"We need to smash the house down, set it on fire, pour coal onto the ruins, set THAT on fire and kill anything that comes out. Those things are dangerous. If you want to join them, I suggest you not wear anything flammable.
"Now, let's get out of here before we and this girl transform."
"No looting?" blinks Antares, almost... shocked. (Bosco must really have been... scared? (what a strange concept!)). He shakes most of that away -- though it does merit some reflection in future. Looking to each of the four armed and armored men (and hafling), then down to the single naked female form cooling in his arms....
"And yes. Dangerous. I can now see how we were truly and completely outmatched, there at the last," he states, tasting the bitterness of those words. (For in truth a fair share of that shame is his to bear: *he* was in deed utterly outmatched, quite inadequate. Why oh why must he have been so successful in avoiding his sire's seemingly pointless lessons in arts martial? If he could only have landed that single stunning blow, or even just kept his eyes open as he struck...)
"I am done arguing with you, elf. If you want to try to save every abomination you come across, be my guest. I was down here for her and her alone," he says with a nod to Anna.
"You are an abomination yourself then," replies the other with some sadness at not having seen it sooner -- and still hoping, somewhere, somehow, that it isn't really true:
"A man without a heart." He turns his face away, unable to bear it:
"Go, and hope *she* doesn't see you for what you are - becoming," also with a gesture towards the so recently freed maiden. (What a strange, waking nightmare this has turned out to be!)
Gazing back to the still face down in the crook of his arm, ignoring the other's activities for now...
"Though I think I shall 'be your guest' after all," he finally says, talking mostly to himself. A brush of that imaginary hair again,
"I did nothing for you, yet I can do something now and onwards from now." An indrawn breath, feeling like it's the first he's taken in a while,
"Fire is all well and good, Bo, and perhaps a sensible conclusion to these caves; yet it does not prevent the coming of rot if one does not know how rot lays its seed or how far they might be scattered by the blaze." The young mage looks up, life's glow slowly returning to his emerald eyes,
"Pray look around you, my sometimes friends. These walls are carved with symbols and meaning. This water - all of you have shouted it most strongly - is no thing from our natural world. This water *comes* from somewhere, was perhaps even a deliberate creation... that, in either case, may go hence to places other than here. If we burn it now in the fires of ignorance and it already exists elsewhere... If we choose to close our eyes and it comes back, even a hundred years from now..."
He settles back down, his long, expiration draining him of something, and yet also seemingly like the tempering of a slim, yet enduring blade.
"The choice is of course ultimately up to each individual to make." And then he waits, the dead girl now somehow resting almost comfortably his arms...