[IMG]http://i165.photobucket.com/albums/u79/SharpshooterJack/markerOlanfaded_zps63d2f0e2.png[/IMG]
[h3]The Duchy of Zerul, by a road in southwest[/h3]
Olan listened intently as the stranger – Angora, apparently – haltingly tried to explain herself, though her explanation left much to be desired in terms of clarification. She had attacked them because she simply assumed that they would attack her? Motivation like that was what drove psychotic murderers all over Reniam, and was generally one of the [I]least[/I] excusable reasons for attacking others, especially if one had no justifiable reason to assume that they were really in danger. It was particularly dangerous just by the fact that there was no possible way to ensure that such a person bettered themselves and overcame their paranoia... aside from turning them into sniffers, that was. Usually though, people like that were either locked away for the rest of their lives as to not endanger others, or they were simply executed if they had managed to actually kill anyone in their delirium.
And that was really the worst part; had it just been her attacking them because of her mental state it might have been forgivable if they chose to forgive her, but the way she explained herself made it sound as though their group had not been the first... and all things considered, it was probably not too much of a stretch to presume that the others she had previously encountered were now dead, considering the intense murderous intent she had displayed when immediately coming at them with her sword drawn. And how well could they trust that these others had really “wanted the sword” and attacked her, rather than simply being random passerby groups like themselves?
The sword... Olan looked at the black weapon, the gaze of his uniform eyes untraceable to the observer, and frowned. He had been so fascinated with Angora herself that he had barely paid attention to her weapon, and even now he personally found the sword not to be anywhere near as intriguing as the woman herself. Judging by the color of the metal and the craftsmanship in general, he figured there was a fair chance that it was obsidite... and it had glowing runes engraved into the blade. It certainly [I]looked[/I] powerful and valuable, possibly even enough so that nefarious elements might be inclined to try to steal it, but that was really all he could tell just by looking at it. It was not like Angora herself, had no “second nature” for him to see... that is, it was not [I]alive[/I].

“Why did you have to make a promise like that?” Jaelnec asked bitterly, his voice a noticeably higher pitch than normal, as he gingerly stumbled over to where everyone were gathering. He still had his sword in hand, ready to resume fighting if it became necessary, but at least he did not seem to intend to attack Angora, even if he was visibly (and understandably) angry. “I really want to kill her...”
Olan pondered briefly whether to address the others in true words as well, just so that Angora would know what she told them, but ultimately decided against it in an effort to try to preserve his energy in case he needed it. “She says her name is Angora,” he told them in Rodorian, “and that she thought we would attack her, you know... because others have? She says that they wanted her sword.”
He frowned again, turning back to Angora and switching to speaking in true words again. “Can you do something about... that?” he asked, gesturing vaguely at the churning, coiling ethereal her-not-her that only he could see. “Your aura-thing? I think everyone would be in a better mood if you could tone that down a little.”