[h1]Shadar Maeneld[/h1]

"Whelp, I've got to stay here for a while longer till the healer's free, so I say that we have a round of drinks or something to celebrate the win. I won't be paying a cent, of course, because I have no part in Drosil wager, so I suggest you get it out of him at a later date." Shadar muttered as he approached, glancing at the others before taking out his sketch pad and sitting on the ground, beginning to work on a sketch of the scorpion girl. He'd directed the last comment to Dalious, as he figured the pirate would try to get his due out of him. That, however, would be Drosil's problem, not his, and quite a problem it would be considering the mage didn't have very much in the ways of funds on him. Being a freelance researcher meant having to make due with very, very little funding for what you did, and Drosil tended to be to busy with his studies to do any real work. Most of their food had to be caught, though given their skills, that usually wasn't a problem he had to worry about. Protection from the elements, however, was not as easily solved, something that the northern climate they were in served to remind him very, very well of.

As Shadar worked out the basic shapes and lines of the scorpion woman's frame, he returned to his beginning sketch of Joy, or Vesta as she was now to be called, and began to fill in the details. After the annoyance [sub][s]and slight guilt[/s][/sub] of the previous bout, he felt a need to lose himself ever so slightly in his favored hobby. He'd continue to alternate between the two, absent-mindedly turning his gaze over to Vesta from time to time to get a reminder of any subtle details he may have forgotten. Her picture was a simple portrait of the woman giving her trademark frown at an invisible fool, looking rather unamused at whatever she was seeing. The picture of Thuraya was still more of a sketch than anything else, showed her in mid-charge towards the audience, her blade thrusting out in front of her in a reckless, yet powerful charge. As he worked, an onlooker might be able to note the odd nature of his writing implement, which seemed to be a quill with all the feather removed and inscribed with tiny runes. Whenever as mistake was made, Shadar would click his tongue, press a rune close to the tip, and point his quill at the offensive line. The ink would soon disperse into dust, falling write off the page and riding the air current down towards the dirt. A trinket made by Drosil with some help from an enchanter he befriended in Jasi, it was a rather nifty device, and it did wonders to help him with his works.