Parallel Lines

Before Sorren is able to respond as to whether or not he'd like a bit of the alcohol that Massif holds, the dwarf's brow furrows and he looks back over his shoulder to where he picked the bottle up from. Still sitting there is the second small bottle that Captain Dresda said was to go to Systar, presumably to help his wounds.

'Hey, does someone want to take that drink down to the elf? He'll probably welcome the relief.'

He spins his head back to where Sorren is standing in from of the Captain's quarters and he thinks to himself...

I'd take it down to him myself... but... well, I'm drinking here. Plus I already went downstairs already... let someone else walk all over the blasted ship. I can't do everything myself...
 
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Digger watched as Massif tilted a bottle of spirits back and then after many seconds pulled it away, leaving a thick tendril of spittle in its passing.

Perhaps this is a custom among his people to celebrate a victory with a drink. Would I be insulting them if I refrained from drinking?

When the dwarven warm blood asked would any take a smaller bottle to Systar, Digger thought that perhaps he would be the best qualified for the task.

'I will take it to him. It will give me a chance to examine the wounds and the shape of the cuts. Perhaps from the birds we can learn something of value still.'
 

SS:
As Systar advances towards the back of the ship, the scuffling stops. No evidence of its source is apparent. Checking behind the tables reveals nothing. As he comes to the back row of tables and is bending down to check behind them, he is suddenly aware of a sharp movement out of the corner of his eye. He gets the impression of a sudden flurry of wings and then something hard impacts with the side of his head and everything goes black.

Badger:
Coming down the stairs with the bottle clasped in his hand, Digger finds an odd scene awaiting him. The elf lies unconscious at the rear of the ship, and above him one of the cupboard doors hangs open, an obvious dent in its bottom corner. Standing over the elf, pawing at his prone body looking very sorry for itself and making pitiful mewling noises is a tiny dragon-like creature. He recognises it as the familiar of the departed wizard.
 

Eluvan:Digger quickly rushes towards the body of Systar, trying to shoo the small dragon away from him as one would brush away a fly. Once he reaches him, Digger checks to see if the warm blood's chest is still rising and falling and if it is, he will pour the contents of the bottle into the elf's throat, trying to make him swallow it.

What has happened here?
 

Sorren waved the drink away. No thank you. It's yours, so long as the others don't mind. Sorren didn't drink alchohal. It dulled the mind, and like any good weapon, the mind should be kept sharp and focussed.

Sorren lowered his voice so that only Massif could hear. I'll be honest. I don't like what is going on here. Too many things don't make sense. Something feels....wrong.
 

Badger:
The dragon-like thing backs off when you approach, obviously intimidated by your bulk, though it seems reluctant to leave Systar. The elf is obviously still alive, and as you pour the potion down his throat he swallows reflexively and wakes up coughing.

((probably better to use <spoiler> tags than <color=black> since not everyone uses a black bacground.))

SS:
You regain consciousness coughing and with a slightly odd taste in your mouth, but otherwise feeling much better than you did when you were knocked out. Digger is leaning over you, an empty bottle in his hand. There is an odd chirping noise and as you turn to look at it you see the tiny dragon that was accompanying Samea. It falls silent as you look at it and you feel a palpable wave of emotion wash over you. It consists mostly of relief, tinged with a little admonishment.

((You're at full HP again now))
 

Systar looks around, and replaces his mask, hiding the embarassment he feels for having been bested by such a small thing.

As Systar looks up, he recognizes the little dragon. "Hello little one, I am sorry I frightened you. Is your master still here? Can you take me to her? Is she safe?"
 

Vel looks up at Celebren with a raised eyebrow and a smirk at the young monk's evident embarassment. 'Why, of course not. What could a nice young man like me possibly have to hide? I'm on my way out to the principalities. I have some... business to conduct there.'

'Uh.. yes.. um.. ok!'
Celebren stammers weakly after vainly trying to come up with a witty response that matches the other half-elfs guile.

'If you note anything.. you know.. unusual. Please tell us.'
He quickly adds with a frown.

'I'll be on my post.. or more likely.. searching for the missing Lady as it stands right now.'
For another moment the Monk hesitates, wondering if his excuse would be sufficient to allow himself to get away. But than again, there ain't many options the young Initiate can come up with.

Giving Vel another formal bow, Celebren ducks out of the conversation and heads back to the main deck, trying to find a relevant occupation for himself.
 

Sorren said:
No thank you. It's yours, so long as the others don't mind.

I'll be honest. I don't like what is going on here. Too many things don't make sense. Something feels....wrong.

The dwarf looks up at the kalashar and sees the concern on his face. Massif takes a few seconds to consider the statement, and then absent-mindedly downs the rest of the liquor in the bottle he holds. Wiping his mouth once more with the back of his sleeve, he nods in agreement.

'Yeah... I know what you mean. But our Captain's got a mouth like a steel trap, she does. She's not talking, but I bet she probably has a lot too say.'

His eyes wander away from Sorren, and then just happen to fall on the door to the Captain's quarters right behind him. Suddenly Massif gets a little glint in his eye, and he motions Sorren to come bend over a bit so he can whisper in his ear.

'You don't suppose our answers might be found behind that door do you? Dresda might not be talking, but who knows what's back there that'd be willing to give us the scoop? Eh? What do you think? Which way did the Cap go? She below deck? Give me a signal and I'll move inside and do some pokng around... for INFORMATION, that is.'
 

The dragon settles onto its haunches and stares at Systar. He can feel turmoil in the creature's mind, but only one word forms: Samea. Systar catches a distinct streak of frustration in the creature's mood.
 

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