[color=gray][b]"This prophet of ours has never once been wrong before,"[/b][/color] Gram would say, a skeletal hand forming from a hatch in the back, carrying a tray of warm and fragrant herbal teas, a cup prepared for each of them. Gram would receive her's and sip upon it for a moment. [color=gray][b]"And, yes, if you don't wish to help we won't stop you. But at the same time, I won't be giving out charity to someone that can't pull their weight. After all, the fate of the world involves you, now. Especially since you're of a Devilish origin,"[/b][/color] Gram said, looking to Vani as Mammonie asked about her luggage and grabbed at her jubblies.

[color=tan][b]"Nope. It was just you, and we're the only ones that have been inside in...what, four hundred years?"[/b][/color] Vani explained and asked at Gram, who nodded. 

The carriage ride would continue, while Mammonie...or rather, Camilla, could feel a sense of connection to something exterior. The divide between character and player was gone...but as an avid player of MOFU, she'd vaguely see, upon looking at Vani and Gram closely...status markers. Or at least, something that was beginning to list information.

[Gram. Dragonfolk? Necromancer. Level Unknown. Kind of a bitch.]

[Vani. Elf. Paladin. Level Unknown. Has stared at your chest the entire time you searched for the Inventory screen]