Mirth strides forward purposefully, intending to finish off the weak.
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Mirth stares the woman briefly in the eyes before speaking through a smirk. "Perhaps thee did not misjudge me after all, Bartha." The lack of title is deliberate and obvious. "I shall depend on mine own blessings, methinks." The tiefling turns away, gathering up her staff in haughty silence and preparing to ride.
Mirth has neither the inclination nor the time to respond to the fat ecclesiast's apology before the woman is gone, to fling herself on Leo. Sister Cherra's slap elicits a brief smirk from the tiefling. Perhaps this is one churchling who yet owns some sense, she thinks. Rising slowly, she shoulders her way to the gathering, offering a curt nod to the newcomer with the intriguing mish-mash of a cosmopolitan accent, before offering her interpretation of Mother Bartha's babblings in a terse, spare few sentences.
Mirth watches through disbelieving eyes as the Hippogriff and its rider escape while her companions waste time dispensing with rabble. Beginning to feel the ache of her wounds, she suddenly sways on her feet, clutching at the nearest shoulder for support.
Mirth curls her lips in a snarl, dropping her staff and snapping her wrist to drop her sceptre into her waiting palm. "I did not yet give thee leave to depart, cousin," she mutters, mostly to herself, her eyes avid as they linger on the licking tendrils of blue fire that bathe both Brujo and the Hippogryph.
As Mirth backs into the shielding crowd of pilgrims, her eyes narrow as the embers within alight and begin to dance hungrily. Heat ripples begin to rise from the tiefling's dusky skin as she offers her savage foes a defiant smirk. "Dost thee wish to dance with me?"she murmurs. "I shall give thee dreams of fire unending!" Her left hand rises abruptly, clenches white-knuckle tight, then opens to reveal a writhing, sulfuroous mote of fire, which she sends on its way with a breath gentle as a lovers kiss.
Looking crossly over her shoulder, Mirth steps away from the onrushing berserkers, her left hand drawing shadows upwards from the darkness of the earth itself to clutch at her closest foes. Having reached a position of relative safety, the tiefling turns her vexed gaze to the newcomer, concealing her momentary surprise at seeing another of her kind. "Stay a while, won't thee?" she murmurs under her breath as she gestures with her staff.
Casting a disdainful glance at the suspicious Mother Bartha, Mirth speaks over her shoulder as she dismounts. "Had I wished thee dead, woman, I would have done it before thee started pontificating." She slaps her horse on the rump and takes a step towards the relative safety of the wagons before gesturing with her tall staff at the closest foe.
Mirth will be riding close to Mother Bartha, quietly enjoying the discomfiture her presence causes.
Mirth has long since ceased listening to the ecclesiast's prattling, content to follow Caine and Snaggletooth, but now her thoughtful gaze travels from the ravens to the young girl, before halting on Mother Bartha. I had thought "Mother" to be but an honorary title for thee; churches so loving ceremony, regalia and tradition. Does the blind girl belong to thee, then?"
Having traveled thus far in self-absorbed contemplation, Mirth watches the proceedings with Mother Bertha's pilgrims in silence, her staff laid crosswise on her knees. She makes no effort to conceal the marks of her infernal birthright, and simply shrugs amenably when the matter of accompanying the group is put to her, idly toying with the delicate flute she has often had to hand the last several days.
Rev: Spoiler:
Mirth has spent the day solitary, silent and visibly restless. She now sits, eyes heavy-lidded and nearly closed but tail a-twitch, listening to Allendi and Leo banter back and forth about reburying sister Cherra in the Wodewood. Her eyes snap open suddenly, a dangerous light rising in them."This spellplague," she murmurs, as her gaze follows the old monk Allendi. "Can it be... harnessed?" Having asked, she seems to withdraw into herself, looking now at Brujo, but plainly seeing something other than the swordmage.
Mirth will be ready to go within a few hours - she's been rebuilt only minorly, and so remains the sweet-as-spun-sugar, wholesome, she-can-babysit-my-kid-anytime tiefling that she always was. As far as regular posting availability, I should be good to go pretty much anytime after, say, noon Wednesday.
As the final shadar-kai bleeds out at Snaggletooth's feet, Mirth takes several steps towards the stairs, moving around the newly-returned Perigia with barely a glance, pausing only when she realizes that she is the only one inclined to give chase. Turning with a scowl, she begins to berate her companions for a job left unfinished, the hellfire in her veins flushing her already dark features. Lady Saharel's appearance (and the pain of wounds suddenly felt) brings her scathing diatribe to an abrupt halt. She sways on her feet, her hand reaching to the small of Leo's back for support as she marshals her reserves and masters the pain.
Mirth closes her eyes as the Lady's voice resonates in her head, the hand that clutched at the Paladin now withdraws to curl, gently and protectively, around a carved flute produced out of a hidden pocket. After a long pause the tiefling finally begins to speak, but swallows her well-considered words before they taste air, whispering instead, in a ragged voice "If I had been there, could... could I have saved him?" Her knuckles are white as they clench the handwrought flute, and her face is a shambles. Unsure whether she has spoken aloud or in silent reply to the resonant voice in her her mind, Mirth draws herself up and awaits the Lady's answer.
Glancing disdainfully at the pile of belongings that Snaggletooth has gathered, she shakes her head. "I wish none of these things. Do with them as thee will." Fixing her eyes on Fairwind, she nods to the woman as she departs. "Make thee certain that Devlin is dead before thee turns about. More lives than a Luskan alleycat, that devil has." Moving to examine the alabaster columns, Mirth lightly runs her fingers across the surface, her mouth moving silently as if diligently recalling lessons learned long ago. She blinks often during her study, denying tears long overdue.
Dodging away from the remaining Shadar-Kai, Mirth moves for the stairs, staff in hand.
Mirth puts some distance between herself and the chain-wielding Shadar-Kai, stepping into before turning her attention back to Thoran.
My Grasping Shadows plan backfired :(
Spoiler: Mirth steps toward the center of the room, keeping Devlin in sight as he retreats. With a subtle gesture and an arcane mutter, the tiefling coaxes the shadows from the stairwell into a writhing, clinging puddle at the warlord's feet.
Readying herself for a parting shot from the prattling Devlin, Mirth slides out of her corner, easing past Caine and placing her back firmly to the tower's wall before subtly nudging the shadows that surely haunt the warlord's mind into turning against him. "Thoran owns courage enough to die in this room, coward. Art thou afraid to do the same?" the Tiefling asks Devlin loudly, eyeing his proximity to the room's only egress.
Mirth carefully retreats from Devlin, putting the reassuring bulk of the Commander between her and the polearm wielding lout. Thoran's mind again refuses to relinquish any secrets for Mirth to wield against him, earning him a vexed scowl and a muttered curse.
Mirth's attempt to coax the Shadar Kai's fears into manifesting are stymied. Her tail twitches in irritation, eyes sliding to Devlin who remains too close for her comfort.
Mirth steps brazenly out of the stairwell, eyes fixed on Thoran as she summons the flames that are her infernal birthright. "A pretty one thou art," she murmurs to him, leaning close enough to feel his breath before coyly spinning back. Around him, her flames flicker higher, sulfurous and hungry.
Sounds like fun!
Not sure what Mirth is doing yet - will likely end up delaying. :(
Mirth will be heading up the stairs near the tail end of this raggedy parade.
Mirth keeps her eyes on Leo's face as he carefully administers his blessing, a small smile curving her lips. She rises abruptly as the divine warmth recedes, a sinuous movement that brings her face to chest with the half-elf, her tail curling around his calf. Placing her small hand, fingers splayed, upon his chest, she murmurs "That was... gently done. My thanks to thee for it."
Refreshed, the tiefling spends the next several moments checking and adjusting various straps and buckles in her kit, and checking the deployment of her several blades. Finally nodding her satisfaction, she looks at the stairwell ahead. "I shall not retreat while an enemy flees before me." she says in response to Snaggletooth's query.
Moving gingerly, Mirth wraps her cloak around herself, concealing the worst of her wounds. "It would be wise to also consider the next floor alerted to our intent." she mutters, settling herself atop the desk that Snaggletooth has just ransacked.
Moving carefully, Mirth tries to remain calm despite her continued blindness.
Mirth lunges to her feet, dancing out of reach of one of her assailants. Both hands clutch her charred staff in a defensive pose, as she ponders her next target.
Mirth bleeds.
As her eyes adjust to the comparative brilliance, Mirth spares a grin for Snaggletooth. "Thee did well, little dragon." Glaring at the approaching creepers she brandishes her sceptre and murmurs, sending a thin line of sparkling frost to intercept each of them. "Stay, dogs of Shar!"
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