[@Spriggs27]

[color=FFE700]"No, you won't be seeing the void, and neither will I. Come, let's go look for the others,"[/color] Fiers whispered, coming up to Rosha once she'd collected herself. The woman was a mystery to Fiers, relatively unacquainted with her as he was. Of course it was plain she wasn't of the same cloth as the innkeeper's daughter, and he didn't even pretend to suspect she'd respond if he tried flirting. The fact was, a goddess of love could walk up out of the surf right this instant and Fiers would probably be more likely to glare at her and ask where his lyre was, rather than even spare her a second look.

He realized then, that he was fortunate, in having come across one of the most no-nonsense women he'd ever met. They might actually stand a chance should some ill fate befall them on this gods-damned beach. [i][color=FFE700]Speaking of no-nonsense women...[/color][/i] Fiers regarded Rosha, and then the rest of the beach. Where was their sour-tongued healer? Their alchemist? Their fellow bard, and magic-wielder? Even that damned drunk of an orc would be a source of peace of mind in a world full of enemies such as this. And of course, where was Reignald, a battle-tempered rock of a man who unlike Fiers, fool that he was, might actually know what the fuck to do?

Making sure that Rosha was following, Fiers continued creeping along the beach, his eyes still burning, but considerably less than before. As he crept, a melancholy kind of roundabout lullaby started up in his head, and he set to humming softly in his throat. Death seemed close, but with friends, Death could be cast to the way side. He clutched his medallion, rubbing it and humming, feeling very much the prey in a predator's game.