Tavern brawl

[Talwyn]

It was a quiet afternoon and the tavern was nearly empty. For most people, it was a bit early to start drinking. Of course, Corbin wasn't like most people. With a deep breath, he downed the last of his whiskey and slammed the empty glass back onto the counter while motioning for the barkeep to pour him another. "Rough day?" The man asked in an attempt to make some conversation. Looking up, Corbin glared at the man. "I pay you to keep my glass filled, not my ears." He replied with obvious annoyance.

The barkeep shrugged and raised his hands apologetically. "Sorry I asked. But this'll be your fifth and it's a bit early to be getting drunk." Corbin snarled at the man. "I can count you know. And what do you care? Gold is gold isn't it?" The barkeep sighed and decided it'd be better to just ignore this man. No good could come from annoying him further and he liked avoiding trouble as much as possible.

Grateful for the silence, Corbin went back to his brooding. He always got like this after he botched a job. He was a professional and a perfectionist. Botching a job was for amateurs. Corbin was no amateur, he was one of the best in Tamasha. Most that knew what he did, thought him a simple assassin. The thought of that sickened him. He was no assassin, he was a Dunver for crying out loud. Assassins could fail, a Dunver never did. That was the difference between them.

Then again, hardly anyone even knew what a Dunver was. And even fewer knew the meaning of the word. Corbin however did. Dunver was an ancient word for slayer, assassin, hired killer or whatever name one would wish to give the profession. Now a days, it is like a title for those in The Circle, the Septem's most elite group of assassins and those admitted into The Circle take pride in it.

Emptying his seventh glass, Corbin had to admit he wasn't fully honest. Even Dunvers were still human and even the best planned kill can go wrong when betrayal enters the equation. Rubbing his shoulder absentmindedly, he still felt the sting of Rafe's blade as the bastard tried to back stab him. Most people agreed that Rafe and Corbin were without a doubt the best The Circle had to offer. However, most people also agreed that Corbin was better then Rafe, which had never sat to well with the ever competitive bastard.

Corbin had never gotten along with Rafe, but the Septem had ordered them to work together on this mission. Rafe had complained, naturally, and while Corbin had been just as annoyed as his "partner", he had acted like the professional that he is and accepted the job without making a fuss. During the job however, Rafe had thought to rid himself of his eternal rival.

But, the fool had missed his one shot at doing so. If you back stab someone, you have to make sure said person is either dead or incapacitated. Corbin had been neither and thus a fight had broken out between the two. While on the job. In the middle of the most heavily guarded fortress Corbin had ever infiltrated. They showed they were truly masters of the shadows as they avoided detection even during the midst of their battle. It was however, mostly luck that caused them to end up in the corridor where the targets bedroom was situated.

They killed the guard outside the room while still fighting and crashed through the door. The target woke up and was promptly killed by a throwing knife. Finally managing to kill the backstabbing bastard, Corbin analyzed his situation and made the best of an abysmal situation. With his shoulder injured, there was no way he could carry Rafe's body out of there, not like he wanted to either, and thus he rearranged the scene in such a way that it seemed like the target had managed to kill his assailant at the cost of his own life. Not exactly what was planned, but it would have to do.

Getting out also presented a problem. The room was situated so, that the only window was above a cliff. So that was out of the question. If he hadn't been injured, he might have tried scaling the rough castle wall, but he didn't dare in his current condition. On his way out, he had to kill multiple guards, which was also bad. They had been told to kill as little people as possible, so that the murder wouldn't be discovered to soon. Twelve dead guards however where kind of hard to miss.

The greater problem was however, that rumors about his failure would start. Judging from the thugs that just entered, they hard already started. Every would be assassin in the Septem would probably be after him now. If the great and mighty Corbin had failed, it meant he was slipping. Which meant it was an excellent time to kill him and gain respect within the Septem.

Looking at the assassins, he sighed while shaking his head. One of them, Corbin labeled him Squinty-eyes, stepped forward and spoke to him. "So, the mighty Corbin failed. Guess you Dunvers aren't as good as you claim." He said the word Dunvers would contempt. There were six of them and Corbin was getting slightly tipsy from the drinks. Still, they didn't stand a chance. "Okay kids, just leave me alone and you walk away with your lives."

One of them, Twitchy, stepped back, obviously nervous but Squinty-eyes snarled at him. "Come on, he's drunk and alone. If we kill the mighty Corbin, we can ask whatever we want from the Septem for our next job." Obviously, these guys thought the only difference between a Dunver and assassin was that Dunver sounded fancy. Shaking his head once more, Corbin couldn't believe the stupidity.

If a Dunver was the greatest and most magnificent eagle one could find, these guys where the lowliest sparrows one could find. Where a Dunver was like a mighty tiger, these fools where like a kitten. Getting up, Corbin glanced around the tavern to see if there were any more of their allies hidden, but he spotted none. He motioned the barkeep to pour another whiskey. This wouldn't take long...

[Lujayn]

Asthelein’s day was not going terribly well.

She had finally emerged from the unholy terror of Selkia Forest, which had brought about weeks of nightmares, drawing from her memory of her time in her prison, the Shadow Forest. Each twitching branch, every shuffle of leaves, any moving shadow, brought about terror that a Guardian had found her, to drag her back to the hideous home of her people. Exhausted from many sleepless nights, she’d fallen asleep beneath a tree just outside Tamasha, and had been awoken by a burning pain. The hood of her cloak had fallen back, exposing the left side of her face to the sunlight that so pained her people, burning it enough that it blistered, the wounds weeping liquid down her face. She’d bandaged it up as best she could, before spending a great deal of what remained of the morning searching for a healer.

The healer had been a trial in itself, for she had been adamant against the usage of healing magic or any sort of poultices, requiring just a properly secured bandage. She couldn’t very well tell them why, of course; she didn’t have a death wish. Eventually they had complied with her demands, muttering to themselves about “crazy religious fanatics and their cults”, which Asthelein was quite content to let them believe.

After that she wondered around the town, looking for a place to eat and perhaps something strong to drink. While alcohol was treated like a poison, absorbed away so quickly that there was no hope in getting drunk, she always clung to the small hope that maybe, just maybe, if she drank enough strong drink, she could get just a little drunk. A temporary dulling of her situation was strongly desired, and she didn’t even care if she had to suffer the after effects of over drinking.

Eventually she stumbled upon the tavern, and with a sigh of relief stepped out of the intense light of the sun, that stung at her skin even with the hood of her cloak pulled down so far. There didn’t appear to be many people there, just the barkeep, a serving girl (looking terribly bored) and a single man, who looked like he was trying very hard to drink himself into insensibility in record time. She avoided him, not liking the look of him, sitting at a table tucked in the corner and away from the fire. The serving girl rushed over, looking to be grateful to be doing something, and Asthelein got herself a nice meal and a drink that, judging by the smell, could probably be used to peel off paint. She downed half of it within a few neat seconds.

And then a bunch of thugs came in, heckling the other customer in the tavern. Asthelein’s skin crawled; she didn’t like the feeling she got from these men. They were spoiling for spilled blood, which never boded well for her, since for some reason any instance of violence somehow got traced back to her, for whatever reason. Perhaps that was a part of her curse; who knew?

She stood slowly and carefully walked over, the skirt she was wearing swishing around her calves. No skin was revealed, of course, the rest covered by a pair of very sturdy boots and stockings that went up to just below her knee (any higher was impossible, thanks to the protrusions jutting out of said knees). A similar arrangement was setup on her upper half, a very loose shirt, covered by a corset. Long gloves went up to her elbows, once again stopped by those damnable protrusions that appeared at nearly every joint (except her shoulders, wrists, and ankles, thankfully). All this was covered by her long black cloak, and if she poised herself a certain way, no inkling of her mutations could be seen by those not looking closely for them.

“Gentlemen,” she began, not quite looking at them, that most took as a sign of subservience but was merely a way to further hide the peculiarity of her eyes, “Surely violence isn’t necessary-”

“Can it, wench,” the leader- or, so she assumed- spat, interrupting her. “Or you’ll suffer the same.”

Involuntarily, she gave a snort of disbelief. A lowly human, cause any damage to her? Hardly, even with his friends; a mob, however, was something else, and she was reluctant to prove him wrong, in case she was found out. She covered up the snort with a cough, and tried again. “Please, it’s such a nice day, why spoil it with violence? There’s no need for you to-”

The tensing of his arm was all the warning she got, and she jerked back in time so that she didn’t get her throat slashed, although the knife cut across her cheek, slicing the skin and allowing black blood to drip briefly from the wound before it healed with frightening speed. Unfortunately for him, her instincts had taken hold, and he didn’t live long enough to see his folly. The white tendrils of hard material burst forth, tearing the material of her shirt, stabbing the thug through the heart with a loud crunch as bone was shattered. He slumped, then fell to the ground as the tendril slid its way back within her, his blood pooling on the floor.

This is not going to end well... she thought with despair, hearing the shout of the barkeep behind her, although thankfully he hadn’t seen how the man had been killed; he would assume a knife had been used. The thugs and the man they had been threatening had, however.

[Talwyn]

Squinty-eyes was going on and on about how the Septem would bow to him and his flunkies if they managed to kill him. Yeah right. A bunch of wannabe assassins kill a Dunver? Even if said Dunver was getting tipsy SENSIBLE people, that knew just what a Dunver was, would still put their money on him.

Just when he was about to put an end to Squinty-eyes, maybe he should have named him Talks-a-lot as the guy did seem to like talking a lot, the other guest stepped in. “Gentlemen, surely violence isn’t necessary” The woman started saying, but she got cut off by Squinty-eyes. Obviously, he and his flunkies took her not looking at them as some sign of subservience.

Corbin however, knew better. He did not know why, but he had learned to trust his instincts on this. That and his training. He had to know people. The only way to know someone even better was to read their mind. Within the first five seconds of seeing someone, Corbin could learn everything he needed to know about most people. This woman, was far from subservient.

When the fool attacked the strange woman, he noticed the black blood dripping from the wound. And of course, he had a front row seat when the woman launched her counter attack, instantly killing the pretentious ass. He noticed three things. First, and least important, was that whatever the woman had used to attack, had ripped apart her clothing giving Corbin a rather generous view of a rather lovely sight.

Secondly, two of the remaining five thugs moved to the woman. No doubt they were pissed and wanted to kill the "wench" that killed their boss. The third thing was slightly more important. Two other thugs, Whiskers (named as such thanks to his ridiculous mustache) and Fatty were charging him.

Swiping away the clumsy dagger strike with his left arm, he grabbed Whisker's arm and pulled the thug in close as he thrusted out his right hand. The movement caused the hidden blade to reveal it self and punctured the guy's heart. Pulling his arm back, he casually pushed aside Whiskers and side stepped Fatty's attack followed by a quick uppercut like motion, jamming the blade through Fatty's jaws. Before Fatty could react, Corbin's left hand moved to the guys head and with a swift motion, a snapping sound could be heard as he broke his neck.

Letting his opponent fall to the floor, he retracted the blade and eyed the last remaining thug, Twitchy. Squinty-eyes and the rest might have been idiots, but at least Twitchy seemed to realize when he was in over his head as he turned around and started running for the door, though he never reached it. Moving as if he was going to throw a knife, a white light appeared in Corbin's hand. Before Corbin had finished the movement, the light had become a tangible throwing knife, which landed right in Twitchy's neck.

Corbin quickly crossed the distance, and broke the man's neck while not even bothering to remove the knife. He did scold himself though. The knife was two inches below where he had aimed. Shaking his head, he went back to the bar and plunged his hand into a pouch on his belt. Pulling out several gold coins, far more then he owed the barkeep, he slammed them on the counter while grabbing the whiskey the man had already grabbed for him.

Throwing it back all at once, he slammed the glass back on the counter and turned around towards the door. "Sorry about the mess." Making a move with his hand, a wide-brimmed cavaliers hat appeared in his hand which he placed on his head. The hat's greyish color matched his clothing, and a long, black feather was attached to it. Grabbing the door handle, he stopped and stopped to eye Ashtelein.

A piece of cloth appeared in his hands and he casually tossed it over to her as he told her to catch. He then seemed to hesitate for a split second. Maybe it was all the alcohol, he didn't know nor did he care at that time, but he sighed while shaking his head. "Come on, let's move Tentacle-girl. I think neither of want to be here when the city guard arrives." Stepping out, he quickly navigated through Tamasha's back alley's, though he made sure Asthelein could keep up with him, to one of his safe houses.

Once inside, he relocked it, and then checked the locks four times. One of the walls was lined with weapons, each in perfect condition, while in one of the corners there was a table with all sorts of alchemical tools to make poisons with. All this one would expect from an assassin. The one thing that stood out, was the rather large birdcage containing a raven. After giving the bird some seeds, he grabbed a chair and sat down, obviously displeased. "Damn..." He muttered. "Now I won't be able to go there for quite a while. And that stinky tavern serves the best whiskey in town."

[Lujayn]

Asthelein kneed one of the advancing thugs in the groin which, coupled with the bony protrusion coming from the joint, had him on the floor in utter agony. The other was cracked across the head with a blunted tendril. Both were incapacitated, not dead, which was how she preferred it- she didn’t like killing, and avoided it when she could. She had enough problems on her head without needing “murderer” on top of it all.

She blinked when the cloth was thrown at her, and she caught it, momentarily confused, until she remembered her instinctive reaction against the leader of the thugs, and blushed a little when she realised she was slightly exposed. Not too much, but when one was raised in a community of total modesty, one got embarrassed easily over little things.

Her embarrassment faded rather quickly at the name the man bestowed upon her “Tentacle-girl?” she repeated, her voice going up a few octaves in disbelief. “I’m not-!” But he was already out the door, and she was left alone with several dead bodies. Not a good position to be in, especially in her circumstances. She high-tailed it out of there, following the strange man, since she had no idea where to go and he didn’t seem bothered by her strangeness.

She couldn’t move very fast, however, having to keep her cloak and hood safely bundled around her to prevent further injury to her person. Knife wounds healed quick, yes, but burns of any sort did not, and she already had the savage one on her face. The bandage that covered half her face also resulted in a rather unfortunate lack of depth perception, and her progress was again hampered by an inability to judge distances, running into people and things, until she reached the odd little fellow’s hideout, feeling that she were going to be bruised all over, and despite her best efforts her upper arms had gone a bright shade of sunburnt red.

At his next words, she stared at him with disbelief. “You... you were just attacked by a group of men... and all you can think about is whiskey?” She shook her head, hood falling to her shoulders to reveal the rest of her bandaged face, plus her pointed ears. “I will never understand people- ow!”

Her inability to judge distances had bit her once again, she running into one of his tables of miscellanea, knocking a few things off, and she muttered off a string of curses in her native tongue.

[Talwyn]

"Pfff!" Corbin snorted when Asthelein asked if all he could think about was whiskey despite just being attacked. As her hood fell down, the only thing giving away he was surprised was a slightly raised eyebrow. "It ha... Oi! Watch it!" He broke off as she knocked over several jars and bowls standing on one of his tables. Rushing over, he quickly checked what had fallen over.

Holding up a shattered vial, the last few drops of the blueish liquid it held seeping through the many cracks, he seethed. "Dammit! Watch what you're doing would you? A single vial of this stuff costs more then even *I* can make in a month. Ugh." Getting up, he disappeared into an adjoining room and returned carrying a bucket of water and a mob.

"Normally." He sounded angry as he started cleaning up. "I'd let you clean up this mess. But something tells me you're accident prone and I don't wanna risk anymore valuable ingredients. Still, you owe me one miss kooky-eyes." He worked quickly and silently, and after putting away the mob again, he sat down once more.

"As I was saying, before you had to knock over my damn table, it happens all the time. It'd be a surprise if on a given day someone wasn't out trying to kill me. Comes with the job I suppose. Killing a Dunver practically makes you a legend in Tamasha's black-market. And since I am the best Dunver there is, well, I'm sure even you can reason it out from there." His statement about being the best was no attempt at boasting. He was stating a fact.

[Lujayn]

"So sorry," she said in a scathing tone, "That half my face is bandaged and I have no depth perception." Her tone was just dripping with malice. They were not off to a good start. "And- wait, did you just call me miss kooky-eyes?" Again, her voice went up a few octaves. "Perhaps before you give me any more of your derogative names, you could ask what my name is? It's Asthelein- say it with me, Ast-hel-een." She spoke as if speaking to a small child. "And my eyes aren't kooky!" He didn't seem to be paying attention. Yay.

He kept talking, and she listened, there not being anything else to do and she didn't feel like going back into the sunlight. Her new burns were already starting to hurt. She was in foul humour and rather tempted to just knock over all his precious ingredients just to spite him. Then he mentioned what he was.

"Ah... not to sound ignorant or anything, although I most likely am, given my lack of worldly knowledge... but what is a Dunver?" She asked, staring at him with mild confusion. "I have never heard this term mentioned anywere. So I'm not sure what it has to do with people trying to kill you."

That was the problem with having lived in a forest for an unimagianable amount of time. You had no clue what was going on.

[Talwyn]

Stopping mid sentence, Corbin looked genuinely surprised. "Wait... You honestly have never heard of a Dunver? Where have you been for the past... I don't know... 400 years? Were you some sort of tree hugging recluse that was hiding deep in some god forsaken forest?" Shaking his head, he walked over to a small cabinet and grabbed two glasses and a bottle of cognac.

Filling them both, he handed one to Asthelein and sat down, obviously unable to believe that she had never even heard of the Dunvers. "Alright, long story short, it's like this." And with that, he started of an hour long tirade of the history of Dunvers. When he finished, he looked at her expectantly. It was obvious he expected her to be impressed.

[Lujayn]

"Actually... that more or less sums up the life of my race... sans the tree hugging part..." she muttered to herself. She peered at the glass of alcohol handed to her, and downed it all in one swallow. Again, she didn't get drunk, and she sighed over that fact.

She listened to his story, wondering what the LONG version of the history of these "Dunvers" was. The man went on and on, and she was ready to just fall asleep on the spot- but she kept herself awake out of courtesy. No one could accuse the Fallen of being discourteous. When he was finished with his tale, she was silent for a moment, mulling it over.

Placing her empty glass on a table, she said, "So... to sum that all up... Dunver is a title they give to people who happen to be really good at killing?" Which was more or less accurate, really. "I'm afraid I do not find myself feeling very impressed. You're not important politically or economically, you just kill people. There are a lot of people who do that, you know. In a city of this size you could probably find a hundred, if not more."

[Talwyn]

"Being important is besides the point. If I wanted to be important I'd not be doing this anymore." The anger in his voice was rising. "Yes, the very nutshell of it is that we are 'simply really good at killing'. But those idiots in the tavern. That were assassins. They stink. Sure you can pick any random person from the street and give them a sack of money. But a Dunver! A Dunver will not only never fail, he will finish his job so as to give the right message."

Shaking his head, he tried to control his temper. "It's like comparing sparrow's with eagles." He concluded. Obviously wanting to say more, but holding it back in a slight attempt to remain hospitable, he merely poured another glass of cognac for both himself and Asthelein. "So... what's your story then ms Sunburn?"

[Lujayn]

Asthelein, however, was not finished mocking him. "Well, why should we stop at assassins? I mean, if being good means you get a special title, why not do the same with other professions?" She drew herself up. "Behold! I am the best flower-arranger there is in the kingdom! I have never failed to please a customer with my perfect flower-arranging skills! I shall dub myself Tulip Master, and all shall fear me!" Her people, having naught much else to do, were great story tellers, and Asthelein used that talent to make her speech sound all the more ridiculous- to prove her point. "And, sure, these Dunvers never fail... until they do." She slid her eyes over to him. "Which, I assume, that you did. After all... failure would be a sign that you're slipping; that they can take you on. The only reason those men would have gone after you." She was far too perceptive for her own good.

"But, it really isn't any of my business, is it?" She continued, looking up at the ceiling. She gave him a flat look. "And stop calling me weird names; my name is Asthelein. Now what is yours, Msr. Dunver?" She waited for him to give his name, then continued. "As for my story?" She shrugged."It is of no consequence." Liar. "Suffice to say I am of a race that's monstrous of appearance and with a tenuous grasp on sanity."

[Talwyn]

"I go by the name of Corbin." He answered as she asked him for his name while ignoring her barbs. When she told him she was of a race that's "monstrous of appearance" with a "tenuous grasp on sanity" he chuckled slightly. "As if I hadn't figured that out yet ms Shreds-her-shirt... speaking of shredded shirts..." He paused dramatically and a mischievous grin appeared on his face that seemed rather out of place.

Pointing over to a closet in the far corner he continued. "You miiiight want to go over to the closet and see if there is anything that fits you in it. If you can manage to get there without knocking anything over." He had been staring at Asthelein for a while now, somewhere around the point where she had deduced he had "failed" his job and his hat had magically disappeared.

[Lujayn]

Asthelein went scarlet, and covered herself by pulling her cloak tightly around her. "You're a horrid man and I don't think I like you very much," she grumbled, flipping her cloak over one shoulder and fastening it with a pin fished out from her pocket, thus securing her modesty for the time being.

She glanced at Corbin, taking in the type of clothing he wore. "And, of no offense to you, but I shall have to decline your offer. I doubt I'd be able to wear anything of yours without shredding it," she said, holding up one arm enough so that the boney protrusion of one elbow could be seen. "More where that came from, doncha know." The more she spoke, the more her curious accent became pronounced; the odd way she handled "th", "sh" and "v"... or didn't handle them, as it were, saying them like "d" "sss" and "f", respectively.

"And as nice as this visit has been," she continued, sarcasm scarcely hidden in her voice, "I think I should be going now..." She stood, and started to walk to the door... but misjudged the distance between herself and the table, knocking herself off balance and toppling onto Corbin, sending them both into an inglorious heap on the floor.

Luckily for Corbin, Asthelein had fallen on him face-down, and without jabbing him with her knees or elbows, so he avoided that unpleasantness. If anyone walked in they'd get the wrong impression of the situation, but that was doubtful. She did linger atop him a little longer than she probably should have, however. This close, she was able to smell his actual scent underneath the reek of whiskey, and it was rather appealing; a scent of grassland, so opposite from the forest she'd lived in for so long. And then she recalled her situation.

She shoved herself upright, scrambling off him, and the quickness in which she got off sent her head smacking into the edge of the table, and with a string of profane curses, in both her language and Corbin's, she clutched at her now rather pained head.

[Talwyn]

Corbin laughed loudly when Asthelein's face turned red. "You're a horrid man and I don't think I like you very much." The strange woman grumbled while trying to cover up once more. "I love you too Tomato-face." Though the sarcasm just dripped from his voice, it was obvious he was amused. Thanks to the amount of alcohol he had been drinking, it was harder for him to keep a tight rein on his emotions, allowing him to be more open and show a side others rarely, if ever, saw. The warm, amused and almost gentle smile on his face made him look friendlier then normal.

When she announced her desire to depart and headed for the door, Corbin merely shrugged. He was about to get up to unlock the door for her, when her lack of depth perception once again bit the woman in the ass. Toppling over onto Corbin, she send both of them falling to the floor.

Thinking about the situation, Corbin realized he had been lucky that none of the bony protrusions had stabbed him. Looking her in the eyes, he felt himself getting uncomfortable for some reason. "Uh... not that this ain't cozy and all, but get off of me already." For the first time since their meeting, there was a slight bit of hesitation in his voice.

As she hit her head on the edge of table in her hurry to get off him, he sighed and shook his head. Getting up himself, he ignored her string of curses and grabbed her head to take a look. Slowly helping her up into a chair, he disappeared once more into the adjacent room and returned with a poultice of sort which he pressed on the spot where she had hit herself. "It doesn't look to bad, just keep this on it for a bit. It will help to prevent it from swelling." He paused and sighed. "Are you sure you should be going out in your condition?" He almost sounded concerned. Almost.

[Lujayn]

Asthelein’s reaction was, putting it mildly, not a good one.

The moment the poultice was put on her head, it began to burn her skin, and with instinctive reaction a tendril shot forth, knocking Corbin back a few feet away from her. With frantic movements she wiped the poultice off her head, flinging it to the floor, although her head was still hurting from the damage it had done in the meantime, and she was thankful that she was wearing gloves.

She turned her eyes towards him, her pupils almost flat, and she made a sound that sounded an awful lot like a growl. “Do. Not. Ever. Do that. Again!” She snarled, her lips pulled back into a snarl and revealing her rather pointy teeth. “Rule number one! Anything that is used for healing has the absolute opposite effect on me! So no! Never again!” She was still pawing at her head, as if that would help the pain.

In about as fast as it took for her to get so angry, she became rather pathetic, clutching at her now twice-burned head and wailing something quietly in her own language, as well as “hurts, hurts, ow...”.

She really wasn’t having a good day. “And then you keep on calling me weird names!” she continued on a plaintive whine. “My name isn’t ‘kooky-eyes’ or ‘tomato-face’, it’s Asthelein! It is the one thing in life I can say I truly have so stop taking it away!”

There were no tears, but it was fairly obvious that she was crying at this point.

[Talwyn]

As one of those strange tendrils shot out again, Corbin got hit full in the stomach and was pushed back a few feet while gasping for air. He was about to get angry when he noticed her frantic flailing to get rid of the poultice. She snarled at him, and angrily told him that a poultice was quite harmful to her.

"Well how was I supposed to know that huh?!" He responded with an almost equal amount of anger before averting his gaze. "I was only trying to help geeze." The anger was gone from his voice as he mumbled and had been replaced with an apologetic tone.

When Asthelein started her wailing and crying, Corbin got even more uncomfortable. He had no idea what to do, or even if anything he did would be appreciated. And for the first time in a very, very long time, Corbin actually felt bad as Asthelein explained that her name was all she owned. He had never realized a name could be so important for anyone.

Taking a careful step closer, his voice actually sounded like he meant what he was saying. "Look Razo... I mean, Asthelein." He mispronounced her name by putting the stress on the second syllable, but it was obvious it wasn't intended. "Look, the nickname thing is just who I am. I do it with everyone. It's just a little trick to help maintain the upper hand in conversation that is so ingrained I do it without thinking..."

He didn't say sorry or anything, but it was obvious he was trying to make some sort of apology.