[center][b]Vesta[/b][/center]

Vesta was mute for the rest of the ride. She almost always had a sour look on her face to begin with, as if her horse had just trotted in something foul, but there was something about it now that looked sunken, sullen, and exhausted. She hardly directed her horse; it was only through the fine breeding of the horse that she had spent quite a sum of the Ambassador’s money on that she even remained with the others. Otherwise, as distracted as she was Vesta would have been fine with letting the animal wander off and graze in a field. Even the bizarre transition from day to night that normally would have jangled alarms to be wary of witchery and draw her sword closer to her did not draw the woman out of her daze-like state. 

She dismounted only because the others had, following their motions like some sort of puppet. It was the easiest way a soldier could function, yet certainly the least efficient. Her body acted on its own as it braced itself as the ground shook, and only by muscle memory alone did she reach for her sword as the loud scream echoed throughout the air of the strange atmosphere. Vesta hardly noticed the pirate sneaking behind her for cover  as the whirl drew closer, and only by the grace of it being too quick and crashing into somebody else did she not pull her sword on the girl. Already again she was sinking back into her own thoughts, although she didn’t ignore Dalious’s flask—she didn’t need to think to know that she needed a drink. Her hand dropped the noticeably lighter flask back towards him without even the slightest hint of thankfulness as she filed in behind the others into the house of the Lady of Demons.

It was the mention of the God Kings that pulled her out of her haze. Her eyes narrowed as Karin and the Prince continued to talk, the food in front of her remaining untouched. The mention of a shadowy group of Divineborns caused her to throw a suspicious glance towards Drosil and Ambrosia’s dear baby boy, Christopher. Then she chuckled to herself, shaking her head—she knew [i]that[/i] was ridiculous. Of course, even with this information Vesta was only certain of one thing: they should have been fighting Gartian inside of dining with some devil. Pawn or not, the less pieces on the board the better of a position they were in—and right now as those around her stuffed their faces she couldn’t help but consider how many Barceans were in skirmishes with the H’kelan regulars.

And then something horrible happened.

Some fop entered the room, manicured in such a way that Vesta couldn’t help but be reminded of the H’kelan Ambassador. She looked with some disdain at the instrument in his hand, saved only by the grace of some Divine that the man with four hundred million names was only interested in talking than playing. Yet, bards were much like other typical pests where if there’s one there was bound to be others, and Vesta’s fears were confirmed almost intermediately as another garishly dressed man swaggered into the room with an air of unearned confidence that seemed to radiate from their kind—and this one wanted to sing. Vesta buried her face into her hand, her fingers gripping the bridge of her nose as if she was suffering from some kind of migraine before he had even plucked the first note. 

To be honest, it wasn’t the worst song she had ever heard. She actually felt strangely relieved for a moment, although that relief flew out the door the moment the music stopped as all of her doubts and apprehensions swooped back in—accompanied now by the annoyance of being around not one, but two bards. She nearly threw her back out with the huff that escaped from her throat while Dalious and Etsuko played with their food, and leaned forward in her seat so that she could look down the table at the Lady of Demons. 

“Before I ask my question, will there be anymore guests of yours barging in? A Jasian belly dancer? A Guratan sword swallower? A western mage who insists on showing us his amazing ability to pull a white rabbit out of his hat?” she said, counting each imaginary resident of with her fingers before curling her hand into a fist and pointing at the table with annoyance. “Or could we take a moment to discuss how we fight these Manu Propria. I highly doubt they are spending their time stuffing their faces and singing songs between apparently manipulating and creating kings. So, unless we can kill them through the power of song,” she said, her eyes darting between the two newcomers, “then perhaps we should focus. And if that is the way then I’ll regretfully not be much help, since I seemed to have forgotten to pack my flute, what, with all of my countrymen dying and whatnot.”

She sighed, the harshness dropping from her voice as it was replaced with pure exhaustion. “I’ve experienced firsthand the power of the God Kings. You’re saying these bastards created them.” The thought of what was to come made her body feel heavy. “That’s just...forget it,” she said, shaking her head. “Nevermind. Tell me where they are and how to kill them. That’s all I need. Nothing else.”

And with that she pushed her plate of warm bread over to Dalious.