The Enemy of My Enemy... [Flashback](Erzotol)

[Mortemor Thane II]

Summer 509 AV “Endrykas— A nomadic city, located in the Cyphrus region, which drifts across the endless plains of The Sea of Grass. Always moving, never daring to pause lest the lush fertile land the Drykas people worshiped and lived upon, go dry and barren from the presence of the ‘living’ city. This resulted in the lands bountiful variety of herb--…” Mortemor's eyes nearly fell off the page from the boredom. Finally in defeat she shut the book sitting in her lap, and shifted a dull gaze onto the scene in front of her. The merchant tents had just begun to open for business, and a mix of Drykas and other species mingled in between the walls of cloth; Searching through various wares for useful or sometimes luxurious things. Mortemor's father planned to blend among the many trader stalls and rake in a share of the riches Endrykas had to offer. But while her Sr. dreamt of profit, Mortemor Jr. had nightmares about staying another day in the ever shifting city. If she had to spend one more night sleeping on the ground, she might go mad and end up beating her father to death on the travel back, with that rock they passed by like seven times before they were found by the watch! Oh! but the Sea of Grass itself was another atrocity Mortemor feared would drive her further into insanity. “Sea of Grass…” Mortemor spat. It was enough that she hated the ocean, but the plains she had just road over resembled the sea in such a way, that it caused her to contract a case of Sea sickness; further souring her mood and dampening her enthusiasm for the trip to Endrykas . “--on land!!” Mortemor cried out loud to no one in particular, finishing the rueful thought that rolled about in her head. The younger Thane narrowed scornful eyes at her father who had tricked her into coming; promising there wouldn’t be a drop of ocean water, but neglecting to mention that the scenery was known for resembling the ocean. “Quit your belly aching!” Mortemor Sr. rattled as he unloaded a crate from his cart. The large bull pulling his merchandise swayed softly, patiently waiting for Jr. to unhook him from his harness. “—you said you didn’t want to go anywhere near water. We’re nowhere near any water!! You’re ridiculous…” Sr. finally had had enough of Jr.’s incessant complaining, and comments about how they had “--passed that rock like seven times already…” Luckily the watch had found them in time, before Sr. had gone mad and beaten Jr. to death with the damned rock. “My feet hurt…” Jr. Groaned as she lazily unstrapped the cattle from the cart and allowed it to graze a short distance away. “You’ve been sitting on the cart the entire time… Your mother has coddled you too much.” Thane Sr. frowned harshly as he passed his daughter on the way to retrieve another crate of trade items. “Now, put your hair up and get your hands dirty…” Sr. tossed the crate at Morte Jr. expecting her to catch it. The red head quickly fumbled for the crate but her grip was not tight enough. CLASH--!! Several thin neck bottles spilled out and shattered onto the ground, drawing attention from some of the trader stalls nearby. Morte Jr. reluctantly looked up at her father, who had the expected reaction on his face; not happy. “Sorry—“ Jr began but was cut off by a stern look from her senior. “You’re here to help me, not slow me down… you have to be on your toes, Mortemor. This is not a vacation. I don’t expect you to enjoy it, just be responsible about it.” Sr. kept his tone leveled as he stomped over and yanked the now empty crate from the ground. “Clean this up, and then get the rest of the items off the cart. I’ll set up the stall…” Senior left his daughter’s side, looking disappointed. Morte Jr. sighed, now out of the presence of her father. After tying her red locks into a tight pony tail, she drew up the hood to her heavy cloak to hide her embarrassment. There was nothing more she wanted then to just finish up here and get back home. So far there was absolutely nothing Mortemor liked about The Sea of Grass, and the Endrykas city. She saw it as just a giant ball of chaos that rolled about the Cyphrus region, scrapping out a shaky existence. Pulling on a pair of sturdy workmen’s gloves, she kept her cloak pulled down over her eyes, and went onto picking up the shattered bottles and placing them into an empty container. Mortemor was still very young and naïve. She just didn’t see the strength within the Drykas people, or their determination to survive even in the most fragile of situations. But it was these traits she would grow to greatly admire…

OOCI couldn't think of a good reason to get her to the war pavilion but I hope this is suitable, if you want me to rework anything for you, just ask~! ^.^ Sorry if it has some typos XP

[Erzotol Silverden]

There he was, the man who said he couldn't hold a blade with any skill if his life depended on it. Erzotol stood solidly before the man, his legs spread to either side, and his sword held before him, yet that was the limits to what he knew of sword work. The other drykas had been right, he didn't quite know how to wield the weapons he carried, his training cut short just this year when his father disappeared into the grass, and still they had seen no sign of him. It didn't much matter that the man before him was right though, it mattered to defend his honor, and repay the insult with a fight in the War Pavilion. His shield, firmly strapped to his arm, he held out before him, much like his father taught him, and his sword out to the right, in hopes of possibly getting a swipe at the younger man when his guard was down. Lucky enough for him the man before him was a few years younger than him, but still yet possessed skill mimicking his own, making this a rather even fight, if Erzotol wasn't bigger than him. The drykas on the other side of him held a spear in his hands, carrying nothing else, and held a similar posture, waiting for Erzotol to rush him perhaps. His jest had sparked this battle, and now he was just trying to make sure he came on top.

Erzotol charged, letting his shield arm lead, it held rigidly in place before him, all but obstructing his sight completely as he let his sword arm drag on his side. Right before he thought he was within striking distance to the man, he lowered his shield to see him no longer before him a confused expression coming to his face. Whack! Something hard hit his legs while they were still in motion, and sent him over into a flip that was more of a roll. On the ground, pain radiating from his shins, he realized what must have happened. While his own shield had been up, his opponent used his limited sight to duck and come in low, using the haft of his spear to level him. The sharp pain in his legs hurt, but he threw his shield up just in time to stop a spear strike that would have punch through the white leather armor he wore in the weak point of the armpit. It was a lucky save, he knew as much about the shield as he did with a sword or bow, which wasn't saying very much at all. The sharp metal tip of the spear stuck solidly into his wooden buckler, and as the spearmen retracted his weapon his shield ripped off his arm following the motion.

It was times like these he wish he knew how to keep a hold of his shield, but he couldn't worry about that now as he scrambled to his feet. Losing the buckler seemed to be a saving grace for him since while his opponent tried to extract his spear from the shield, it gave him enough time to get on his own two feet, and lunge at the man, swiping his sword at the man's shoulder. The man, seeing the approaching strike, threw himself backwards, dislodging his spear at last by chance and more importantly getting out of the reach of the longsword in Erzotol's hands. The man lay on the ground now, in the process of getting up, and instead of going to strap on his shield, Erzotol decided to press the advantage, coming in with a simple overhead chop with his sword that might snap the spear in half. Even while scrambling to put distance between himself and Erzotol and trying to get up, the man saw the descending blade and reacted in the way he was taught. Erzotol felt more than saw as the butt of the spear flashed upwards to slam into his stomach, stealing all power from his strike, and letting his sword topple from his hands onto the ground. Then came the wooden end of the spear again, cutting sharply upwards to slam underneath his chin, and knock him reeling backwards into the dust.

Pain racked his body, even blurred his vision a little bit, and through all of the distortion he could hear the emerald clansman's mocking laughter as he walked away satisfied he had dealt with this fight well. Erzotol rolled over groggily to his belly, pushing a hand underneath his chin to find it wet with blood where the wood had split the skin from impact. That didn't hurt as much as his stomach did though, or to the severe hit his pride had just taken, beaten so quickly by a younger drykas. He refused to give into the pain though, and pushing himself up with his elbows, he slowly found his way to his feet, finding his shield and sword much in the same place he had seen them go, and with a great effort of will he stumbled his way to them gathering them up. Shield strapped across his back, and sword sheathed at his hip, he stumbled out of the war pavilion, his body aching all over from the beating he received, and decided to walk over to the Opal clan pavilions in hopes of maybe getting a few herbs to dull the pain that stirred inside of him. Perhaps he would just deal with the pain though, much like he deserved to, and head over to the Ruby clan pavilions where much trade went on and he could secure a bottle of ale to wash this bitter memory away. Yes, that would be what he would do.

He stumbled along the wide dusty walkways that ran between the pavilions, sometimes leaning on a wooden stall, or a tent support to catch his breath before moving on, seeking a fiery drink to quench the regret that welled up inside of him. His didn't blur anymore now but now was still a bit disoriented with the pain, getting him a bit lost in the grand city of a camp that he should know better than how he himself was navigating. Before him there was a man but he paid him now mind looking to the side at some promising brandy sitting on a stall shelf as he continued walking until he bumped into someone, losing his balance and falling to the ground in a heap. His head swimming, he slowly found his way onto his elbows and cut his head to the side, vision clearer now to the sight of the girl he had bumped into, a scowl forming on his face. " Watch where you are going mister, people are trying to walk her you know " he said gruffly, wondering why the boy simply hadn't avoided him when he plainly was having trouble walking himself with the pain that rushed through him. He struggled to his feet and after briefly dusting himself off, glowered at the man, as if he was the source of all of his problems today.

[Mortemor Thane II]

Mortemor Jr. gingerly placed each shard of precious glass into the palm of one gloved hand and after filling the palm would toss the debris into the empty crate. She was completely focused on picking each shard of glass from the tangled and trampled upon grass at her feet, knowing full well that her mother had craft these bottles, and she held great respect for her mother's work. Simply because of her wild love of the Inarta culture. Glass was precious to her… Crunch--! Crunch--!! Slam!! The young halfling could hear the sound of glass crunching beneath someone’s clumsy and inconsiderate feet. ‘The Glass!!’ Mortemor thought fervently, her emerald eyes darting upward to see who was coming. Unfortunately, by the time she set eyes onto the on-comer she was tripped over and toppled by a large stumbling brute. At first she chose to do the polite thing and just get out of the way, but it was the stranger’s words invoked her already boiling annoyance. “Watch where you’re going, people are trying to walk here…” The man uttered as he rose. ‘Stupid Endrykas!! The landscape is confusing!! The city always moves and you have to sleep on the ground!! It’s always so nosy and crowded!! And the people are just plain rude!! That wasn’t even my fault --!! ’ Mortemor triaded in her head, biting her lip in grand frustration. The words left her lips before she could think. “More like stumble… what happened? Did you get trampled by your own horse? From the look of you, I’d say he stepped on your face a few times…” Mortemor called out as she turned; her cloak fanning out behind her. She hoisted a heavy box of cargo onto her shoulder and carried it to her father’s stall. ‘Screw the glass… the faster we sell our stuff, the faster we can leave!’ Mortemor thought in a huff, as she tossed the wooden crate down onto the floor. She turned to leave once more, ignoring an aggravated shout from her father, who was none-too-happy with how she was handling the merchandise or how she was talking to his potential customers. Mortemor’s cloaked figure appeared by the cart once more to grab yet another heavy load of booze, trinkets and other knickknacks for trade. “I’m sorry about my Mortemor… --Jr.’s got a pretty sour disposition, right now.” The salt and peppered haired Sr. stepped from his half assembled stall and called over to the young man who Mortemor Jr. had just verbally assaulted. “Please ignore the runt…” Morte Sr. tossed a weathered thumb in his daughter’s direction, and welcomed the weary Drykas to view his wares.

[Erzotol Silverden]

Doing something he hated doing he bit his tongue, stilling the hot words boiling in his throat keeping from shouting them out and making a scene. That insolent boy he thought, stepping forward to accost the lad but stopping himself short. This was not his kid, was not even his kin, and thus was not his to punish. He didn't want to bear further humiliation by having to go the war pavilion and retrieve arrows while being shot at. Instead he kept in place and began dusting himself off a bit more, his white cuirass a bit dirty now, and the swords sheath got a little dirty as well which would be no good if he hadn't dusted it off immediately. It could rain and make is stick later on when he truly needed it, and while the sky was bright and blue as could be he didn't really want to risk that.

A man was striding for him now, quite possibly the lad’s father, and was coming at him with a posture that hinted at his agreement with Erzotol's position. He nodded his assent to the man's words, and struggling to keep his voice calm, he looked at the man in the eyes. " Bah, the little ones got to learn how to control their tongue some day, all is forgotten I assure you. We drykas are thick skinned. " He said, his voice deep and rumbling, something quite possibly only his family would know as a sign he was quite pissed off but strangers often took it as coming natural to him, hopefully this one would to. Of course all was not forgotten, he didn't soon forget slights against his pride, and the boy was old enough to take a beating, so if he got the chance he would feel no regret. He could use a good lesson in manners after all.

He arm clasped the man with a veteran look about him, and strode over to his stall, scratching his chin as he browsed the wares. " I'm looking for a drink with a bite to it, got anything like that? " he asked in that same tone, keeping his hands to himself, and keeping to merely looking.

[Mortemor Thane II]

“… Thick-headed, too.” Morte whispered under her breath to the “thick skinned” comment, as she brought in another box and roughly set it onto the ground near the others. Gray-bearded Morte Sr. was busy running through his stock in his head. “Something with a bite, eh?” The older man hefted a large wooden cargo box onto a table he was using as a bartering station. Wrenching off the top lid he thumbed through the contents. “Hmmm…. This is the wine shipment from Syrlias… Sweet, but not strong enough.” The older gentleman repeated the action 2 more times until Mortemor finally brought in the box he was looking for. “There it is! Put it on the table, Jr.” The younger apprentice sighed and dumped the box onto the table, too bothered to be concerned for whatever else was already perched upon the table top, or who hands were resting there either. “Here we are… “ The Sr. was ever patient with his daughter in front of company, but if they had been in private, he probably would have whacked her in the head with the bottle of rum he held in his hand. “This is Rum from Sunberth. Hard to find, but it has a hell of a kick. Might even leave your mouth a bit smoky!” Morte Sr. slapped his leg and chuckled, clearly prideful of the quality of his merchandise. Mortemor Jr. was already fetching the cash jar in which they stored the days takings, but Sr. quickly waved her off; causing the young woman to give him a confused look from beneath the hood of her cloak. “Here you go stranger, no charge… You’re my first customer in Endrykas. Consider it a gift for the hospitably of your people.” The old salt and peppered haired merchant stroked his long braided beard and eyed the young Drykas. “From the looks of it you’ve recently been in battle. Care to drink with me and share a few stories. My young counterpart can fix the store front up.” Sr. gave a devilish glare through the side of his eyes at his daughter; he’d make her set up the entire thing herself as punishment for her impudence. Morte Jr.’s mouth flew open immediately to protest!

[Erzotol Silverden]

He leaned easily against the wooden stall, his fingers barely touching it now and patiently watched as the man shifted through his supplies. The prospects of the potent stuff dulling out his pain and memories alike was very much alluring at this moment, especially with the man being so well mannered. Out of the corner of his eyes he could see the man's young boy bringing the wooden crates over without much difficulty but with plenty of anger reflected in the mechanical look of his movements. What was his problem, can't take proper punishment for something he had caused Erzotol wondered, his hand scratching his chin briefly before dropping down to his sides. Already the fact that he had stumbled into the boy had flown from him, gone into the recesses of his mind when the prospect of getting a strong bottle of liquor came available, and pushed all other thoughts from his head. So what if the young one was a little sour, it wasn't any consequence to him anyways since after all he did business with the father and not the son.

Words escaped the man's lips, and drew Erzotol's eyes to the bottle in his hand, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Rum, that'll do just right echoed in his head, but was stopped short by the man's next words. A wave of shock caused his jaw to drop a little, but he quickly turned it into a wide smile of thanks to the generosity. " Many thanks good sir, I would indeed favor a drink with you. I'm sure you have good tales of the outside world, maybe even of this Sunberth you mentioned " he said his tone upbeat and rumbling from his chest. The fact that the boy would have to work while he and the man drank just made the moment all the sweeter and he moved follow the man in for a drink. Things where shaping up quite nicely.

[Mortemor Thane II]

Sr. pulled up two empty cargo boxes and set them aside an empty, worn and beaten table. The older gentleman than disappeared to the back of the tent, but shortly resurfaced with two glasses in his hands. Thane Sr. served the drink and smiled warmly as the dark, almost blood colored, liquid sloshed into the glasses. "My wife made these glasses for me... She's got quite the talent for it." Morte Sr.'s voice was soft, as though longing. The cups reminded him of his lover, miles and miles away in Zeltiva. He missed her sorely and knew that his daughter, too, longed to be at her mother's side. But they had come for a reason! and like a good businessman, Morte Sr. never turned down a great opportunity to turn a profit. "Before I go off into a wild tangent... I'd actually like to know how you got injured..." The gray haired merchant eyed the young man. "... Do you need any bandaging? Perhaps some medicine...?" Jr. trudged about in the background, her hood pulled down to the bridge of her nose, casting a shadow upon her face which reduced her bright emerald eyes to a dull simmering pinpoint of a light; that peered in irritation at both of the men, as they settled comfortably into their chairs. Her scalding gaze traced back over to the cart that had only been a third of the way unpacked. With a heavy sigh, she began her laborious task; heaving one large box on to her shoulder. The wood of it creaked in protest as she wrenched it up from the cart, digging her nails into the wood for a better grip. The supplies inside jostled about and then rumbled heavily as the red-head managed to lift it to her shoulder. “Ngh!!” Morte jr. Struggled. A rough grunt escaping her lips, the tone of it was harsh enough to sound quite manly, and the sound would have surprised even her; if she had not been concentrating on not tipping over. “Lift with your knees, young one!” Morte Sr. spouted in mock concern, but his attention remained with the Drykas warrior. “Shut---up!” Morte Jr. grunted in between clenched teeth, a vein sprouted along her neck, and another formed at her forehead. The muscles in her legs and shoulder strained to keep the box balanced. Slowly but surely she managed to bring one box after another into the tent, carefully handling each this time, lest she injure or strain herself. She knew what her father was trying to do; it was all a show of power for this newcomer. It was evident that Morte Sr. was determined to make a good impression on the Drykas with or without Morte Jr.’s cooperation. He would just work her into submission if she continued to give him lip.

[Erzotol Silverden]

It felt cool on his lips as the cool, dark red liquid passed itself between his crackled lips to dull the pain that still felt keen at some moments. It's bold flavor washed over his tongue, whipping about slowly so that it filled his mouth with it's rich flavor. Even as it sank to settle into his belly he was taking another swig of the potent liquor, eager to wash away the memories of this day to oblivion, along with the accompanying humiliation of course. He was glad the merchant contented himself with talking about his wife instead of immediately following up his words spoken of humiliation, which might not agree with him so much in his current disposition. Still the question was bound to come so thus he wasn't surprised when the man opened his mouth and inquired about the wounds that marred his flesh. He cleared his throat with a loud cough that only exaggerated the rivulets of blood that ran down his chin.

"I was sparring over in the War Pavilion and things got a little out of hand." Erzotol said simply, in his deep, rumbling voice, his words reflecting a necessity for being concise in what he said. He emptied the rest of his glass at that, taking the rest of the heavy liquid in one huge gulp. Erzotol settled back further in the chair as a wave of euphoria washed over him, and his eyes lazily scanned around, occasionally giving the boy a weird look at his complaint against doing one's own chores. Turning his head away, he spat, shaking his head ever so slightly at the ridiculousness of such a notion as to want not to respect the words of your elders. "Perhaps if you kept that mouth of yours closed you'd already be done busting your back over those boxes, or at the very least have a helper." Erzotol jabbed at the man's boy, grunting after he said it, and returning back to his glass, this time requesting a little bit less to be poured into the exquisitely crafted glasses. After all, it wouldn't be any good to overindulge in the potent liquor, especially around outsiders that could take advantage of his vulnerable purse strings while he slept.

[Mortemor Thane II]

Mortemor Jr. whipped about abruptly to stare the drykas straight in the eyes. It was the first time Mortemor Jr. had actually set eyes on the man. The entire time she had been too disgusted with his presence to even glance in his direction, but she would not tolerate his belligerent words! Her shining malachite eyes locked with large silvery blues, which were narrowed at her in defiance. All the venomous words she had swelling in her throat died away with a single skipped beat of her heart. The drykas was a sturdy looking young man with large healthy arms, and piercing azure eyes that mirrored the color of the sky on a clear day. His tawny hair flowed haphazardly about his shoulders, the strands of it dampened with sweat. Although he did not share the same type of good-looks her father did; his allure had a rugged, wild attraction. Mortemor Jr., too young to understand what infatuation was or what it felt like; was concerned, if not confused, by the sudden aching that ensued her heart. In truth, these feelings, which she could not comprehend, irritated and upset her further; the young Halfling found herself utterly speechless.

“Mortemor!” Sr. called to his daughter, fearing that the young woman was plotting to bludgeon the drykas warrior. “Find me the medicine box… please.”

He knew he was pushing her a little too far, especially since he was allowing a stranger to speak to her so roughly. “I suppose all disputes are still handled at the war pavilion, huh?” Sr. quickly changed the subject, and began to refill the warrior’s glass, taking a good look at the lad as he did. He was still a young inexperienced lad, but just by his build, Mortemor Sr. could tell he had a lot of potential. The lad’s wild hair reminded him of the days he rode through the grasslands in attempts to escape authorities. In fact Endrykas had been Morte Sr.’s hiding grounds for most of his youth, and he had many tales of when he would use the vast lush plains as his treasure trove. He wondered if any of his abandoned stashes had withheld time, robbers, or the Endrykas people; as clever as they were. He doubted any of his valuable caches had survived. His days as a young and stead-fast rogue, was something the older man seldom talked about. Now-a-days he preferred to share more of his mercantile stories.

“Oh! How rude of me… I forgot to introduce myself. I am Mortemor Thane, Travelling merchant and part-time father…” He chuckled. “And the angry devil that just went to fetch my kit-- is my little junior; Mortemor the second.” Sr. announced with pride. Despite his daughter’s occasionally prickly disposition, he was quite proud of the beauty his loins had yielded.

Jr. rushed back to the cart, an uncomfortable heat claiming her cheeks. She pulled her cloak down further, which made finding the kit a bit difficult. Finally overcome with frustration, Mortemor clamored onto the cart, disregarding her cape which continued to get caught up on the corners of unloaded crates. She began to violently tug and rip up boxes; shoving them out of the way and sometimes off the cart completely!

“Hey! Hey!! HEY!!!” Sr. yelled over to Jr. his attention to the Drykas being broken by Jr.’s sudden outburst. “You break it! You bought it! Do you understand me, Jr.!?” Sr’s warning fell on deaf ears though, as Morte Jr.’s slender but worn palms had located the small wooden box her father had stashed away beneath the driver’s seat. She sighed, and quickly stomped back over to the men and threw the small timber box onto the table.

“There…” She added curtly.

“Thank you…” Sr. uttered in a mockingly grateful tone. “Now let’s see…”

The older male flipped the top to the box open, which hit the table top with a sharp ‘CLACK’ sound.

“It’s empty…” Sr. stared into the space that was supposed to be packed with herbs from all over the land. The older man’s demeanor suddenly took a drastic change. His cheerful, friendly air died and became a stifling tenseness. A sharp look claimed the man’s features, and he looked pointedly at his child.

“Didn’t I tell you to refill this before we left Zeltiva?” Sr.’s tone was very straight forward, and short.

Jr.’s lips went dry, she did recall him mentioning something about the first aid kit. “I’m sorry…” She began, but was cut off by her father.

“Now what will happen if we get attacked or something terrible happens on our way home?” Sr. did not raise his voice, but his disapproving looks were enough to reprimand Mortemor Jr.

Layout by Gossamer

[Erzotol Silverden]

In a battle of wills, his eye kept locked on the young boy's, and Erzotol continued on unblinkingly, not blinking for a moment, and would have even stood up where it not for the father's kindness towards him, and the fact that the seasoned man was just across the table from him. His fists clenched reflexively, and his slightly large, yet untrained muscles rippled as he straightened up a bit in his chair only to go instantly slack as the taunting spirit of the alcohol urged him to relax. He wasn't a angry drunk, he spent to much time being angry when he was lucid for such things, and with the rum introduced into his system, the potent spice washed over his system slowly tugging at the fire that lit in his stomach, stoking it down to a simmer.

His eyes at last broke their contact with the boy's when he heard the man speak up, and looking at the gracious man across the table, the drykas returned his attention to his host. Erzotol offered a short nod at the man's assessment of the war pavilion, as good of a deduction as he had heard from an outsider, and with his glass refilled, he quickly proceeded to drain it before clinking the glass back onto the table, albeit as gently as he could out of respect for the finely crafted glass and the maker of it that happened to be the man's wife. "A fine thing meeting you Mortemor Thane, I am Erzotol Silverden of the Diamond Clan" Erzotol said, his voice deep, and a bit too loud, as he proclaimed proudly that last part. Sitting up just slightly he leaned across the table to clasp wrists with the man in a standard drykas greeting before settling back in his seat, and twirling the exquisite glass lazily in his callused hands.

At the sound of excited noise behind him, and at seeing the older man so distracted his head turned slightly to look over his shoulder to yet catch the boy causing more trouble. Why the man didn't just best the young lad senseless Erzotol didn't quite understand. This time he managed to bite his tongue though and simply watched on to see how outsiders took care of their children, the potent liquor lending him the patience it required for him to not just lean over and backhand the boy himself. All thoughts of punishment flew from his mind though at the sight of the man's obvious distress at not having such medical herbs about, and as a drykas, Erzotol knew all to well the life saving ability herbs could have in a time of need though he didn't much understand their names or uses since it simply wasn't his to know. The blade was, and he wasn't even doing a good job at learning that. Despite himself, and his obvious desire to leave the lad to his punishment, Erzotol cleared his throat loudly.

"If I may interrupt, I know of some tents near here that will have the things you need. Members of the Opal clan tend to take care of many headstrong drykas so no doubt they'll have a bit extra on hand they could sell to you at a fair price." Erzotol said, finishing with a sigh as he set his elbow on the table and cradled his chin in it, his eyes only yet slightly heavy.