"Are you really still messing about with that Elgi trash?" Morek grumbled as Emmaline finished lacing up the bluish hide armor. Markus had been correct in his assumption that no elf would have anything close to her bust, nor her hips, and she had been forced to cut the garment down the front and lace it up over a section of cape. The end result didn't look particularly elven at close range but she could hope that from afar it might not be immediately apparent.

"Well its that or dress up as a slave I guess," Emmaline replied a trifle tartly. The pair of them were at the prow where Morek had just finished reloading the repeating bolt thrower, or as he called it, that piece of elgi trash. Come to think of it Elgi trash seemed to be a fairly common adjective with him. The dwaf was hefting a pair of sea axes meant for cutting lines in an emergency. In his hands the ornate weapons seemed almost prissy, but Emmaline didn't doubt they would prove effective. Markus and the two elves were busy at the sails. Despite their words, Emmaline suspected it was only the fact that she and the dwarf would side with Markus that kept them from knifing thier rescuers and heading for Ulthan.

"Speaking of appearing like a slave," Emmaline said and crossed over to the dwarf. Morek backed a step at her approach.

"Stop that, you are as skittish as an elf," she snapped. Predictabley this froze the dwarf in place as his rage percolated. Emmaline put a hand on either side of his collar.

"Dwalarek kestor pharidas," she whispered and pulled the collar free, the metal momentarily as pliable as cool spring water. The spell faded and Emmaline dropped the collar with a crash, its considerable weight restored when the spell had run its course. The dwarf glared at her for a minute but then seemed to relax.

"My thanks Manlette," he grumbled.