Deleted user
Aeolus had tensed as Dur'kiir approached the wagon, his dagger lifted slowly from its sheath with each step the Dragonkin took. The uneasy churning of his stomach was beginning to make him feel queasy, but he stood fast and stood ready, his ember-laced gaze focused on the darkness cloaking the inside of the carriage.
Then, something happened, too quickly for the young assassin to really process it. He reacted instinctively the second Dur'kiir was sent flying, unsheathing both his sword and dagger and positioning himself beside the wagon, poised to strike at whatever dared show itself. But nothing did, save for a pair of eyes and a fanged maw – nothing he could accurately assess. Then it spoke.
He listened in on the conversation, his guard only letting down when the fellow in the wagon – Jinx, he would learn – mentioned something that seemed familiar to Dur'kiir. He tightened his grip on his weapons, but relaxed his body only to tense again as a knife embedded itself in the wood of the wagon just short of the door. Yikes.
Listening further, he noted the name Mirabilis, and upon Jinx relaying the destination the party would be heading, he let a sigh escape him. Not much truly scared him; he had been through situations that had desensitized him to most of the world's horrors, but he just couldn't shake how horrific the undead were. The dead used to live – they were people with families, with jobs, with hobbies and emotions and experiences. Everything about seeing a dead body as a vessel, an empty shell of what used to be such a complex creature, disturbed him deeply.
Aeolus sheathed his weapons, grimacing at the thought.
He let his gaze drift, noticing how Dur'kiir hadn't yet gotten up and how Oshiera hadn't yet moved to assist him. Maybe she was unsure if the Dragonkin would want the aid? That much was fair, he decided, but he couldn't do much to figure out how Oshiera felt with the hood obscuring her features. Admittedly, he wasn't too joyous about approaching him, either; he didn't want to risk angering him, or being on the receiving end of preexisting irritation. It almost felt silly to think about, but he just couldn't keep his composure when someone raised their voice at him, and now he kept preoccupied with his hypothetical scenarios. Too on edge, he, too, made no move to aid Dur'kiir, turning to Evelyn to see if she would do anything.
