The entire realm of Arda lay at seemingly continuous tranquility as a lone figure slowly graced itself up through the echelons of an ancient tree. Upon reaching the top, the single silhouette drank in the glossy tones painted by the creators of Ea. Two amber orbs twinkled as they grew intoxicated by the luscious harmony of a carmine red dissolving into the yearning orange of the evening sky.

Unfortunately, Demetrio Vasquez wasn’t as lucky as the fellow admiring his sunset. Instead, the subject of our story was trapped in the humid pit of the Taurerosa Rainforest stuck in possibly the worst of circumstances. Our “hero’s” story started quite a few years ago in the humble streets of Lomedor…

”...n’ so ‘der I was, eleventy six ban’its surroundin’ me. You wanna know what’s I did? I took em’ all. All o’ them!” cried a rather annoying man, the smell of orckiller seeping out from his breath almost as easily as his exaggerations. Filth of all kinds lay tangled in the dread locks of his beard that would make even the oldest of dwarves proud, spittle spraying constantly from the never stopping mouth, the crimson tongue contrasting sharply with the decaying teeth…or what was left of it.

Sadly, this is where we find Demetrio Vasquez, a rather proud and cynical healer struggling to make ends meet. Rather quickly, Demetrio poured a small dose of ale onto the man’s wound, before placing his fingers above the laceration. Closing his eyes, Demetrio slowly closed his mind to his patron’s obnoxious voice, something akin to the groan of a tree as it falls to the axe. Reaching into his soul, the healer tapped into his great pool of mana, willing it to flow through his arteries and towards his finger tips. Gradually, the pool flowed as a stream of light, escaping as a trickle from the young adult’s fingertips. Slowly, the wound began to seal before Demetrio broke the connection with his mana, leaving only a visible scar to what could have been a devastating wound.

Sighing, Demetrio carefully scrawled a receipt onto a piece of spare parchment, presenting it to the man. “I’m sure you did well against those bandits. Now please make sure to not move your arm too much over the next few days. Your muscles need time to renew,” whispered the young Vasquez, though he doubted that the man would listen. Still, he was a reliable customer who Demetrio could charge double the usual fees. Holding his hand out, Demetrio quickly collected the gold before nodding farewell and walking out into the cold chill of the streets of Lomedor.

After strolling towards the inn of a diminutive widow who allowed Demetrio free boarding in return for the company and free healing, Demetrio dragged himself upstairs before collapsing upon the spartan bed of timber, straw, and hemp. A small buzz could be heard above as a streak of white gold flowed past the healer’s field of vision. Demetrio smiled as he attempted to follow his never stopping companion’s path. “It’s nice to see you too, Choo,” chuckled Demetrio as the fly dragon stopped to a halt above Demetrio’s head. However, the young man’s mood soon changed for the worse. “What the hell am I doing with my life? I wanted to create my own clinic, create a new order for the world, make myself remembered! What am I now? A lowly healer who treats drunken fools! I need to go out and see the world! Maybe even learn from the Shamans of Taurerosa!”

With the unbelievable determination of one possessed, Demetrio quickly got up and retrieved his blade. Still gleaming in the flickering shadows of the candles, Demetrio brandished the mithril sword with the skill of an amateur, before locating his sheath. Collecting his meager stock pile of gold and a few bottles of half-empty potions, the healer walked out into the unknown.

Of course nothing ever goes as planned with our unfortunate protagonist. Upon arriving at the Taurerosa rainforest, a task which involved being mugged, being attacked by a flock of rabid chocobos, and being chased by rage filled Amazonians, Demetrio finally located a shaman. Like everything else in Demetrio’s life, the shaman ended up being an outcast of even the rainforest society, spending much of his day smoking poppy flowers and sending Demetrio on foraging assignments for food other mundane tasks. Finally, the healer had enough of his “herbalism” lessons and decided to walk away from the rainforest with his meager knowledge of a magical powder named “cocaine,” a type of medicine nicknamed “ecstasy,” and a liquid called “LCD.” And this is where we return to Demetrio Vasquez’s current status…

Thunder rumbled above as clouds slowly advanced through the final edges of the sunset. The first signs of rain began to emerge as the droplets of Curin’s delight plunged to the earth, sending their invigorating powers into the giants of the Taurerosa rainforest, the unstoppable green sea of nature enveloping the rain, quenching the land’s unstoppable thirst. Of course, what was good for the trees and nature was terrible for Demetrio. Quickly drenched in the torrential downpour, lightning raced across the sky, illuminating the pathway for a split second as the now 30 year old healer stumbled across the roots of a rather tall tree. Looking up hopelessly at the heavens, Demetrio decided to finally find shelter from the devastating nature of the weather. “Why does fate hate me so much?” grumbled Demetrio.

--------------------------------------------------------
Up above in the skies of Ea, a small ethereal figure appeared. This apparition’s name was Fate and instantly heard Demetrio’s inquiry. Slowly, a mischievous smile crept upon its lips as it remembered how much fun it had, meddling with the mortal’s life. “Heh, you have no idea how fun this will be, Demetrio.”

The choice of the rainforest to stage his tournament battle had seemed like an awesome idea at the time, and coupled with the portal transportation had gone exactly as planned. He had not paused to consider some of the other implications of his choice however, most importantly how he intended to get back to Lomedor. Somewhere beyond the borders of the sprawling wood lay a carriage with his name on it, getting to it was proving to be more of a challenge than the half-orc had imagined though.

And now it was raining.

Not just run of the mill grasslands rain either, but the sort of deluge that soaks through to your very soul. The green-skin sniffed and pushed aside a huge, rubbery leaf that promptly sprang back and slapped him in the face. "Stoopid forest," he grumbled as he trudged through the rising water and sludge, "stoopid plants and stoopid bugs." The arrival of the rain had rinsed many of the larger insects from the torpid air but a frustrating number of smaller ones remained, and somehow all of them managed to have a taste for orc flesh.

At least the downpour had put the fires out, otherwise Stella's blaze could easily have grown to swallow several acres and none of them would have left alive. Not for the first time Wurzag swore, the stream of vicious curses turning the air blue and startling much of the local wildlife into flight in a spray of vivid colour. "Dats right!" The half-orc yelled after a particularly exotic bird, "ged out ov 'ere ye fuggin'," he scrambled for an adequate description, "fing!" He eventually finished lamely. The creature had almost made it to the safety of the canopy when it exploded in a puff of feathers. A moment later Froat dropped from the trees, its lupine features spattered with blood and sporting a few tufts of down.

The half-orc grinned at his familiar and clapped the scarlet beast on the shoulder, "gud one Froat," he chuckled and stomped on through the thick vegetation toward what he hoped was his carriage. After another half hour of fruitless searching Wurzag took shelter beneath a huge palm frond. He knelt in the mud, and with a grunt of effort summoned the power the old man had taught him. Green mana coiled from his fingers, the energy crawling and writhing across the earth as the separate threads knitted themselves into a larger whole. When the process was complete a detailed map of the surrounding area, perfect in every detail, sat beneath his spread digits.

"Ah, fuggin 'ell," Wurzag groaned as he studied the image; the pair were more than three miles off course. He released the spell and watched as the energies trickled away into the earth along with the torrent of seemingly endless rain-water. Then, with the light fading and his course corrected he stubbornly marched off again.

Straight in to the back of an equally bedraggled figure.

The half-orc shook the rain from his eye in surprise and took a hasty step back, "who are yooz?" He growled at the stranger, "an wot yooz doin' 'ere?"

"Not. A. Bloody. Word." Vex whispered hatefully. Bedraggled, wet and barely able to see Vex was one of the few things stupid and silly enough to take flight during a rainforest's rainstorm and had already been informed by her small collaborator that this was a stupid, silly and ultimately useless venture. Taking flight in a rainstorm? It had seemed like such a simple thing- Vex had once taken flight in a bloody *acid* rainstorm down in Hel. What was a little bit of water going to do to her? After five minutes of strenuous flying she got her answer. While the lower levels of the forest were soaked they were still protected- tangentially- by the massive canopy of trees and flowers and vegetation and... stuff. Vex was not.

And Vex was not amused.

Ennui buzzed innocently, his abnormally small body seemingly impervious to the soaking rain. Vex might have wondered how he could stay aloft in this land's ridiculous excuse for weather- good gods, who had thought of this? Raku? This kind of subtle sadism seemed to be beyond even his mighty powers- but she was busy trying to stay aloft while simultaneously debating which kind of tree looked the softest. Landing in this kind of- her eyeballs popped open as lightning struck not too far away and she cursed. What kind of divine protection did her rightful prey have? All she wanted to do was kill him! He had a bloody fine afterlife waiting for him by all accounts- he should be glad to go to the Goddess of Life's waiting arms.

Just the thought of doing that stupid half-elf a good turn was nauseating but Vex persevered with the one thought that trumped all thoughts: alcohol. Most creatures- sentient creatures anyways- usually required a linear thinking to get that particular thought but Vex's thought patterns usually ran backwards. She needed alcohol and therefore needed money. If she needed money she needed to do a job. Doing a job meant killing somebody. Killing somebody meant killing the bloody half-elf. Killing the bloody half-elf... well that was where she had started. In any case it meant that killing the half-elf was a good thing. Because she could then buy alcohol. Also a good thing.

And heck, killing was fun.

Another lightning strike. Vex groaned and shook away the after-images of that flash of light. She needed all her senses intact and had been desperately wanting to avoid this particular move. With a sigh she angled her flight downwards, caught a passing gust of wind and hoped she wouldn't die.

The gust propelled her faster than she would have liked, faster than she would have thought possible. Faster, in fact than her body was designed to handle. Screaming, in fear, in pain, in rage- and just screaming, the she-demon slammed through the upper branches of the rainforest. Sticks slammed through her flesh at massive speeds, cutting and mangling. She debated retracting her wings but thought better of it- if she could just manage to get her feet under her and hit a patch of warm air trapped by the-

She didn't notice the two mortals until it was almost too late and by that time her wild flight- fall- was completely out of her control.

((OOC: Sorry this post is complete crap.))

The downpour continued to shatter what was left of Demetrio’s humanity as the incessant pounding of the fat droplets attacked his skin with relentless fury. Had Demetrio been more aware of the current affairs of the Valar, he would have sworn that Ita had a personal grudge against him. Either that or the current water guardian was experiencing a particularly bad day at work.

The now mature Vasquez had once been infatuated with adventure and the idea of exotic places such as the rainforest. However, after spending years trapped in the persistent humidity and chaos that surrounded the jungle that love slowly turned to boredom, and finally anger. Now more then ever, the healer grew incensed at the annoying buzz of the jungle; whether it was the infuriating hum of the mosquitoes that seemed to have an insatiable thirst for human blood to the rumble in the heavens.

With a final growl, Vasquez’s patience snapped as he sputtered a stream of curses and other rather foul phrases that would have made even the crustiest of sailors wince. Unfortunately, that action would soon be regrettable. It seemed that the forest was constantly alive and ratting out pests to its creator, Curin, because as soon as Demetrio exhausted a surprisingly wide vocabulary of swear words, a strike of lightning rained down extremely near him, causing Demetrio to nearly wet his trousers.

The air still smelled of iron as Demetrio stare wide-eyed at the spot. Transfigured in space, the healer’s jet black hair stood on its edges, singed to a near crisp. Now, some might now know, but when one is nearly struck by lightning, the subject at hand usually becomes extremely paranoid. Suddenly, the trees became rather frightening, and the most subtle of noises seemed like a jaguar waiting to pounce upon Demetrio. Nature had suddenly became his enemy. Whimpering, Demetrio slowly stepped back, too worried over the many distractions of the forest to notice the steps of a rather bulky orc stepping towards him.

Walking backwards, Demetrio ran straight into another being. Frightened half to death, the healer screamed. In his sudden panic, Demetrio swirled around attempting to unsheathe his blade from its scabbard. However, being the poor fool and untrained swordsman that he was, Demetrio fumbled even that, dropping the blade as soon as it escaped from its sheath, the rain and mud splattering its mithril edges.

"Who are yooz? An wot yooz doin' 'ere?" growled the figure as Demetrio cried out in surprise. The darkness in the forest and the incessant rain limited his vision, preventing a clear view of the figure, although Demetrio could see that he was huge with a rather appalling odor surrounding him, causing quite a few insects to avoid the figure’s proximity.

“I’m so sorry, please don’t eat me!” cried Demetrio, fearing that the figure was one of the many monsters that lurked the rainforest. It was rumored that an ancient city stood near the forest, populated by an assortment of hideous creatures, though Demetrio never truly caught sight of it.
However, Demetrio’s thoughts were soon interrupted when a winged creature plummeted to the ground, landing straight atop of Demetrio’s body. Although it probably softened the landing of the creature, Demetrio’s head soon filled with stars, his chin landing on the pommel of his soiled blade, causing his lower lip to split, the blood quickly mixing with the rain. Fate was not looking kindly upon Demetrio, the healer, at all.

Looking at his reflection in his blade, Demetrio wept at the image before him. A bedraggled figure with once bright eyes now dimmed with failure, his once neat hair now tangled and strewn across his head down to his shoulders lurking with filth, and a devastating beard and mustache covering his chin completely. He looked like a complete vagabond, his image only completed with soiled and torn clothes and his frail body. “What am I doing with my life?” moaned Demetrio.

Wurzag stared at the wild-eyed, water-logged human and gave the man a toothy grin, "course I ain't gonna eat yez, 'ave yooz any idea 'ow greasy oomie flesh is?" He scratched his chin an looked thoughtful, "anyways, I ain't dat 'ungry." He looked down at the tip of the wobbling sword and then back at the young man, "an put dat fing away afore ye hurt yeself, cos I ain't - " Further conversation was cut off by the sudden and wholly unexpected appearance of a large and incredibly hairy bat. The creature descended from the canopy with predatory ferocity and enveloped the hapless fellow in a tangled, thrashing mass of wings and limbs.

"Fuggin' 'ell!" Wurzag exclaimed and took a step back, "look at dat fing Froat! It's massive!" The half-orc had encountered many different species of aerial wild-life in his travels and this was by far the largest specimen he had ever seen. He paused for a moment to consider exactly how big the cave this thing lived in was and exactly how many there were. "Yooz alright down der fella?" He muttered absently as he imagined a cavernous subterranean chamber filled with monstrous flying rats. There was a reply from somewhere beneath the crumpled mass of hair and leathery flesh but it was plaintive and somewhat muted.

At least it meant the unfortunate human was still alive.

"Gud, gud," Wurzag continued jovially, "fight da gud fight an all dat!" Lightning split the air again and the verdant landscape was momentarily transformed into a stark, monochrome world. It was followed a moment later by a colossal crash of thunder that shook the earth with its ferocity.

"Gah!" The half-orc ducked, "dis storm ain't gettin' any better." He peered down at the knot of appendages that still flailed ineffectually in the mud and sighed, "an I spose I can't just leave yez 'ear to get et by a bat so come on." He grabbed the overgrown mouse by what he assumed was its shoulders and did his best to haul it off the stricken fellow. "Come on," the green-skin grunted, "ain't no foods 'ere for ye tonight batsy, go find yeself a tasty cow, or cabbage or sock," he paused in his struggle as he realised that he didn't actually know what bats ate, let alone giant ones, "or wot eva!"

He glanced at Froat who stood impassively beneath the relative shelter of a jungle fern. "Well don't just stand der ye great lumox! Give us an 'and! Grab dat fella an try not to scare 'im too much, I dunno 'ow much more 'e can take in one night!"

OOC: No it's not Dem xD

IC:

"That's not particularly dignified."

If Vex could squash the annoying little demon fly she would have. While she was busy trying not to die, the little twerp had latched onto her ear, giving her yet another place to put an earring and when they had fallen he had actually sliced off a piece of her 'lobe. The gods only knew how he had managed to catch onto her wing and only her wing knew how he had stayed on. Freakin' demon- Unfortunately her right arm was buried to the wrist in the soft, loamy soil and her left was tangled in what appeared to be an armpit of some sort. Jarring pain informed her that her hand that was stuck in the ground was quite broken. She was also bleeding in half-a-dozen- no make that a dozen- places....

"I don't particularly c-" Vex started to snarl trying to get up without putting too much weight on her shattered wrist when the person (ah, she had landed on a person- and a human to boot. Poor folks, they were getting rarer and rarer these days) started moaning about his life and doing things with it and the usually human self-deprecating crud that so annoyed her. It was probably for that reason she had gone off on that rampage while she was a mortal.

No wait... it was for something else. Vex ignored the fleeting memory in favor for a different one: there had been *two* morta-

"Fuggin' 'ell!" Came the startled and spittle-ridden (Vex wasn't quite sure how she knew the difference between the orc-spittle and the rain but she did) profanity. Normally she wouldn't have minded either the presence of the orc or the spittle but she was in a compromising position, injured and land-bound and possibly completely immobile. She considered the odds of beaning an orc (or was it a half-orc?) with her mace using her foot and quickly tried to consider more statistically probable methods of killery.

Like using her wings... yeah, that might work. She doubted he'd care about the human so using him as a hostage would not be an optimal-

"Look at dat fing Froat! It's massive!"

'Fing'? Who was he calling 'Fing' and who was this Froat- she smelled wet fur and chaos and groaned. She probably couldn't take on the half-breed but the weird lupine as well? Now that was just asking for a quick and messy death with her innards boiling in somebody's stew. Drat it all, and all this because of some stupid elf who pissed off some stupid noble. Probably seduced a princess or something.

Assassinating things was not the most glorious work but it got the bills paid and the alcohol down her throat. She wasn't complaining... yet.

By now the human was struggling and each new jerk (she wasn't sure if it was her or him) was managing to send slivers of pain lancing through her injured arm. The half-orc seemed to be encouraging him which jerked Vex's mind back to the path of holding him hostage and seeing what would happen. Course' if he got bored the brute might just decide to feed the two of them to his... companion. Or something. Most things orcish weren't renowned for their brainpower and seeing this particularly fine specimen at work (who in the effin' Hel thought she was a bloody bat?) she was reassured that the rumors were at least somewhat true.

A crack of thunder covered the orcs next few words (and the humans too for that matter, but seeing as he was eating mud or at least face towards the ground she couldn't see or hear him talk) but she realized the intent as soon as she felt an arm cover her shoulder.

Oh sh-

The resulting scream pitched Vex into near unconsciousness but her arm had managed to wobble out of the ground without leaving any important bits behind.

"I'm not a freakin' bat." Vex muttered dully as she hobbled forwards, blinking away the rain. Vex didn't know why she said those words... it just seemed like the right thing to say.

Another flash of lightning illuminated Demetrio’s surroundings for a few more seconds, the entire forest appearing as a stark shade of green or brown. Demetrio slowly attempted to breath, his chest crushed by the enormous weight of the…creature? Demon? Demetrio quickly decided on naming it a winged-thing for now. As much as he tried to squirm out of the dead weight, Demetrio soon realized that it would be impossible. His weak size mixed with the lack of friction and grip provided by the no good rain and mud made it completely useless to struggle against it.

That was until, Demetrio noticed he was sinking. The healer suddenly began to wiggle, writhe, and twist with all his might as mud began seeping into his clothes. “Aw crap,” muttered Demetrio wondering if he had accidentally chanted the syllables required for magical quicksand. Fortunately, luck intervened with the plans of fate as he felt the weight of the “winged thing” relieved off of his shoulders. However a scream suddenly pierced the storm, as Demetrio heard a resonate snap of bone. Demetrio didn’t know whether it was the instincts instilled into him through years of constant training or whether it was a surge of adrenaline, but with a sudden burst of energy, Demetrio found himself at the “thing’s” side with a sharp pop of the air, strangely teleporting to the sound of the crack.

Quickly, Demetrio scanned the “winged thing’s” body, noting the bruises and cuts littering its body. However, it wasn’t before long that Demetrio noticed the thing’s arm twisted at an awkward angle. Broken bone was the immediate thought that went through the healer’s head, as he tried to calm down. "I'm not a freakin' bat." muttered the thing through the pain.

“Shut up and save your energy. You must have fractured your arm in at least two places!” Demetrio snapped, his critical manner returning once again to him. Gradually, Demetrio remembered his training as instinct slowly returned to him.

His short breaths soon turned into deep inhalations of the humid air as his heart gradually slowed down. Demetrio shut his eyes tightly, as he began to search his soul for its root. Suddenly a white aura seemed to glow from Demetrio’s body despite his grotesque appearance as the healer accessed his mana, or what remained of it.
Mentally, Demetrio extracted a single strand of the mana from its core guiding it through his arteries as the mana flowed like a river, slowing to a trickle as it edged its ways to his fingertips. Placing his index and middle finger on the thing’s arm, Demetrio willed his mana into his patient’s arm.

Gradually, Demetrio used the mana to bind the bones together, the arm slowly mending itself before Demetrio noticed something awkward, as the stream of mana began to flicker on and off. Concentrating harder, Demetrio attempted to control the fluctuations before he felt his mana drain away. With a cry, Demetrio was pushed away by an invisible force, flying into the mud and undergrowth nearby. Demetrio crawled to his knees, gasping for air, his entire body trembling.

Slowly, the burly arms of the other stranger grabbed him. Pangs of pain, hunger, and fatigue struck Demetrio as he began to shiver. He had reached a dangerous point in his life where he had depleted his body of mana. Many a mage had died of such a condition and unless Demetrio regained some part of it, he would suffer the same fate.

“I need booze,” begged Demetrio as he slowly dragged himself into the hollow tree trunk of a nearby tree. His bad day had gotten much much worse. He only hoped that his two companions could help him.

((OOC: Sorry if I kinda ignored you Wurzag. sad.gif Also, my character has basically just depleted what little mana he had left. Since this is the first time that this has happened to Demetrio, several things might happen. One is that he might just be extremely hungry, Two is that he might faint, and Three is that he might go into a coma since "mana" or magical energy is considered a part of his soul. I'll see what you guys want to do with him once he explains it to your character IC))

The shriek of unadulterated agony was enough to convince Wurzag to release the creature and take a quick step back. It was clearly not the touchy-feely type. At least the move had apparently released the unfortunate human from the clutches of the increasingly muddy jungle floor, though his anxiety at having been squashed by a giant talking bat had quickly been replaced by concern for its damaged limb. The half-orc watched the peculiar scene as it unfolded with a detached sense of wonder. Only a few short hours ago he had been comfortable seated besides a combat arena gleefully pelting warriors with Orckiller. Now he was soaked to the skin, ankle deep in sludge and rescuer of some sort of healer and a monstrous flying mouse.

It had been an odd sort of day.

Once the man had completed his work he stumbled back into the relative shelter of one of the massive trees and groaned. He looked a great deal worse for wear and was mumbling something about needing alcohol. This, at least, Wurzag could provide. "Ya needs booze?" The half-orc said with a slow grin, "now dat is sumfing I can sort yez out wiv!" He rummaged around in his pack for a few moments and produced a flask which he offered to the bedraggled doctor, "check it out!" Wurzag said jovially, "mead from da nature God iself! It's gud stuff so dunt waste it!" He pulled out a few more bottles just for the sake of variety and then shunted himself back into the cover of the huge leaves.

A swig of special brew cheered him up some and he squinted into the deluge, "yez know," he grumbled through the rain, "I really dunt wanna be stuck 'ere all night, it's wet, it's muddy and all da bug fings like da taste ov meat. Somewhere dat way," the green-skin flailed in an approximately eastern direction, "is a coach waitin' to take me back to Lomedor an da sooner I is in it da sooner I can forget about dis jungle." As far as Wurzag was concerned the place had now served its purpose as a combat arena and if he never saw it again in his life he would be a happy half-orc.

"Wot about you batsy? Ain't yooz got an 'ome to go to? Ye know, a cave or sumfing wot yez 'ang out in wiv da uver massive flyin' rats?"

The brute had let go. That was good. Yes that was very good, very good indeed. It was good because the pain would go away once he let go, right? He was the cause of the pain so once he had disappeared it would go away. Yes, it would most definitely, certainly go away. She could then start to go back on her trip to kill the elf and then she'd be able to get some drink and some sleep and some... some... yes, some anti-pain... alcohol would remove pain oh yes it would...

Oh shut up. Vex groused at her brain. It was trying to think, blocking pain with pure thought. Oh, it was simple enough in theory- focus on anything else besides the pink elephants and you won't think about pink elephants even if someone starts yelling about pink elephants in your ear. In practice... well... sometimes it worked. Sometimes it didn't. That was immaterial though because right now, she needed every inch of mental energy that she possessed, pain be-damned. She was thus moderately aware of the fact that the human was echoing her own thoughts when he spoke.

"Shut up-"

"But that's what I told you to do," she muttered at her brain while the human continued to grouch and growl, all tetchy-like. It was actually kind of funny. She was sure she would have been offended if she hadn't been in quite so much pain and her body temperature wasn't plummeting because she was going into shock (that was bad, right? She needed to be hot and stuff and-) but since her body was in pain and her interior temperature was dropping she just drunkenly smiled at him and considered ripping off his head.

To get warm, of course.

So she was about to grab her mace or simply grab his head when the mortal touched her arm but then... then a miracle happened. Vex had never been on the receiving end of purely good healing magic before, it had usually been a variant of soul-draining or mind-draining magiks that had healed her before. There had been the rare body-constitution draining but you didn't get many 'real' bodies down in Hel- she had had it happen to her maybe once. And never again since her flight from that storied realm into this one.

Suffice to say that it hurt so much she nearly died on the spot. While it healed her in body, so much concentrated mana of a 'pure' (relatively anyways, it was gray and smudged in some areas but still decently pure) person seriously bruised her shady remnants of a soul. And he didn't seem to notice the fact that his mana was interfering with her own, Heaven and Hel didn't mix well after all. She tried to fight him but couldn't. His magic was just too strong and her body wanted the healing, her soul be-damned.

She was on the ground before she realized how she had gotten there. The human was not.

No, the human- very reasonably- was begging for alcohol. Vex was about to laugh at him but all that came out was a croak of disbelief when the orc actually freakin' took out alcohol. Not just mullet-footing stuff for greenleaves either but good, *strong* stuff. Stuff that'd melt your insides and turn grown men into bawling babes seeking reassurance in their mother's arms. And then he freakin' started giving it to the human! For hurting her! She ignored the little part of her brain that was viciously trying to tell her to lie down and take it easy- the mana had burned up her reserves in trying to restructure her body after all- in favor for stunned disbelief.

Then the orc was speaking to her but all she had in her eyes and heart was the fact that the human had alcohol and she didn't and she snapped, odds be damned. Had she been a shade more aware or a shade more conscious she might have considered asking for alcohol but all Vex saw was her much needed source of relief in the hands of an... an infidel!

(Infidel?)

In any case she screamed and rushed the orc. She had meant to say something suitably terrifying like 'Die!' or 'Death comes to you!' but for some reason all that came out was: "BOOZE!" as she launched herself towards the alcohol.