[color=ec008c]"Exactly, Theodore."[/color] She felt appeased by the chorus of the Templar, his angelic voice resounding in her skull.

The diviner lowered the rod, managing just in time, to glean Haemar and Thea in discussion, whilst Birbin's unseen servant accompanied her very own with tasks of tidying the shrine. The muffled voice of the wizard bluntly appeared persistent since the paladin, based on her contorted visage, required a significant amount of persuasion. 

Wick walked closer. 

Her eyes and ears were attempting to decipher and discern the subtle insight of a possible mutinous accord. Did her tirade rift a dissection amongst her allies? [i]Her companions.[/i] Not everyone was prepared to risk life and limb for such lost lands. Not even the [i]Face of this world[/i].

[color=ec008c]"Speak up, friend."[/color] The staff began to glimmer as its bottom danced upon the vines, discarded and disentangled from yester battle.  [color=ec008c]"No need to dread in waking the dead. Please parley with us your whispers so that others may wager on your apparent gamble."[/color]

The cleric yearned that her suspicions were not warranted, but validation was mandatory, if such a trek was to be ventured. Numbers would garner favor, over time, in their quest, and the more, the sprightlier. She massaged the texts awaiting a reassuring retort, that all was well amidst the wardens of Light.

[Hider=Mechanics]
Wick casts Shillelagh as she nears Thea, Haemar, and Birbin. She awaits their response or any other intervening rebuttal.
[/Hider]

[@The Harbinger of Ferocity][@Hekazu][@Cu Chulainn][@JBRam2002]