history books written by the monks here. Diseases, historical events, and various...sightings all cataloged since his disappearance many years ago. He had no hope of absorbing all of the information in that time frame, but it was certainly an easy way to pass whatever time the two accompanying him wanted. The interruptions only further ensured this.

"Sir?" a monk meekly inquired of the man.

His eyes turned upwards onto the man. "Yes?"

"You asked us to tell you if any of our guard spotted it?"

"Yes. Keep it in your sights, do not approach. I'll want to know where it is when we depart."  His eyes fell back to his book as the monk left.

[Ire]

Gattison had entered a transient state of mind in the interim of his return to the quarters which were granted to himself and Freyja. He sought to recollect any and all details given to him in the short conversation shared between the two and Priest Maugris about the chaos creature, Vivi.

"It is just an empty shell. A shell that may contain a limitless power?"

Speaking to no one save for himself, as there was no one within the quarters. He did suspect, however, that perhaps The Red stationed just outside the door either could or did hear him. This would affect Gattison minimally, and at best reveal what he was doing in times he thought were private. This small yet utterly important detail, for the Nomad, was still the most intriguing. The privacy of the room, despite the commotion going on about the hallways and foyers, allowed him to sit and contemplate a reasonable approach; one which perhaps had not been utilized in times past, though he couldn't be sure of this unless he gained more information about previous events with Vivi.

"The High Council, those fools, they would try to capture the creature and harness it's power. Yet the Priest could have very well already attempted such a thing."

Entertaining idea after idea about the hypothetical and the inevitable, his mind eventually wandered back to Freyja, and oddly enough, just moments after having done so, she entered the room. Immediately he noticed the differences about her appearance. Her skin appeared softer and lighter, that fiery red hair seemed more tamed and less straggled. Her eyes, those golden orbs he every so often pleasured himself with a glimpse of, seemed to emanate their own glow. Even her scent was slightly different, the draft from opening the door carrying it in over the heavy aroma of the bog. Before he could speak, somehow caught in a daze at her re-arrival, she spoke.

"I did sleep very well. Thank you." offering another gentle smile, his ears perked back at the moment her voice came through the room. It had been so silent as he sat there by himself he'd forgotten to focus his sensory acuity to dull out the ambient sounds; at times such things could practically bombard the half-ling, worse case scenario incapacitating him temporarily if he was not consciously aware of his surroundings. This was a crucial focal point in his conscious efforts, and entertaining the subconscious as well. It was second nature, by now, after so many years of experience in practicing such and art. One could say he did literally have selective hearing, among other things.

"Was your bath everything you may have expected?" it was the only reasonable assumption he could have made for what some may have overlooked; the finest details about Freyja, because of having spent time with her since his arrival on the Nexxus, were noticed in an almost eerie manner. It was just subconscious of him to do so, like many other things. "I thought about one myself, but thought it better until perhaps after we searched for the creature, Vivi, in the bog." That was no cunning quip meant to jab at Freyja, he wanted to take the directness of his observations about her away.

He stood from the end of the bed where he'd been sitting when she entered, walking over to one of the bowls which had been flickering with the unrefined and unlimited source of methane that burned open and freely. The flame, dancing within the slightly ornamental harvest, reflected within his eyes; similarly bestowing a cascade of crimson and gold over the already scintillating amber hue he held, if only for a moment as he reached to turn the valve to increase the flame. Perhaps he did this with reason, or maybe to experiment with it. Either way he wished to increase the warmth of the room. "I hope you don't mind. In my slumber my body became rather rigid. Perhaps it was from sitting still too long. I doubt there was a chill within the room, but one can never be too careful. I would feel responsible if you were to become ill." it was an obvious subterfuge on his behalf. Her constant bathing in the sun as they spoke earlier, the sunlit path, her shroud, her subtle passion for ice water. All things added up, and though he knew not what she was his subconscious utilization of informative processing were hard at work.

[Slayer]

Freyja was growing accustomed to the little quirks that the Nomad had. He didn't miss anything about the woman and was well aware of his persistant stare and returned one of her own once she was seated. The greaves upon her legs made it difficult to sit cross legged and she worked to remedy that in a moment after he questioned about her bath. He never missed a thing.

< Probably because he watched you... > Elfric suggested, though that genderless voice inside her head had a sort of tone to only suggest it was a joke. Mostly it was to cause the women to tense and, even, consider there was the chance that he had. But she did not pin Gattison as a peeping Tom anyway. She wasn't worried if the man had seen her - she wasn't protective of her body as much as the ifrit was. The only modesty the woman had was the concern of others seeing the marks that were much easier to hide with the armour compared to the Mark that marred the right side of her face. Telltale signs of what else the Caliphate had done to create this hardened warrior.

Both brows shot up on her forehead, disappearing in to the hair gathered in the front of her face. It was a little more tamed, having been weighted down by the water, and stayed closer to her head without any disturbance thus far. Until she moved a hand through it, fingers combing the red locks.

"It was refreshing," she managed an answer in before he continued, then added her own reasoning. Yes, it was probably better to wait till after their trip to the bog but it was a luxury she could not pass up. Same with ice water. If one could call nearly scalding hot water a luxury. "The hot water did good to rejuvinate my own body, much like your sleep."

Sleep was rarely a necessity for the woman but with the presence of the infernal spirit her mind did not need the rest in that inactive state. Not when she can get plenty of sunlight or heat from her current stay. Sleep was only an alternative when the climate she was in did not provide the energy the body needed to stay self sustaining with the ifrit or if she needed to recover from an episode. Or a serious injury. These circumstances she didn't need to reveal but, so long as he kept attentive to all the little information she did share, it was not hard to connect the dots about the woman.

As the Nomad set about to increase the temperature of their room she parted the shroud enough that it still rested on her shoulders but gave a clear view to the armour that covered her torso. White metal crafted to her shape, nearly a perfect fit for her figure, was lined with gold trim. Symbols and weaves that reflected upon the style prominent in the higher caste in the Caliphate. Forged from the earth of her home and the hands of fellow devshirme. With it out of the way and her hands free from the cover, she bent forward and removed the plates that covered from the knee down on her legs. Greaves paired at the side of the bed she was able to draw her legs up and sit comfortably for the time being. Her feet still remained covered by the fabric that served as an underlayer to her armour and she preferred it that way.

The temperature of the room was sufficient to not inflict any chill upon that ever present fever she housed, along with the infernal spirit even before the flame was increased, but the concern Gattison had for Freyja was...

< Sweet? Touching? Chivalrous? > Her thoughts were interrupted by Elfric, mocking. < He might actually be trying to woo you. Wouldn't that be something... > Eyerolling was a regular temptation due to the ifrit, but she managed to let her features relax.

"I rarely become ill, just weary." Those gold eyes, piercing, reflected the increasement of the flames. They were not a darker shade that the man had. Nearly similar to the fire that flickered beside him. It was nearly accurate to say that she had been touched by fire by that one monk. It seemed like a long pause after her statement, then a, "Thank you."[color] Almost sounded forced but a hint of sincerity behind it to match the man's actions.

[Ire]

Gratitude from Freyja for something so miniscule seemed almost out of place. The sincerity was there, and was genuine, yet it seemed irregular of her regardless. "You are quite welcome." this time without the same smile he'd offered many times before, merely because he was facing the fire and not her. Mostly it was a simple gesture that most took kindly too, the offering of lips upturned. Gattison never took offense if he made such a gesture and it was not returned, it was merely part of his diplomatic implementations; perhaps one could consider such things a safety net, something for the half-ling to fall back on in times where one was unsure of how to act.

He ran his hand over the flame which, despite its recently increased departure from the valve, remained within the bowl. Slowly he lets his hand linger over the flame, curling inward slightly those somewhat slender yet calloused appendages; to cup his hand whilst letting it rest not just above the flame, but actually within it for a moment before finally collect the remaining digits inward to clench his fist. It was as if he desired to grab the fire which burned before him. "Such irony." he spoke unto himself before bringing his hand from above the bowl. It would appear the heat had no immediate ill effect upon his flesh. Suffice it to say, there were reasons why the Nomad was not afraid to either express or display such things.

"Freyja..." he hesitated, enough to take himself back to the foot of his own makeshift bed. By now she had removed her greaves and comforted herself, sitting himself down, to which he would employ a similar posture, "I must apologize if some of the things I say or do affront you in any way. I do understand that my ways are eerie to some, and even more so to those whom would have my company for an extended period of time without answers." he hesitated once more, but only enough to look across towards Freyja, "Oddly I must apologize for apologizing so frequently, now and in future endeavors where we may spend time with one another. I am very old by most standards. Revealing my true age would normally assist some in helping disregard some of my mannerisms." but now was neither the time or place to do such. During his time serving the High Council in the kingdom of Renlorn, most considered it a treasure to cherish their age, and keep it private, or between only the most trusted of members in the kingdom itself. It was frowned upon to reveal ones age without just cause, and so many years, like many of his other experiences, of practicing this was difficult to be rid of so easily. Gattison was, by most technicalities, no longer part of the kingdom of Renlorn. But as one of The People, he did try to remember where he came from.

The Nomad presumed to lean to a side, resting his elbow atop the pouch which remained connected to the leather cross-strap attached at his waist. The hunting bow which he'd brought with him lay rested at the corner of the room near the hinges of the door; he obviously couldn't sleep on his back if he continued to wear the bow strung across his chest. "But I gathered you already notice some things about me seem odd." he almost allowed his facial features to placate a smirk of sorts, but rather than that a light huff was released. Disappointed in himself. Time alone with the blossoming friendship between he and Freyja, and all the diplomatic practices in the world couldn't save him from being tongue tied.

[Slayer]

Kindness was rarely shown upon the woman. To say it was absent in her life as a whole was mistaken. The family in the Ama'rit tribe, the Nomadic people of Nineveh, that took in the young child after the purge of her own home did what they could to care for the girl before she was taken in to the Caliphate. The days after her rebellion, and upon receiving the Mark, there was a few other girls that tended to her wounds was another instance. They did not prevent the scars but their good deeds were never forgotten by Freyja. Those people, of her homeland, were likely long gone. Either age has taken them, the slums of the devshirme, or the aftermath of the revolts.

Age was a foreign concept to the redhead. She had not physically changed to accomodate the number of years she has been walking in the physical world. And there was a lot of walking being done for a good portion of her life so far. Searching, moving, wandering alone... Sort of.

< I will always be here. >

Age to her was something she witnessed through others, if she stuck around long enough to see the changes. The idea that the man across from her was in, another part, just like her wasn't hard to grasp. Nor did she doubt that he, possibly, was her senior. It was best to assume that than him being some young, naive man that had yet to understand the world - quite the opposite. Gattison was archaic; in that everything he has done before the woman reflected upon wisdom and experience only achieved through years of a different era.

The number was not important to her. If he was to ask about her own age she considered being honest, after all, but it was likely nothing impressive compared to the half-elf.

"Very few tolerate my own odd behavior." Her own head canted to a side, sensing that he was struggling in some manner. What he had done, with his back turned to her, at that corner peaked the ifrit's interest while she knew nothing. A sort of kindling was growing even though Elfric still wanted to keep the distance between the two. Freyja was, after all, it's host. The link from the Netherworld for the lesser d'jinn.

< Or lack of one. Do you think he will get bored of you? >

Her mouth moved in to a feigned smile, a sort of facial shrug, and kept staring at the man. "I don't see a reason for you to apologize to me, Gattison. I have my own mannerisms that make others uncomfortable." The Nomad had proven he was not intimidated by the women and her bright stare, or her blatant responses. Etiquette was lacking in the woman but there was the attempts for genuine conversation. "We are different compared to many but you and I are similar... And I appreciate it. If you offend me, I will say so."

[Ire]

"I do enjoy your honesty and how direct you are. Be it with me or as you may have always been. It is yet another admirable quality you hold, Freyja." Perhaps he read into it too much, like he usually did with the simplest of things. Gattison was unsure of how to accept the latter portion of her second statement, wherein Freyja mentioned having her own mannerisms which made others uncomfortable. "But I would most certainly not refer your behavior odd, as you have. I would simply remark upon you, your personality, and all things encompassing, as unique." He couldn't stifle the feeling; perhaps he was making her uncomfortable in some way by what some would consider an utterly profound approach to the foreign populace. Even as he remained the foreigner.

With as many things thus far as they shared in common it seemed there was an unrequited distance that would prove most difficult to close. His age brought with him, as she may have suspected due to his behavioral assets, different experiences. Many of which were so fully practiced they seemed monotonous even if desired to be conveyed with the utmost sincerity. In the kingdom of Renlorn, aside form being one of the people, Gattison had always been viewed upon as an outsider to those of full stock, ironically, because of his physical advance in age in contrast with the other natives; pure blooded elven creatures alive for millennia previous to his conception. Subjugated by the harsh scrutiny of the High Council members and their exploitation of his lineage, the Nomad, at times, yearned for the company of another. Not all were like him yet he held within him a clandestine hope that it was another similarity he and Freyja shared. Being treated as an outsider, even as a born citizen of Renlorn, certainly calloused his skin to the arbitrary, however; emotionally, though, it managed to take its toll every now and again.

"I like to be clear about my intentions and like to be well versed in the limitations others may wish to place upon me, for their own sake. I do often have a very aggressive demeanor in my approach, both in diplomatic impressions as well as physical. It comes across very strong, and many are unsure of how to accept or decline it. I am hardly offended by dejection, less it be from someone so deeply trusted as I have done in the past." without referring to any specific entity aloud, his mind briefly traced back to the days just before his technical exile from the kingdom; Gattison's last crusade, of sorts, Beneath the second in command of the Legions, his trust and loyalty were betrayed and manipulated, so perversely that it scarred his memory. He would not want to forget such and episode in his existence, for he would not be who he is at this juncture if not for that turning moment. "I find our time with one another valuable and pleasant. I suppose I mean to say I would not soon like to have you turn away from me after so short a time. I am fond of you and your company and would like to have you be as accepting of mine. In due time, of course."

Gattison and Freyja did share many things in common, and even still had their differences which, despite the formerly mentioned distance between them, may draw them closer in the same principle performance of magnetism. Had the Nomad grown attached to the Fiery Red-head so suddenly, after less than a full day of meeting? It was not likely, yet he could not help, after thirty years of self-solitary confined travels, to have some form of affection spring forth at the sight of such a beauteous entity being one so named Freyja.

[Maugris]

Honestly the man was a pretty boring spectacle right now. Sure it was moderately amusing for a few moments to see a giant sitting in a relatively tiny chair reading a relatively tiny book at a relatively tiny table but...once that wore off there overall was not much excitement.

[Slayer]

Listening to Gattison, the way he carried himself in his words and manners, was fascinating to Freyja. It almost felt like a lesson in etiquette but very little of what the Nomad did was ridiculed. At least on her behalf. Elfric had his own commentary to attach to everything.

< Sounds a bit like he's speaking poetry... But what would you know, you're uneducated > The spirit also liked to insult her too at times.

She appreciated his presence. There was enough contrast to the two to keep it interesting for the saracen. Her left arm propped itself on her knee and she rested her chin on that hand, becoming much more relaxed. While the man spoke she kept him within that steady, brilliant gaze. It was odd to find such concern over a developing friendship that the two had. Freya could not share them, unfortunately. There was the fondness, the desire to know more and strengthen the connection. But there was also the ifrit and it happened to complicate everything.

It seemed tempting to reveal that critical secret to the man. The thought disturbed the infernal spirit and a foreign feeling of annoyance brewed again within like before in the Pub. She blinked in slight confusion then diverted her gaze to the fire to make sure her eyes did not reflect what lay within. Elfric was extremely jealous as well, despite being the entity that knew everything about the redhead. It was personal information not wanting to share, let alone it's own existence.

< He may hate what you are. > the voice warned, seeding doubts in to the woman. And the trust was restricted again, replaced instead by caution.

"So long as our confrontation of this Vivi creature doesn't end well, I have no intentions of leaving your company anytime soon." Freyja honestly wanted to stay with the Nomad as long as possible. Beyond the ifrit's desires she had her own and she was in control. Most of the time anyway. If this friendship was to last longer she'd make plans to inform the man of her own shortcomings. It was sorely tempting at this moment. Mixed in that annoyance of the ifrit was her own guilt for not revealing this part. Her mind grasped for a way to warn the Nomad of the risk.

"If..." her free hand rotated as she carefully selected her words and used as few as possible. "It does not go well you must be careful around me, Gattison. I am capable of defending myself." Those gold eyes, matching in brilliance of her hair but not the same colour, shifted back to the halfling. "I do not doubt you value us enough to want to protect me in a threatening situation we are likely getting ourselves in to but... I cannot guarantee restraint on my end."

< It's noble of you to tell him how selfish and careless you are. >

[Ire]

Gattison locked eyes with Freyja each time her gaze happened upon his own. He seemed attentive, and by now the woman had clued herself privy to this fact; both consciously and subconsciously the Nomad remained securely alert with that which he endorsed his time. It also would appear that, despite him not knowing of the sentience within Freyja, Gattison's interpretation of what she spoke of were entirely different than its desire to intend provocation of the Scarlet Saracen.

"Your selflessness is of its own prose." jesting a smile, similarly reflecting a facial shrug as Freyja proffered only moments ago, "I guarantee no aid in assisting you restrain yourself nor that I will stand by idly if such an occasion should arise. As you would fight the creature, Vivi, I will fight alongside you." They're understanding of one another was indirect even in riposte of the diplomatic tendencies Gattison often employed. "Or if necessary, for you." he meant not to exacerbate such a protective demesnes over the woman but more to convey that should she become so incapacitated by what lay within and should somehow fall, he would do what was necessary to ensure her survival.

Repositioning himself on the bed, the Nomad brought his elbows to rest upon his knees; legs having come to cross after moving himself back, turning more fully to face Freyja as they continued to converse. He leaned forth, hunching his shoulders and relaxing his posture, easing himself into a less-than-proper proposal of his bodily language. "However, I do not expect the same from you." he held his own concerns about this same situation. His attentiveness throughout their acquaintance allowed him to emulate her directness at the very least, whilst still remaining clandestine to his true nature, "I wish not for your restraint to be broken upon my falling. You should not lose yourself over something so trivial. I may empathize such a value of what mediums you have undergone to attain the sense of control." hesitating only slightly, hoping the message would get through with its simplicity, "As you are surely well aware, the consequences of invoking our strengths upon a creature such as Vivi will undoubtedly test these barriers and find our weaknesses. You must not let its beckoning replace your control."

Gattison was gently touching on the subject of how easily a true Berserker could lose themselves to the rage of their heart despite any practices or studies to prove them contrary. A lifetime, and many more over, of finding ways to deter that rage could never fully equip one with the ability to rationally accept such a sudden and uncontrollable loss. To lose oneself of that madness invoked by a presence within them, that feeds from the ensuing carnage, is the same to admit and submit oneself under the thralls of the being so responsible for provoking them. "It will be tempting for us both to unleash the wrath of an age old fury lying within." he righted himself, eyes gazing across the room to meet Freyja's, "You have a quaint generosity speaking in tongues. Heir to caution for the sake of a half-ling outcast from the world he has known. Your concern is enough to reassure this old man his ways are not entirely useless ."

[Slayer]

The woman had control to an extent. She was learning about the different triggers these past several decades to keep from giving in to those feral tendencies. But Freyja was also limited in her abilities compared to others. There were no magical spells she knew. No enchantments to cast or wield. The swords she had carried these years were comprised of a foreign metal whose durability was able to keep up with her strength. They were the trophies she had earned after the last lapse in to being Slayer. It wasn't a reward she wanted to associate with being a berserker but there was no other choice to stay alive. And to prevent the deaths of others by the hands of that tyrant.

Years since she had been much more careful about her line of work. Knew what to avoid, what to turn down. Tried to stay as informed on the situation like this one but deep down, there was the nagging feeling that she may give in to that dark call. A sort of lull set to a slow, steady heartbeat. It led to a slumber free of thoughts, feelings, and even the ifrit itself. That absence made her wonder if it was similar to death. An end to these years of suffering. To find peace.

< There will be no peace in the Netherworld. > The dwelling of other d'jinns that Elfric had emerged from. It found opportunity that night, in the inferno that consumed the bodies of the fallen tribe, to find a link to the physical world with the girl. She was anchored to this infernal spirit and, every now and then, was reminded of the price of the union. Once the body was destroyed, the ifrit had to return to the realm. Taking with it Freyja.

She sometimes shuddered at the thought, any hints of it given by the spirit brought nothing but dread to the woman. It was suiting for the warrior that brought so much death on this plane however. Each time she gave in to Slayer, gave in to that sleep, she awoke to the aftermath. No memories of what happened in that instance but just the ones of death afterwards.

Her caution to Gattison was warranted. She had no concern of their friendship growing apart due to lack of interest in one another. She was concerned it may end by her own doing as a berserker. In her mind, plagued by the ifrit, she recalled fallen comrades back in the revolts. Years ago but still fresh upon her memory. Their bodies mutilated but left barely recognizable so that she knew it was her doing when she regained consciousness. Freyja carried that knowledge with her, emerging as the only survivor in several key battles against the caliphate until the end when the secret had come out. Exile was the answer, for none dared to confront the monster; the fear of provoking her was all that kept the redhead from being assassinated in those beginning years.

There was plenty of reasons for distance to be between the two. Elfric was the biggest one. Due to it's possessive nature and what it's presence did to the woman. That resulted in the berserker. Yes, Freyja exercised plenty of control and restraint on her end. But the ifrit, craving for the smell of blood and violence, encouraged it on her end. It was a distraction and a temptation as well. It was the source.

No matter how well Freyja had gone to keep her emotions in check, to stop the chain reaction that led to her destructive alter ego, the ifrit could sabotage it by several words. Or forcing it's own emotions to fuel her's. So there was always that chance. Gattison had been warned to the best of her abilities this early on without having to compromise her secret. So while he spoke, trying to reassure and encourage control on her end, she stared with those bright gold eyes. Barely reflecting the inner turmoil the woman had.

< Do you think he might be the one to save you? Or will he be another to die by your hands. >

"If I was not responsible of your own falling, I do not think it would upset me otherwise." The attachment was there, but seeing plenty of deaths in her own upbringing had little impact on the woman's emotions this early on if something was to happen to Gattison. There might be grieving but the sense of vengeance was lacking these days. It had been a trigger long ago when those that were closest in the devshirme had died. Since then no one else had gone through the barriers she put in place. Freyja was confident the Nomad could take care of himself, just did not want him to overstep in to caring for her. Others had made the mistake to put themselves in the crossfire. "My own warning may seem selfish but, when it comes to fighting, the safety for this body... Myself... Comes first in the event that I am in trouble. I only warn you in the chance that if you are to extend a hand to my aid you may find it bitten."

It was a strange analogy to relate the woman to an animal but how else was there to describe what the mindset of Slayer was? Only Elfric knew what occured each time and very rarely did it indulge the experience.

"We are to fight beside each other but my methords in ensuring my survival are brutal. My lack of restraint comes from that. I do not intend to dive headfirst and provoke myself but if not all goes to plan... You stay out of my way." A bit brash but she held his gaze for a moment longer before she turned again to the fire. The unease that rose about that risk of the other was only slightly calmed by her words, however cryptic they were, but when it came to having a partner in this line of business she had to outline the risks involved.

Freyja was always accepting on the fact as well that if she was to give in to those tendencies, it may be her last. The woman only loathed the chance that along with her death she might take the life of another.

[Ire]

In retrospect, perhaps the Nomad should have had more confidence in Freyja's ability to control herself. It was presumptuous of him to forewarn her about things he was already familiar with beyond comprehension to most; to say that Freyja was a product of the former, however, was to assume she was just another ordinary human from the outset. This was something Gattison could not afford to continue doing, and internally he scolded himself for remarking upon the fact that the Fiery Redhead may lose herself at his falling, should it occur. With the knowledge and experience he'd gained one may think him the wiser to such an idea, but no one was perfect. Gattison, despite all his practices, was still part human, and therefore bound by the laws of nature to be flawed in some way or another. Subtle though they may be it irked him each time he let himself slide into a lazy thought process. For all the half-ling knew Freyja could be a several millennia his senior; at best he knew the surface level of Freyja in their short time together thus far and truthfully could know nothing more until he put himself deeper within her trust, and company, to find more about her than she may be willing to reveal at this point in time.

"I trust that you will know how understanding I am of your position in the matter. With what we share thus far it would seem reasonable for either of us to assume a passive comprehension to either ones...innate talents." Well seasoned in the monotony of what would appear as limerick to many, Gattison had confirmed two of his immediate suspicions about the being, Freyja. This was not to say he would so forwardly address them currently but it was satisfactory enough to him that perhaps he had eluded the probability of delving too deeply into her nature too soon. It was not a desperate subterfuge nor was it meant to be deceptive, had she caught wind of the notion in which he extracted information from her. "I will take your warning as intended. As selfish as it may be to you, I consider it an act of kindness. You have no cause to lie or deceive me about what you are as I share with you the provocation of an ancient rage burning at the core of my heart. I think you and I are both somewhat aware that we are far from the ordinary human and half-ling. Assuming you were born entirely human."

It was almost always a difficult subject, even considering his longevity, touching on the grounds of his ancestry and immediate lineage. Gattison, as mentioned before, was practically scorned by his elders and the high council for being what they deemed an abomination; though raised as a Reshirion, a native of the kingdom of Renlorn, there was always the uprising of caste intervention. It constantly placed him in positions wherein he could gain no more than a commoner would on a regular basis. Thus, he took comfort in the fact that his mention of being only half human did not stir the Red Head wrongly, even if she found it interesting. The Nomad was quite literally a rarity in the kingdom, but here in the Nexxus so far it seemed he was nearly mainstream.

"So I hope to share with you what may appeal to your interests. Making it through this inevitable confrontation with the creature Vivi and your willingness to accept, I would be most gracious if you allowed me to know more about you."

[Slayer]

Freyja was only a few decades older than what her outer appearance deemed to be. She was at peak condition in her body, the right physical age for youth and stamina that the ifrit preserved, if not delayed. How many years it may take for her body to age itself was still a mystery. The redhead always assumed a violent death was to claim her instead of old age. It was what attracted the berserker to.

While maturity itself had the time to develop as well as control, she was human and subject to her own flaws. Her own mistakes. A slip up in to becoming Slayer once more. Hence the warning.

< You like him enough to keep him at a distance. > the third presence, the hidden presence, of Elfric within plagued her thoughts. Took away her security and intimacy she could have with another. < The concern is almost touching. Just as his fondness of you. >

Gattison understood her more than others. Gradually that trust was going to build. Develop. Friendship was inevitable between these two people, similar in nature, sitting in the room set aglow with the fires in corners.

< It sort of sets the mood, doesn't it? > Inwardly the ifrit found humor in all situations, not at all concerned for what was to come. Only biding time.

"You are free to ask what you wish to know about me, though I do not know how much longer we have until the Priest summons us." The man had earned her trust, her admiration, though the infernal spirit tried to impose it's own feelings upon the woman. She was the host, the dominant personality, and so long as she maintained control for now she had the say. But if there was a threat to the ifrit it would do more than just annoy the woman internally. The redhead had said before she was honest and, if there was something she did not want to share, the boundaries were to be set.

[Maugris]

The man was no longer in the library, not when the monk came to look for him again. Open on the desk, he saw, were logs of their latest studies on the sick in their ward. A new disease, strange to them but similar to an old plague written about in The Books of the Eglissairy – their own ancient copy was now missing, a fact the monk did not notice at the moment – they’d decided to forgo the usual burning and study them as safely as possible. Odd growths, aggressive behavior, elongation of limbs…and yet it never seemed to kill its victims, they simply kept deforming, and they hadn’t figured out how to fix it yet.

Back at the room with the two travelers, they would note the events transpiring likely only by the red’s movements outside the door, moving in front of it rather than beside it. To keep them in or others out was open to interpretation, but suffice to say, it wasn’t going to budge. Maybe they coul even hear the questions from the ward shouted by the giant of a priest. Questions about what they thought they were doing, if they’d forgotten the prescribed treatment to this. They likely did not hear the stammered replies of the head doctor; some were only children, maybe they could help, perhaps it WASN’T what he thought it was.  They almost certainly head the scream as the doctor was thrown aside and the rest of the staff began to scatter, and shouting as guards began to move. They’d all had doubts, certainly, this cemented them. They no longer believed he was the man he claimed, but their efforts were too little too late, the guards that arrived first skidded to a halt as the halls were blocked by The Red. They didn’t like what was to transpire, but had seen what the beings had done to their compatriot prior. More screaming, pain, a new burning scent, that of flesh, wafted down the corridor.

And like that the moment of peace in the storm was over; the guards made their attempts, and were swatted away. None were killed, at least not on purpose, and the scholarly man that pursued them, quite ineffectively attempting to hurt them with his bare fists, was left completely unharmed for now. His screams, filled with pain and loss, were likewise ignored. The procession moving towards the room stopped dead just around the corner as the man had apparently said enough.
”She was still my daughter! She could have li-“ the man was cut off as Maugris’ hand knocked the air out of him, practically engulfing the man’s upper torso as it pinned him against the wall, his feet dangling below him. The priest’s voice was not gentle, and it was unlikely his hand had been either given the sound the man’s body had made. Some of The Red rattled, likely falling into formation around him.

”Your daughter could have lived, yes. She would have lived a long time. But tell me, do you like what you see? Do you look in their eyes and see joy? Happiness? A soul? We were all innocent once, you little fool, and I know they would have traded all the years in the world to have burned as an innocent. If you would like, you can join her. All you have to do is continue your pursuit of myself and my men.”
A soft thud as the man hit the floor and gasped for air, more rattling from The Red. A moment of silence before the procession moved towards them, The Red at their door opening it, if they had not already attempted to do so in order to join the events. Maugris spoke to them, his face, like his voice, lacking anything one could call gentle at the moment.

”Its time to leave. Now.” The man said, waiting for them to gather themselves up before departing, followed closely (but not too closely) by the guard.

[Ire]

With all the recent commotion going on about the Temple, concerning the immediate significance of Gattison and Freyja's conversation, it was only common sense to the Nomad that things would need to be placed on hold for a short while. "We will be summoned momentarily." eyes subtly shifting towards the door to the quarters they were provided; ears perking slightly as he seemed to focus his attention on what may be happening outside the room as The Red repositioned itself. "There is movement going on outside this room. The stir is heavier than normal, so I only presume Priest Maugris has either sent for us or will arrive to collect us himself." Neither would have surprised the half-ling. The grandiose physical stature of the Priest was unmistakable, considering the populace of the temple he'd sampled from in his short exploration, and the rattle from The Red could not be mistaken either.

"I must say I do enjoy our conversations." adjusting his posture to hang his legs off the end of the bed where he'd been sitting, turning to face the door before coming to a stand, a light smile offered, yet again, upon doing. It was perhaps only a few seconds later in which Priest Maugris made his presence abundantly clear throughout the corridor leading to their temporary quarters and entering the room. As the door opened, Gattison addressed the goliath of a man, facing the doorway as the Priest announced it was time for their departure.

"As you wish, Priest Maugris." a quaint bow of his head, before righting himself and turning his upper body to Freyja, awaiting her to prepare herself so as not to leave her on her own. After she had gathered her belongings, he would allow her to leave the room first before following close behind her, making his best attempt to walk beside her through the corridor whilst also avoiding the others in the narrow hallway.

[Slayer]

Their time of rest had come to an end. Elfric preferred it that way. Freyja had slightly raised one of her brows at the inevitable summon before the essence seeped toward the door to learn what the Nomad's heightened senses had already picked up. She wasted no time to put on the boots and greaves that attached to the front of her shins. It was much easier to put on than take off in this instance.

"As do I," she managed to add, her face downcast at her work, while her voice made sure to carry out. Whatever had been occuring beyond their small room it excited the ifrit, as did any sort of semblance of violence. When the door opened and the Priest announced what had already been confirmed by [g]Gattison[/b] did she, the berserker, pick up the light scent of burnt flesh.

< You mean to say we're not staying for the barbecue? > The infernal spirit's humor knew no boundaries, even when she turned to face the grim, scarred face of the giant. Her own remained blank, though it took some effort, and then she gave one firm nod.

The swords were quickly picked up and returned to their place on either side of her hip. And as she followed behind Maugris, with Gattison in tow, her shroud resumed it's original placement about her body, hiding her form from the shoulders down, and trapped the heat as they ventured to the bog.

Whatever had happened, despite the curiousity of what dwelt within, she did not ask to find out. The fascination the monks had upon their arrival was now replaced by fear. It was unlikely they would return.

[Maugris]

It was a long time before the man spoke again, leading them, and The Red, through the swamps and towards the west for roughly an hour. Finally, he did break the silence and his voice was once again that befitting his cloth rather than his armor.

”My apologies, that was an…unfortunate exit. I hope you found the time adequately relaxing in the meantime.” the female had been partially right, there might be a return to the temple after this, but it was up to them to accompany him or not. For now, The Red split into two groups and went north and south, out of sight. They apparently would not be tagging along to this portion.

”Before the incident, they gave word that the town to the west had been attacked by the creature, and it simply hasn’t left in the days following its attack. According to their lore the town was founded a few thousand years ago by a fire spirit as a gift to the followers of the temple. Their devotion to its element moved it and thus it dried and gave warmth to land. Supposedly it offered to protect it from danger as well, so long as they gave it offerings.” The man shrugged. ”But that was only a few thousand years ago, so I cannot tell you the truth of it.”

The man came to a stop as another man came into view ahead of them. He was dressed as those in the temple had been, and was lean and young. A scout. One that, as of yet, had no idea what had happened at the temple. He muttered an aside to the pair accompanying him.

”Whatever questions or objections about what happened I will gladly answer, but this boy does not need to know of the events yet, aye?” he then raised his voice to the boy. ”Hail, scout!”

The voice caused the boy to slow, but not stop, as he passed the trio. “I wouldn’t go that way if I were you, whatever that thing is, it hasn’t left yet. The town is lost.”

Maugris quirked a brow and allowed the boy his passage before continuing on himself.

[Ire]

Not another word came from the Nomad after having left their quarters provided by the temple, unless Freyja or Priest Maugris had spoken, to which Gattison shall entertain them with a monotonous, seemingly jaded proposal of a reply. Perhaps it was best that the half-ling kept himself in this eerily comfortable introverted state. He didn't wish to break the concentrations of the other two had they needed the time to ready themselves for the confrontation at hand against the creature, Vivi. His mind worked furiously with what little information he was given about the creature.

< Only a few thousand years ago. >, he thought. Gattison nodded to Priest Maugris while he spoke and continued along, having made decent headway beyond the temple. This sample of the local lore was more useful to an outsider than the priest may realize. Events in the Kingdom of Renlorn were frequent, considering the countenance of the immortal Sylvan which resided in and outside of its borders. The warfare seen and the endless attacks and attempts at trying to sack the naturally fortified settlements within Rendor were only samples of several millennium of co-existence with creatures like Vivi. All were doomed to fail, for the land itself was the barrier to which none would overcome without the might of a great creature with magical powers that could undo the land itself; none were willing to execute their power for that would defeat the purpose of overtaking the kingdom. All powers that tried desired it's natural fortification to rely on subjugating its inhabitants. But that was to assume that all who tried had that purpose in mind as they did in the past, and the creature Vivi did not seem likely interested in something so remedial.

As they approached the young man, Keeping in mind whatever conversations Priest Maugris or Freyja proffered, Gattison would reply, the half-ling felt a distinct and utterly malicious aura coming from him. It was nothing supernatural, no sort of ability, merely the intuitive sense all were born to; that 'sixth' sense some were able to follow and pay attention to when it was dire to do so. < The town is lost, yet he left unscathed. >, interpreting something perhaps he hadn't been informed of by the priest. The creature Vivi didn't seem likely to take prisoners, or let things escape. Did this boy come beneath the control of the creature simply to deliver this message? One from a face of the cloth which Priest Maugris would recognize? It was a possibility Gattison wouldn't put aside and took into consideration he hadn't taken into account all of this beings potential. But that would also clash with the creatures intent for insatiable chaos.

"Priest..." a prolonged pause, as a mass of thoughts quaked his mind into forming the proper query. "...to what purpose does this creature exist?"

[Slayer]

While in the temple, Freyja had found some relief from the odor of the bog. And then was quickly reminded of their location as they left. Her nose wrinkled in distaste but said nothing else while they walked, with the Nomad by her side. Now was not the time for any sort of complaints. It was time to mentally prepare herself for the upcoming battle.

Weighing possibilities, thinking over strategies.

< And how the lot of you can manage to destroy this entity. > Yes, that was also the major concern. The berserker listed out her abilities and what sort of advantage it'd have for the woman. If anything, she may have the element of surprise but what then as far as damage?

Gold eyes shifted toward Gattison while they marched through the putrid swamp land. Boots sinking in to the saturated earth and the foul smelling water itself seeping in to her armour and slowly working up her shroud. The little extra weight it added went unnoticed by the woman, just the discomfort, but her thoughts were on the halfling. The two did not share all of their tricks, let alone their weaknesses, and inwardly Freyja wondered if the man possessed something that'd make him an advesary against a creature that's been said to spout holy fire.

< Maybe he controls water. >

She did not think to agree on it as the silence was finally broken and her attention was taken to the large Priest. No response given to his words. None was necessary. She had found some rest during their stay in a relaxing bath before stepping out in to the bog. It was likely she'd need another one once this was all said and done. And so the woman kept her silence as the came upon the scout.

Elfric had grown increasingly anxious during that time and, inside, the ifrit swelled to take in the sight of the youth. It's senses picking up those same kind of hints of the Nomad beside her. It craved to meet this Vivi. To understand as well, equally voicing the same question in her head as Gattison just did.

Freyja instead watched the scout despite what answer, or lack thereof, was given by Maugris.