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[indent][indent]Whelp. They had pissed off the gods. Which one was hard to tell, but when a demon and a dragon take to causing absolute and complete chaos in one’s eyeline—it’s hard to fathom that you’ve done anything right. Migi wasn’t the religious sort, and the dwarf seemed to have enough prayers for the lot of them. She was curious, though. A group of bandits razing a town to the ground shouldn’t have called down forces that paramount. If anything, the gods would have shown their attention by causing a mud storm—shitting on them further. Yet, Migi had no answers to the lingering questions that rolled around in her head like nuts in a hollow tree. Instead, she focused on their new travelling companions.

She was suspicious of them, to say the least. Of course, the most logical reason for their appearance was that their path had also been destroyed or waylaid by the colossal goings-on. Still, it did seem like they were luckier that a lot of people in the valley. Their ragtag group of prisoners had survived by relying on each other. Well, relying on all of them except the rich boy. How did these three make it? Yet, every time that Migi thought to open her mouth to question them, she paused. The half-elf was handsome. Migi didn’t know much about the art of romance but accusing someone of summoning a demon and/or dragon wasn’t the language of flirting. So, she kept her vitriol to herself. Correction, she kept the accusations to herself.

By the Blade, her feet were killing her. Something that everyone was experiencing, their wincing obvious with every step they took. It was an unspoken agreement that they were to get as far away from what happened as possible. “My feet feel as raw as rich boy’s ass after a night with his martial staff.” She grunted. “So, let’s go. I don’t fear no city. I’d take tall walls over being in eyeline with Lorcan’s stinky balls anymore.”

Migi brushed her bangs out of the way enough to survey Raddek and the city behind him. She brought her hand to her hip, resting her hand on her newly acquired belt. She wasn’t surprised that there wasn’t an ounce of fabric her size across the wake of the bandits. Burrahobs rarely made it out of Pumpkin Hollow, and they weren’t the sort to fall in with tall folk and their contrary ways. Migi shot a look at their new burrahob compatriot. So, she’d had to fasten together what she could out of the bits and bobs, making sure to leave the important parts intact. By the end of it, she’d patchworked the sleeves on, cut most of the tunic off, shored the pants to the best of her ability, and well the shoes—she was not a cobbler. The soles were intact and covered the bottom of her feet. That was the best that she could ask for. She’d need to see to a new set of clothes, quick. The weapon was fine. Despite her size, she was used to using the tall folk’s weapons. 

“We probably keep the flaps of our lips sealed tight,” Migi said to Emmaline. “While you’re right, we don’t look well off enough to attract the attention of sticky fingers, if we go around talkin’ about dragons and demons—we’ll attract the attention of the looney zealots.” She shot a look to the dwarf but didn’t follow through. “And if we talk to the smart and lawful ones, they could start askin’ questions why we’re there. Look. I got out from behind one set of bars, I ain’t goin’ back. I’d rather be stuffed and mounted on Black Robin’s wall before that happens.” 

It was then walked past Raddek and patted him on the bum gingerly. “Now let’s get somewhere with chairs and booze. I could use a drink, some food, and a roof to take a shit under.”
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