Robyo Wed Nov 05, 2014 7:20 pm
"Honestly, if the inlay is mother of pearl or alabaster, it's all the same to 'his highness'," Olivia answers one quizzical luggage-hauling worker. Then, in a lower tone so that only he can hear, "I fear the old coot's gone daft from malaria." She points to a corner near the exit plank. "Just over there is fine."
The witch is exhausted. It's turning out to be hard work playing disguise with guys. It will be worth it in the end if a treasure trove is discovered. Just gotta deal with some undead first. And whatever else comes up...
She sighs and plops down on a crate, observing the current situation. Popping in a stick of gum, she takes in the view: strange soldiers and her companions making their move. "Here we go again," she mutters.