[center][b]Ennis[/b][/center]

Ennis couldn’t sleep. The aches and pains from the road demanded to be heard, and he swore quietly underneath his breath. His curse had saved him some nasty burns once or twice from one of Nia’s errant fireballs when she had been practicing so many years ago, but now he would have done anything to be able to trade it in just so he could cast one healing spell on himself. Instead, he just shifted in the bed, trying to find a spot that didn’t fire off a shot of pain through his body. He stirred, trying to find the energy to push himself off of the bed and perhaps stumble into a bath (surely, these country folks still practice hygiene, yes?) but his body refused to lift itself up. He would just marinate in his own sweat, then. The thought of it made his skin crawl.

Hunger, however, proved to give him the strength he needed to pull himself out of bed. He stumbled slightly as he got up and steadied himself on the bed’s frame as he felt his legs reform themselves into something solid. Grabbing his hat and smacking the dust from the road off of it, he ran a hand through his hair and put the cap on the top of his head. In fact, despite his aches he still found the energy to brush off whatever grime that had settled on him. He did not want to eat looking like some disheveled madman. Pushing his way through the door, Ennis kept a hand on the wall as he made his way down the stairs and into the common room of the inn. 

He cast a look over to his companions—Drosil had just joined the table of ladies—and he decided he would join them once he order his meal. Sitting down at the counter, however, immediately changed his plans. There was no way he would be getting back up. Not for a few minutes, at the very least. He tucked into his food, nearly oblivious to the scene that was playing out behind him until Cyril announced the name of Damon Dubois. Ennis nearly spit out the soup that was in his mouth as he twisted, painfully, in his chair and added his own variation on the paladin’s title to the ever-expanding list.

“That Fair-Weather Bastard,” said another voice instead. Ennis almost leapt out of his seat (an action that surely would have sent him to the floor) as Vesta seemingly materialized next to him, leaning with a back against the bar. Already, she somehow had another drink in her hand. She was looking through angry eyes at the Paladin. She spoke in a muttered voice, but Ennis felt that she wasn’t really talking to him. “Of course that [i]boy[/i] would bring that asshole along, too. As if we didn’t have enough problems as it is.” She took a heavy swig from her mug and slammed it on the bar. “Let’s go say hello. Wouldn’t want the [i]boy[/i] to get upset.”

Vesta walked from the bar to the the table of their companions; Ennis struggled after her. Vesta shoved past Christopher. Ennis gave him an apologetic handwave. They arrived just in time to hear the Paladin’s comment about coffins.

“Yes, the bodies do just seem to pile up when you are around, Damon,” said Vesta. She looked at Cyril and nodded at the villagers the Sentinels had brought in. “More recruits, I take it? Shall I ask the innkeeper if he would want to accompany us, or perhaps the stablemaster? I’d ask the undertaker, but I fear he’s going to be quite busy in the next couple of days,” she said, her eyes glowering as they turned back towards the Paladin. “Why are you here, Damon?”

Her question, however, was lost in an outrageous and obviously fake laugh from Ennis. He slapped her on her shoulder and pulled himself in front of Vesta, wiping a tear that wasn’t there away from his face. 

“Oh, what a kidder you are, Vesta. I see why they call you Joy, now. Truly the life of the party, always ready with a joke or your quick wit,” said Ennis, smiling brightly despite the daggers Vesta’s eyes were staring into him. He clasped the Paladin’s hand. “ Hi, Ennis Cade. It is truly fantastic to see you again, Sir. Well, we never actually met face to face, but you did help my family with an, uh, discrete matter many, many years ago. It is an honor to have you accompany us. Isn’t it, Vesta?”

“Honor isn’t a word I would use when talking about this man,” she said. “Damon, why are you he—”

“A delight, isn’t she?” said Ennis, giving another loud, fake laugh. “Oh…”

He knew the man’s actions towards blasphemers and that worried him. He also knew that he did not know how far Vesta was willing to go to egg on the Paladin, but she did not seem like the kind of woman who gave much regard to the Divines and that terrified him. He looked around with pleading eyes at the others, hoping somebody would steer the conversation towards, well, anything. His eyes fell on Drosil, unaware of the state of being the magus was in. The man seemed intelligent; surely he could fix this before it came a mess.