Elayra watched Ghent warily, unsure how he would react. On the bright side, he had not already just walked out the door, but his moments of seemingly stunned silence were not exactly reassuring.
	When he finally spoke, readying to give their story in a nutshell, she crossed her arms loosely.
	Drust turned slowly to face them, his expression impassive, and black-streaked crimson gaze settling on Ghent.
	Elayra glared at being referred to as ‘Blondie.’
	 “Sorceress, technically,” she responded once he finished his version of a recap, annoyance in her voice at the nickname, “and I guess we’re a bit of both, but neither of those. But yeah, you've pretty much got it.”
	At his question, Elayra regarded him for a short moment, debating on how much more it would be wise to tell him tonight. She had little experience with interacting with others not effected by the Curse, and the last thing she wanted to add to the worry list was dealing with Ghent if they said too much or, even, too little.
	“You said it yourself:” she uncrossed her arms, one hand again resting lightly on the hilt of her sword, “we need your help. The Curse essentially barred everyone—well,” she scowled, “[i]most[/i] everyone—from using magic. Drust,” she nodded to her guardian, “spent years trying to research it. The two of us can cast minor spells every now and again, but that won’t do us any good against someone like the Red Sorceress. In theory," she rolled her eyes at the word she so detested, "the Curse won’t even recognize you now, so you’d have that access.”
	“Your father and his kind are powerful sorcerers in their own right,” Drust added. “Which is an ability passed from one generation to the next.”
	“So, what do you say? Feel like being a hero?” She offered him a hand to shake in acceptance, trying to keep her doubts about him from her expression with minimal success.