[The Golden Dragon] Welcome Home (Grom, Kam)

[Stitch]

Timestamp: 70th of Winter, 509 AV Purpose: Visiting friends

Stitch smiled brightly at Ellie as she sat down across from him, the beautiful young woman settling her chin on both hands and gazing intently on Stitch. "You aren't really blind, are you." Stitch cocked his head, and tried to hide the smile that was creeping onto his lips, giving off a little shrug of his shoulders, as if to signal he did not know. The other women that were sitting around, due to a rather slow night of business, let out muffled chuckles. They all knew Stitch quite well, they knew that he was rather special in the way that he could see, and they knew that he enjoyed messing with the newest employees at the Golden Dragon. Ella must have sensed their amusement at her plight, for she finally let out a bit of a pouting whine and shot up from her chair, shaking her head and stalking away. "Who comes here just to order water, and converse, anyway." Stitch finally chuckled, reaching down to grab his tankard filled with simple ice water, taking a sip as he glanced around the beautiful innards of the fancy building.

Tyras, the owner of the Golden Dragon, emerged from the maze of private rooms located deeper into the building, and joined Stitch at the table he was sitting by, offering the blind man another tankard of water. Stitch gratefully smile and bowed his head slightly, reaching for his Mizas before forcing himself to stop. Every time he had tried to pay the man, the owner had managed to somehow get the Mizas back into Stitch's pocket, as well as a little extra. After a few times experiencing that particularly annoying trick, Stitch had just given up. The owner was a very nice man, Stitch cared for him very much, and was happy the fellow was so generous. For a moment, a feeling of love and care flooded the room, and the occupants smiled. They were used to the flux of emotions within the air, whenever Stitch was near.

Suddenly, a rather drunk-looking man stumbled in the front door, startling Stitch a bit, who snapped his head toward the surprise intrusion. He had positioned himself in the small front lobby in order to greet all those who came in, he liked being able to possibly meet new people, as well as see old friends. Stitch gave the man a nod and a smile, and the drunk one simply waved sloppily, and flung himself down in a nearby chair, taking another chug from the bottle of cheap wine he was holding.

Stitch spared a slight tilt of his head toward Tyras, mentally eying the man, then sweeping his Auristic gaze across the rest of the room. Everyone now was a bit on edge, several drunks managed to stumble in here every day. Some were just sad, and lonely, and wanted some company.

Some were just trouble.

[Gromhir]

The weather had not been so kind today. The winds were harsh, as the last vestiges of winter had come to assail Mizahar before the rebirth of spring arrived. The landscape outside was hellish and snow was whipped round and down streets in a vicious violence of white. Only those who had to dared venture out, or in a rare few cases, those drunken enough. It was simply one of those days where the entirety of Mizahar shut down except for the inns that offered warm shelter and company to those who sought it, but even they were not so busy.

Unfortunately, Kamalia and Gromhir had been more caught in the howling winds than chosen it. They had chosen another night to venture out in the snow of Syliras and gotten lost away from their current lodgings. The wind had crept up on them and tried to find anything in this visibility had become even harder. Gromhir could not even track himself back to their room.

He instead led Kamalia to the first Inn he could find. He was still in his feral form when he entered, it was warmer for both him and Kamalia that way as she wrapped in both his green cloak as well as her own white. The green cloak was thicker and almost swallowed up the petite frame but once inside she handed the cloak back to the man that now accompanied her. Gromhir never mind eye contact or even looked at anyone else, simply moving over towards the fire to find his Lady a table.

[Kamalia Timandre]

If one asked a konti from Mura what life in a big city brimming with humanfolk was like, she would likely say that it was an utter pandemonium, a chaotic plethora of bustle and activity in the extreme. Nowhere was this truer than in Syliras, the thriving, shining centerpiece of human civilization. There was adventure to be had in this city and magic enough to entice seekers and dreamers and thinkers with a thousand secrets. Here was a sea of bliss and a myriad of wonders enough and more to fill a konti’s lifetime, and most who lived in the citadel of stone were content with the challenges life would bring. Here, people, both humans and non-humans alike, lived, worked, dreamed, schemed and loved. Stunning achievement and a glimmering history, home to a fifty-thousand souls and a proud, hearty race of survivors— this is Syliras, the fabled stone city of humanity, carved out from the ashes of the Valterrian.

This season, the Goddess Morwen once again draped the stone citadel in a glittering satin of wintry white. The air was crisp with the winter’s touch, lightly chilling the frailty of flesh. The stark elegance was beautiful and foreboding to behold, yet even as the threat of a silver storm loomed about, in the shadows of the great bastion, behind the frost-coated windows and along the snow-crusted lanes, a complex and diverse people went about their business.

Tonight, the city bustled with activity. Knights and city guards made frequent rounds mounted on some of the swiftest horses on Mizahar. Citizens wandered down the snow- swathed streets, browsed at shops, or paused at the taverns to indulge in wine and hearty banter. A scattering of merchants from foreign races also made their way through the bazaar as well. In one shop, an isur smithy grudgingly repaired fine weapons and jewelry for an akalak client. A pair of akvatari coaxed sighs and barely restrained tears from the wealthy passersby, and occasionally, the sea of activity would quiet down and part to permit passage of a beautiful konti.

There was no doubt. There, whimsical as a dream was a slender figure swathed in cloaks of white and green. Definitely female in outline, her sheltering garbs did not single her out for many of the revelers were similarly clad—the winter wind blew from the north and the air was crisp and chill. But she drew puzzled stares all the same. Her step was too light, so lithe of form and graceful of movement that she seemed unreal and insubstantial.

As the hours of the night slipped past, and winter swaddled the streets in her silvery vehemence, the crowds scurried away into the refuge of their homes. Only a brief winter-silence marked their passing. Then came the howling winds, so harsh and cacophonous, hurtling towards the konti and the kelvic. At this point, it would be impossible to return to their lodging, and they conceded that it was best they found the nearest, accessible shelter. Visions blurred in a white flurry of winds and snow, the pair slogged along towards the nearest inn.

The inn was a welcome respite, warm and quiet despite the snowstorm outside. A handsome young man wearing a golden bracelet greeted the pair. “My lady, is there anything that I can—“he stopped, round green eyes growing rounder when Kamalia turned back the hood of her ivory cloak. “Sweet Cheva,” he said, his voice hushed in awe.

Kamalia knew this hush would be followed by a small intake of breath. Sometimes it was for her surreal beauty, her hair the color of spun silver cascading to elegant locks just below her waist—not the silver of age, but an ageless silver other fair races had been known to envy. Her eyes, framed with thick pale lashes, boasted the hue of twilight. Her complexion was as fair as alabaster tinged with the subtlest shades of rose.

For a moment, the room stirred with startled breaths and longing sighs. She simply did not belong here; as if she were a lovely siren plucked from the sea of dreams. Such pulchritude was most likely lost on Stitch’s sightless eyes, but her aura outshone everyone else in the room, marking her as a spellcaster.

The young man stammered. “My… my lady, it’s been a while since a konti graced us with her presence. Please follow me.” The bonded pair was led to a lounge area bedecked with animal-skinned couches and a nearby hearth. For a few chimes, the konti-girl was content to be seated, staring absently at the fireplace, leaning her small form against Gromhir’s tautly-muscled arm. “We should have stayed home tonight. I’m sorry,” she half-whispered in Kontinese. Home? Somehow, she felt she just uttered a word of profanity.

[Stitch]

Stitch was eying the drunk man, trying to figure what kind of mood he was currently in. Drunken auras were actually a bit hard for the blind man to read. The emotions swirled in all different directions, the intoxicated possessor of the aura unable to keep a handle on a specific emotion for more than a few moments. This particular one swirled from depression, to apathy, to loneliness, to anger, then back all over again. He seemed lost in his own thoughts, muttering a few words to himself every now and then. Stitch briefly considered going over to him, perhaps trying to strike up a conversation and see what really plagued the man. But after mulling it over a bit, he decided it might be best not to. Let the man's body digest the alcohol running through his veins, and maybe then Stitch would try and be diplomatic.

Stitch was soon distracted by new visitors however, and quickly turned his head to examine them. The first to enter was a Kelvic, Stitch could see the slight bit of animal in his aura. He wasn't good enough to tell what kind of animal yet, just know that the often-human appearing beings had a very unique, interesting, gifted talent. He had only seen two Kelvics shift in his life time, but when he had seen it, he had been gifted with a new admiration for the beings. If they only knew just how beautiful their transformations really were. A flexing of a dozen different colors, swirling and forming around them, blurring in beauty, to eventually form a completely new shape. An animal shape, unique to each one.

The second visitor seemed vaguely human, but he was easily able to discern one fact about her. Djed. Tons of it, her aura brighter than most normal humans, and swirling with the magics. They seemed a bit different then most magical auras he had seen, her magics in particular seemed a bit... He didn't know how to explain it. Cocking his head, he tried to puzzle it out. It looked like the magics were tugging on her, urging her, as if beckoning for her to reach out and grab them, form them.

Her beauty was lost on the blind man, his auristics not able to pick up on that detail. He guessed she was pretty, almost all of the attention in the room had been drawn to her. They both made him smile, their auras seemed to intermingle a bit, embracing the other much like a lover. Perhaps they were lovers as well? When they drew close to another, their colors matched the other perfectly, only increasing that beautiful glow. Perhaps the other people could sense this, perhaps that was why they were staring so attentively?

Stitch noticed the drunken man slowly rising to his feet, and flinched. He was much too naive. The magical girl was beautiful, and THAT was what they were noticing. Especially the drunken man. He was now seeking to use her, to fulfill his happiness. Both Stitch and Tyras slowly began to rise to their feet, sensing that something was about to occur.

The drunken man stepped forward, swaying to Kamalia, a huge grin on his face. He was too intoxicated to notice the lack of a bracelet on her arm, the marking of the women of the Golden Dragon. He would actually reach out for her, out of her line of sight, reaching for a lock of her beautiful hair to curl around his finger. His speech came out, slurred, also attempting at seduction. "Hey there, pretty lady. Mind if I join you and your friend here..? I bet we can both give you a good time tonight..." If he did manage to get her hair around his finger, he would now tug at her hair, as if to pull her head toward him. All the while he chuckled hungrily, his lust now obvious, his loneliness and drunkeness now overtaking him.

[Gromhir]

Gromhir looked down to the small form that was no wrapped around his arm. He frowned at her words and the feelings those words conjured. Gromhir replied in Kontinese, he was not as fluent as Kamalia but he had picked up the language very quickly as most Kelvic do. “It is not your fault. You do not control Nature and neither do I.” Gromhir may now have understood Gods after his time at the Temple but he still believed that Nature was the root of all things. No matter how divine those things were.

Gromhir turned his gaze to the fire as they sat watching its flames weave a dance of destruction. It occurred to Gromhir that despite his dislike of humankind, places like this were nice. Maybe it was because he was sat warm with his bondmate? It was not too different to the times they spent in Mura after they had done studying. Only, there was no fire needed there for warmth but by the same token, neither did Mura have snow.

He looked back to Kamalia. He wondered how she was coping. They had never really spoken of Home since they had been here. Gromhir not wanted to upset her. He still didn’t but now that he was thinking about it, it had occurred to him that he hadn’t asked. Maybe he should? He wasn’t sure. Was it rude that he hadn’t asked her about it? Could it have hurt her more by him not asking, make her think he didn’t care? No, surely she couldn’t think that. Could she? Gromhir was lost in his thoughts but through the bond, Kamalia could sense his questions bubbling under his calm surface.

Oddly enough, he smelt the man move before he heard anything. The disgusting aroma of alcohol was unmistakable. It was a familiar scent to Gromhir but not from spending several weeks in Syliras. Gromhir knew the stench even before he came to Konti Isle. It made his skin crawl every time he knew it wasn’t coming from a beverage. Why someone felt the need to drink enough to smell like it was beyond him. This time was no different. He could smell the man’s sweat and sense his swirling emotions.

Gromhir took in a deep breath, attempting to remain calm. It lasted until halfway through the man’s last sentence before it shattered completely. Through his abilities, Stitch saw it happen. The animal taint that was hidden in the human aura flared blindingly to the surface, almost as though it engulfed the man. It was as if the very moment before a Kelvic transformed had been stopped in time.

Gromhir leapt up from his spot, his feral grace now completely evident in his human form. He placed himself between Kamalia and the drunk as he reached out for her silver locks. Gromhir reached across himself, clamped a hand down on the drunk’s forearm then deliver a blow to the man’s chest with his elbow. It was easily powerful enough to knock the man backwards but because of the grip on his arm, the blow knocked the man to his knees.

The Kelvic locked eyes with the man. His sapphire orbs barely contained the beast that was inside. Gromhir spoke in a low growl, his canines elongating showing how close he was to transforming, “Get away.” Gromhir had changed to protect Kamalia but this time was different. The anger her bondmate felt, she could almost taste it as it overpowered her senses.

[Kamalia Timandre]

Kamalia reflexively shot a hand up to ward off the male reaching for her. Incredulous, her violet eyes narrowed indignantly as anger blazed in her heart. For days untold, the konti maiden had been very, very, patient with these lecherous, filthy human… males, but this was more than she could bear! Her tolerance finally snapped. She did not need her seer sensitivities to see the lustful fire in the man's watering eyes. Almost reflexively, the res began to race through her silvery veins like an opiate. Oh how she relished the pleasure, this strange euphoria that intoxicated her mind and body as threads of magic coursed through her arms, her legs, and whirred seductive whispers within her head. She wished to prolong this feeling, but intentions kept her focused on the task at hand. Already, the indignant wizard’s brain had machinated a dozen of ways to mutilate the man with spells.

But there was a flash of white. Her bondmate moved in a blur, and the drunkard was suddenly on the ground, clutching his chest in pain. Once more, as he had so many times, Gromhir physically carried out the initiatives of her heart, as though they were a single being. For a moment, the seer’s lips curved into a mystifying smile, and in that moment, Stitch would see shadows lengthening all over her frame, like black flames licking a bright aurora. For a moment, Gromhir would sense it faintly through the arcane bond as well—it was vile, it was vicious, roiling and churning around her like shadowy coils, and for a moment, Kamalia delighted in the drunkard’s situation, wanting nothing but to see the ivaski rend the man’s flesh with his fangs, and his throat ripped out.

As soon as the moment came, it was chased away by a sudden light—a clarity of mind. This was not how a daughter of Avalis should think! Kamalia stood before the man and she stared down at him with a regal hauteur.

His eyes were widening. The effects of the alcohol had dulled some of his ability to feel the full pain of Gromhir's strike, but it was clear he was beginning to realize that his actions had brought him more than he had bargained for. Dreams of a wild night and carnal hunger were quickly replaced by a more basic, primal desire - the desire to survive.

Or so she thought. Should this man be so imprudent to retaliate against a hulking ivaski, he was signing his own death warrant.

Through the geas that chained the pair together, Kamalia could feel, and could almost savor the bitter taste of Gromhir’s anger in her tongue. It was overpowering, buffeting against her heart and receptive Sight like raging squalls.

Yet, once again, there was the temptation of seeing the kelvic maim the man into a bloody pulp. She did not want to stop him. She wanted to Gromhir to avenge her.

[Stitch]

Tyras paused in mid-step, his eyes widening at the shadowy movement around the Konti maiden, and at the look in Gromhir's wild, feral eyes. The owner was a tall man, with strong muscles, and an ability to kick many a person out of the Golden Dragon. He also, however, had excellent senses. And he could sense that he was dealing with magic here, and magic wasn't something he was willing to jump into readily. The drunkard had deserved the sharp blow from Gromhir, maybe not that hard, but he had certainly carried out actions that warranted some aggression. Perhaps the Kelvic and Konti were bonded lovers, that would explain it even more. Now however, with a princess and wild beast now looming above the knelt drunkard, Tyras could only feel fear for him. For his life. He instinctively turned to Stitch, a man he trusted, as if perhaps seeking some kind of guidance.

Stitch was already gone, several long strides taking the blind man straight to the threesome. His blind eyes betrayed him not, there was magic involved. The drunk man was clearly beaten, helpless, and in a bind. He did not want the Kelvic and the Konti to take it too far. The hand of the blind man snapped down on top of Gromhir's grip, not squeezing, simply gently laying atop. "Milord." The word was a tad nervous, but firm. Stitch himself was a tad nervous, but he had moved without thinking, and now he was involved. He would have gotten involved anyway, he knew this. This little argument was over, no need to carry it on further.

If Gromhir turned to see this new obstacle, he would be met with white eyes, a single faded black pupil in the center of each. The man was obviously blind, although somehow moving about. Perhaps Kamalia would feel the odd waves caressing her, an odd magical sensation of calming, of peace. Not purposeful, Stitch wasn't that skilled, but they were within the reaches of his aura. They would be able to feel a tad, perhaps. Stitch looked a bit nervous, just as his voice betrayed, yet his jaw was set. His eyes were holding that of the Kelvic, even if he was blind, which was slightly odd. But he was indeed firm.

"Milord, that is enough. Please let go. This one seeks no harm come to you, or the lady Konti, but this argument is over. You have beaten him." The drunkard nodded quickly, groaning with pain, weakly trying to pry the Kelvic's grip from his shoulder.

Tyrus was gone as well, going to get back-up from the other males in the house. Tyrus was older than Stitch, had been around much longer, and knew a dangerous situation when he saw one.

[Gromhir]

Gromhir could feel her in the back of his mind. He could feel her willing him on to maim this man. Leave him chastised and broken next to fire, maybe even throw him in. His gaze was unswerving, his grip unforgiving even as the man struggled against him. Gromhir was completely in control and he was rather enjoying having his prey squirm under his stare.

Those feral eyes never wavered, watching the fear well up in the man’s eyes. How easy it would be to end his life. How simple it would be to have this man dispatched. But no, a quick death was reserved for worthy prey, for Nature’s purity. Not this pestilent fool that stood in front of him. The sense of power was immense, almost as sweet and seductive as the magic that his Lady used. But this was more primal, more deadly and was about to be a lot more painful than anything the Konti could conjure.

Gromhir never heard the words the blind man spoke. The moment the man touched him; a chain reaction was set in motion. For Stitch, everything seemed to slow down. For everyone else in the room, it took place in a mere fraction of a second.

The feral shadow in the crimson aura around the Kelvic grew at the blind man’s touch. It consumed the man and burned evermore fiercely, blindingly if such a thing were possible to a sightless being. There was sickening crack as the Kelvic’s grip on his victim tightened before the man was thrown like a ragdoll into the table behind him.

But it was not over. There was no longer a man before Stitch. He tripled in size. A mass of muscle, fangs and fur. A predator. A guardian. The Ivaski threw his weight into the man pushing him backwards as well. Ears flattened, head lowered. His eyes spelled doom, the flash of fangs were the blades that thirst for blood. Even for his bondmate, the Kelvic was terrifying sight of merciless rage.

[Kamalia Timandre]

Beneath the cold and placid facade of the konti maiden was a raging, turbulent cyclone just waiting to be unleashed. The konti girl had already endured a great deal of abuse and maltreatment from these lustful, short-lived imbecile human males. There had been so many dreadful tales and stories of the horror these greedy humans could do towards her konti sisters. They enslaved the konti women, exploiting their sacred powers for selfish aims, wounding them, raping them to satisfy their sexual desires, and impregnating them to produce even more konti slaves! They are insects—these humans, immoral ingrates who never reflected on how the konti helped their race as a whole; the fact their sprawling civilization now existed because of that lone konti who had spoken with the Windoak!

Back at the White Isle, konti women coaxed longing sighs and gawks of sheer wonderment from humans, but they were never obscenely fondled, lewdly insulted or even stared at suggestively; the males were aware that they were not in their own land, and they could not afford to misbehave. Now that she stood in the fortress city brimming with humanfolk, she had to endure all the cruelty and depravity these egomaniacal humans were capable of! She would not have another shallow human male abuse her like this. For all those injustices, vowed Kamalia passionately, these maggots shall pay dearly!

Kamalia revelled in Gromhir’s protectiveness, feeling his anger enclose over her own in a shielding embrace. Oh, how she wanted him to avenge her, to rip the male’s throat out. She loomed menacingly over the man like a malevolent wind-spirit, draped in white, staring down at him with a queenly mien. That was another human—a male, at that—moved forward and attempted to stop Gromhir.

This newcomer was an enigma, blind yet carrying himself with the confidence and assurance of one who had sight. The seer stared into the blind male’s eyes and held his gaze without flinching, lilting her chin imperiously. Did he dare to challenge them, to save this uncouth offender? “In my homeland, we respect your people, yet you treat us like cattle in your own. How can you humans live as you do and yet hold your heads so high? What flaw do you hold there to be in us? That our hair is fair and our skin white? That we are daughters of the sea? That we live in a different set of walls?” asked the konti challengingly in an oddly soft-accented Common.

All of the sudden, she could feel the magic like some captured dream, an eldritch current in the usually thin and lifeless air. The wizard realized that the blind man before him was actually a magic-user, and everything began to make sense to her, like pieces of a puzzle assembling themselves in their own volition. The man was an aurist, Kamalia knew that much, trying to influence her aura to a degree. The blind man was trying to appease her, caressing the corona of her aura with soothing strokes. It was strange that the Blind could see, but Seer could not, the konti mused.

The following moments were too quick for Kamalia to absorb. Her guardian flared into a swarm of tiny pinpoints of scintillating lights, shifting quickly into a colossal ivaski. She instinctively knew there was little she could do to stop him now.

[Stitch]

Stitch's Auristics went wild, and he knew he was about to be in a bit of a bind. The Lady's Aura darkened, throbbing with a blackened taint that threatened to overwhelm the rest of her colors. While her Aura was riddled with beauty, it was now looking as if someone had thrown something of a black fog into it. It twisted around her, trying to choke out the brightest of her colors, yet somehow adding another layer of power to her already impressive amount. He didn't know what she was capable of, or what she was about to do, but it scared him. He was comfortable with his magic, for it allowed him to see. But other magic, magic that he wasn't familiar with? She could likely summon a demon, just as easily as he could tell her hair was white. The Lord was even worse. Stitch should have guessed it before hand, but he had been naive, like before. He was too trusting in happiness and love, too trusting in the fact that all living beings should care for the other. He often forgot that jealousy was involved in this world, that lust ran rampant, and that anger raged wild. This man was a Kelvic, and therefor had a large amount of animal in him. One could simply say he was an animal, and had a bit of human, really. Whatever the case, he had a wild heart, a feral mind. He was a Kelvic bonded to a woman, a woman who was his lover. Of course he was going to be protective, and of course his protection would manifest in the most beastly way possible. Stitch was already moving when the Kelvic transformed, easily warned by the darkening Aura. It wasn't the same kind of shadow that possessed the Lady, this one was simply a beastial wrath. Stitch had placed himself in the path of a raging wolf, and was very close to getting bitten. He was already leaping back when the wolf lunged forward, so he managed to dodge any major injury. The furry mass smashed into his chest, flinging him back with even greater force, knocking the breath from his lungs. He landed on the ground and skidded a bit, managing to retain his balance, but gasping from a sudden lack of air in his body. He did not retaliate in the slightest fashion though, even though the Lady might notice his muscles flexing. For a blind man, he was quite well built. Coughing a bit, he cocked his head toward the Lady as she spoke, his blind eyes staring sightlessly at her. As her words registered, a quizzical look crossed his face, a single eyebrow raised toward her. "White skin? Milady, this one's skin turns white as well, when the winter comes and this one stays inside. The color of our skin is merely made by the way the sun hits us, is it not?" He offered her a slightly confused smile, and hopefully she would realize he wasn't trying to be sarcastic. His voice held a tone of true innocence, and the look on his face would remind her of a curious child. He was simply offering his own viewpoint, one that was horribly simplistic. "But you say you have been treated in a foul way?" The man paused, his face scrunching up in thought, his eyes still staring in that uncomfortably distant way. "Milady, this one can't begin to understand what you are talking about. This one hasn't ever been outside these walls, and only sees what comes into this place. Therefor, this one's experiences are a bit slim and shallow, so this one cannot dare argue with you. Perhaps the world is truly as you say, and this one certainly knows that Syliras can be a bit... close-minded." He chuckled a bit, shrugging his shoulders. She would perhaps catch his meaning. He was blind, yet he was using magic to see. "But..." Stitch stepped forward, straightening his shoulders, his head turning to face the bristling Kelvic. "...this one understands you feel insulted, and this one can understand if you wish to exact holy vengeance. Even if this one does not agree with your methods, this one can understand that you have been hurt and violated. Both you, and the Milord." Stitch nodded toward the wolf, folding his hands behind his back. "Therefor, this one wishes to take the place of the drunkard. He is beaten, and his lesson has been learned. If you feel there is more to teach, then this one will stand here and learn. Please do not fault him. He is under an influence of ale, and not in his right mind." Stitch took a deep breath, and sighed a bit, his muscles rippling and then going slack. He was completely putting himself at the mercy of the Kelvic. "This one can't not stand by and watch people get needlessly hurt, though. That includes you, the Lord, and the drunkard. If it will make you feel better though, this one will weather it. Exact your justice."