Amal sat down on the bed, pressing down on it with his rump to get a feel for how much give it had. The bed wasn't bad for a hovel like Arkendorf, and it was big enough to squeeze two people in it. At least it would not be the ground. For some reason, the mornings in the north brought moisture to the land. A blessing, but an annoyance when one sleeps on the ground. Emmaline was about to sit down on his lap, but he held a hand up. 

"One second, I need to take a piss." He said, and when she snorted he grinned and stood up, giving her a kiss. "Romantic, I know." 

Once through the door, Amal walked out 'back' if one could call it that, though another building was so close to it, the grass between them seemed almost sad from lack of sunlight except at the highest point of noon. He cleared his throat and lowered the front of his trousers, relieving himself. 

Meanwhile, Myrtle strode into the room and informed Emmaline the porridge was ready, and the blonde followed the older, portly woman into the den where she set down a steaming bowl of porridge, the aroma wafting a hint of basil and a pungent spice. The matronly woman sat down across from Emmaline and poured herself a drink as Emmaline began to eat, some juice sliding along her cheek after shoveling a few spoonfuls into her mouth. The broth was tasty and the meat chunky, but something was a bit off. Had they put a certain type of oil in it? Emmaline dabbed her cheek with an offered cloth.  

"Sorry," she said, used to eating as she liked around Amal. For how ruthless he could be to the average imperial, he had many virtues in her eyes, one of those being his complete lack of judgement and expectations. Emmaline tried to swallow to clear her throat, but something still lingered in her esophagus. She grabbed her throat and took a sip of water, though it didn't really help in her endevour to clear her throat. She wasn't suffocating, but it seemed to be runoff of something within her sliding back up to the surface. 

"I don't think this agrees with me," she tried to say, but it didn't quite come out except through a watery rasp. At the sound of her own voice and the mixture of both pity and relief on Myrtles face, the cogs in Emmaline's head began to spin, and it was only when Myrtle said "I'm sorry dear, but it's the only way" that she decided to make a run for it. But her 'host' was quick on her feet, blokcing her way. Or was Emmaline slower than usual? She felt sluggish. 

Tired of this and wanting to find a way to Amal, Emmaline casted a spell based on memory, whispering the incantation to try and summon some sort of arcane aid, but it did not serve her as intended, causing her hands to glow and the silverware on the table to shoot off into different directions as if a child threw them. Myrtle Gertel's jaw dropped, letting out a breath of surprise. 

"A sorceress!?" She said in astonishment. "Even better! He will be giddy at someone else who can perform witchcraft!" 

It was the last noise Emmaline heard other than the droning in her head, as the woman slumped onto the ground and fell in an awkward position on the floor, her vision fading to black. 

Back outside, Amal felt much better. In fact, he had a spur of the moment decision to try his lock picking skills. He hadn't practiced in quite awhile, and fumbled with a small iron tool he kept with the door opposite their current, temporary residence. He gently bit his tongue as he worked it, and the lock 'clacked' open in four strokes. The handsome arabyan raised a smug eyebrow and opened the door, swinging it open and closed a few times before shutting it, casually placing his tool back in the pocket of his trousers. "Still the devil," he breathed, recalling back in his youth when a cobbler had watched him pick the lock of the local jeweler's chest from across the street, shouting at the 'devilish' young man. A better compliment, he had never received. 

Suddenly, Amal heard a crack that broke into a roar, as if the sound had ripped from some unknown realm of reality. His smile gone and now standing on the balls of his feet, an onlooker wouldn't have noticed just how he had drawn his knife, gripping it in his strong finger. One moment it was not visible and the next, he wielded it like a fang. Glancing back and forth, his thick mane of black hair wavered from a new breeze, moving against the wind he had felt not an hour ago. Another sound belched forth, closer this time, and with a heavy thump Amal knew [i]something[/i] had landed at the front of the house.  

Creeping swiftly, the rogue made it to the corner of the house and peered out of its back toward the main road, and his bewildered eyes were met with a ruddy scaled, leviathan monstrosity of perhaps thirteen meters in length. It was not a dragon in his estimation, but it was the next horrible thing down the line of horrible things. In its red eyes was a cunning and anger that unnerved him, but surprisingly, it did not lash out at any of the villagers. At least the few that had not fled into their homes. Amal believed they were stupid for the merest second until he saw the way they carried themselves, and he realized this was a planned affair. Gelf was with the men, some younger, some his age. He did not have time to get a bad feeling, for the very next sight he saw was Emmaline, unconscious or worse, being carried over toward the thing like she was a pig on a spit. 

Amal moved without hesitation, crouched and making his way silently past the wall of the house and into the beast's blindspot, though he did not have time to be stealthy for very long. The men set down his love before the thing and backed away, the draconic thing lowering its snout to her prone form. Amal's dagger flew true, whipping end over end to cut into the beast's throat. It flinched and cried out a terrible shriek, sending everyone to their knees in pain, including Amal. It whipped its serpentine head toward the theif and growled, its neck too thick and long to be slit in one cut. Like a snake, it struck at Amal with its maw. Amal, on his hands and knees, pushed off the ground with the help of his curled toes, sending him flying to the side. The thing took the opportunity to rear its head back and step forward, placing Emmaline's form in its clawed foot as it began to spread its wings. 

"No!" Amal roared, dust whipping into the air as he scrambled toward the thing. It was all he could do to grab onto the barbs of its tail before the next updraft lifted them up into the air, flinging them from the ground in gut-dropping moments.