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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Kobold Stew" data-source="post: 8323100" data-attributes="member: 23484">Miss Imogen watches the aftermath of the battle. It's not pretty, and she's down a dozen arrows. Again, her quiver is rattling its emptiness. Again, she kicks herself at the naivite at thinking there would be a market in this city. There is pain and suffering around her, and it's not even fully clear why this fight could not have been avoided. These had been lives. Now they weren't. What would her Uncle say? Miss Imogen does not fully understand the value of the little cubes, and she's not asking for an explanation. Her life is bound to this group, a group that is so cavlier with the wonders it has found. She excuses herself, and wonders if the beans and the magical jug are still on the ground where she had left them. The antitoxin has been taken. If it's still there (and not taken) she lifts the alchemy jug and places it back in her pack. They should have left it at that godforsaken camp that was struggling so. They would have kept it in constant use. If the beans are there, she takes them as well. Miss Imogen feels profoundly sad and alone as she rejoins the group.</blockquote>