Marcaille chuckled. "Oh, you probably don't want to hear all of the little details of that. Would take too long, anyway. Regardless, it's an effect of the old magic. I'm from High Rock, originally; the mountains near Skyrim. I've been in this clan since it was founded by Ennond. I was born into a coven, or stolen as an infant, more likely. They raised me for most of my childhood, taught me of magic and alchemy. Until they decided it was time to make a sacrifice to lord Hircine, and I was chosen for that honor. Luckily, our lord decided it was more sporting to turn it into a hunt. Old hag probably didn't expect she'd be the prey, though. Ah, anyway, I'm rambling. I've still been keeping their traditions alive. Magically, at least."

While the others were talking, Meesei closed her eyes, letting out a long, deep breath. She felt weak, more frail than she had ever been. And, at the same time, there were constant pains scattered across her body. She did not wish to trouble the others at the moment, but she felt worse than she looked. All she could do for the moment was to keep her magic flowing through her body, and do her best to at least attempt to extract what silver she could. Unfortunately, that effort was slow. Worryingly slow.