[hr][center][@Gordian Nought] [color=navajowhite]Egil[/color][/center][hr]The no longer howling amalgamated piñata, unstable and volatile, spew, quite unexpectedly, forth molten viscera all upon the stern knight and the once hailed champion of Vaasa. Not even all the violent waves of Lake Ashane could wipe the spilt entrails clean off of Egil’s armor, all courtesy of a falling lush sphere. From the poisonous gavel of this apparent royalty, now trotting whimsically towards the puppeteer.

The salutation beckoned invitation. [color=thistle]“Hello strangers.”[/color]

The accommodating manservant. Tea time. And a bridled Clydesdale. All were dead giveaways, pointing to a sovereign woman of a virtuous lineage. 

But from where?

His stoic countenance suddenly cracked in thought, startled slightly, as he barely gathered the silhouette of Mhyrienne partially obfuscated in the underbelly of the verdure. He anticipated she or at least Zaerith would eventually spare a prestidigitation to liberate Talran and himself from the divorced filth of the unholy union of wolf and fiend, splayed all over their garb. 

Yet, timeliness mattered not, for the fighter’s manners were an unrefined benediction, since his fateful fall in Rasheman. His forgotten footsteps approaching the nearby human corpse were half-buried, face-down in the underbrush about fifteen feet from the paladin. The muddy clothes were torn, raked with claw marks, disinteresting as a spoil of elderly constitution, still unnoticed by Egil, who was more intently focused on the power of the saddled beauty now admist them.