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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Sparky" data-source="post: 1384234" data-attributes="member: 13681">Oliver's face falls when Fendric tells him of Exantrius' fate as hope drains away. "Three days after..." He shakes his head, knuckles whitening on the staff that matches his stride. His brow furrows, bristling gray, and despite any apparent physical frailty, he looks formidable, "I well understand the gravity of the situation and your investment in it, Fendric." He studies the man for a moment to make sure the rebuke sinks in. His jaw clenches as he gives Fendric's arm a tug to move the band along and begins walking once more, "A week after Exantrius and you lot left," he gives a nod to Niccolo, "A battle started out at sea. Mercenaries, Pirates, rebels from Dalmar. The sea-forts fell and the fighting spilled into the city." Memory clouds his face, "The reek of char and barked shouts filled the streets. The town guard surrendered almost to a man. Can't say I blame them, outnumbered as they were. A few stout citizens held out in places, but the city was occupied. Anyone who remained to defend Hedrogura," He looks down, abashed, "Went to the Temples. When I left - fled - a week ago, the Temple of Pelor still stood. I cannot say what has happened since. I can only hope they still hold out."This man is not the rough, rowdy that he was years ago, Fendric. He does not even appear to be the same man that plucked weak tunes on a lute at Caval's Horde, Niccolo. That first Oliver's eyes were alight with anger and rash acts. The latter's eyes were dim with oblivion and drink. This Oliver's eyes are clear. Dark and shadowed. Long struggle and sorrow gleam from their depths.</blockquote>

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