[@Enkryption],[@Guess Who],[@Suku] Nimoa would nod, smiling as she came to know Tristan's name, saying: [color=6ecff6][b]"Okay! Let's go find a cartographer then, Tristan! Valkira!"[/b][/color] She would practically skip along as she walked, smile carrying her all the way to the local Cartographers' Guild- Or, all the way into literally being roped back into danger. Confusion swept through her mind as she was yanked back at an incredible speed. Nearly throwing up her lunch from the whiplash, Nimoa would see herself literally sailing past Trist and Valkira. Feabily, she attempted to reach out, arm restrained by the rope. The more she struggled, the weaker she felt. Whatever that rope was, it shone with the brilliance of the sun, and weakened her just as much. Thankfully, her parasol was poised above her head, locked in place by the lasso. Less thankfully though, Nimoa found herself cycling through each of her racial skills that might be able to help her out of this pinch, only to find that the rope completely nullified her vampire powers. As she realized that she was well and truly trapped, tears began to pour from her eyes, sailing back as she was dragged. A single word choked out from her throat as she bounced against the ground, doing her best to not just get dragged along the ground. A single word that stung at the heart-strings of hero and demon alike: [center][h2][color=6ecff6][b]"Help!"[/b][/color][/h2][/center]