Summer squints and struggles to focus on the strange dwarf seated across from her at the Weeping Willow Inn. The heavy mixture of wine and ale in the air makes her stomach churn. With the hand not holding a bandage to the back of her head, she clutches at the table for support. If the room would just stop teetering, she's sure she could heal herself.
Her table companion raps the mug in front of her with his own. "Drink this. Will make ya feel good as new!" He's quick to follow his own advice.
The smell wafting up from it causes Summer's stomach to flip-flop. "I don't think-"
The dwarf slams his own recently emptied mug on the table with a thunk that crashes into her skull like a hammer. "Drink up, lass!"
She pushes the mug away and leans heavily on her elbows, trying to focus on the way it felt to heal the wounded during the attack on West Harbor. But thinking of her home and the condition she left it in makes it even harder to concentrate. Being outside the inn would be better, but the door seems an impossible distance away. It's a long time before she finally manages to tune out the activity around her - the boisterous dwarf across from her being particularly hard to ignore - and heal herself.
Head still sore but finally clear, Summer studies her new acquaintance. Her mug now sits empty next to his own.
The dwarf shrugs at her look. "Thought you were out there, before you'd even started on the drinking part!"
"I hit my head on something..." Summer begins, rubbing at the improved but still tender spot on the back of her head. It feels like there's something she's forgetting. "Where's Sorrel?"
"If you mean that wolf pup of yours, the innkeeper wouldn't let it in. Guess you got a bit fuzzy, after you hit your head on that rock."
"That's right," Summer recalls. "There were three of them. I hit one with my sling and he went down, but another got to me before I could line up another shot. Knocked me over..."
"Wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it myself. You taking one down with that little sling, I mean. People hitting their heads on things just tends to happen."
The last comment earns him a blank look from Summer. She clears her throat awkwardly, "Why did they attack you?"
"Musta thought if they just waved their weapons about, I'd drop my coin and run. Too bad, I'm always up for a friendly fight."
Summer spends a moment to trying to reconcile the apparent contradiction in 'friendly fight.' "You mean you actually enjoy fighting?"
"There's nothing like a good brawl. Fighting - not just for its own sake, but to get better at it too - is something you can take pride in." The dwarf frowns at the two mugs in front of him, as if puzzled by their emptiness. "What, don't tell me you're one of them... sissy pacifist types?"
Thinking of the attack on West Harbor, Summer shudders. "I think I'd prefer to avoid fights."
"Oh? And yap all day, 'stead of sorting things out well and good? Roads here aren't exactly safe you know. And getting worse all the time. You might think about heading back to wherever it is you came from."
Fingers worrying at her pack, where the offensive shard hides, Summer shakes her head. "I'd like to, but I'm afraid it's not an option."
"Where are ya headed, lass?"
"Neverwinter. I need to get-" The inn's front door swings open violently, and the hissing voice of bladeling grabs her attention. "Not again," she protests, fumbling in her attempt to both stand and line up a shot with her sling at once.
"Again, is it?" The dwarf grins like a maniac as he comes around the table. "Lass, this may be your lucky day."
While the dwarf - named Khelgar, she's learned - cleans off his waraxe, Summer tends to the injured bystanders. It's her fault they were attacked - or as good as, since she brought the accursed shard - and her responsibility to heal them. Her first aid training is nothing recent, coming from old lessons with Brother Merring - he used to stop by their house quite frequently, as if checking up on Daeghun's care of her - but the healing magic is new.
She moves from group to group, inspecting their wounds, while Sorrel pads along after her like a household pet. Their part in defending the inn earns them some leeway with the innkeeper, but the juvenile wolf is on her best behavior, attempting to look harmless.
Summer cleans out cuts and carefully wraps them to prevent infection. Broken bones she whispers a healing spell over to speed their mending. Most here were quick enough to stay clear of the creatures, but a few of the more inebriated patrons weren't so lucky. At Gera's request, she makes a cursory inspection of Zachan's bruises - received not in a fight, but from tripping over the rug in his haste to escape the bladelings. Khelgar and Summer reached his room just as two of the creatures dragged him out from under the bed. That he made no attempt at all to resist them puzzled her then. Though she never drilled with the militia like Bevil, Summer knows the basics of how to defend herself - Daeghun made sure of that before he let her wander the Mere. Starting off on her journey, she expected the same from any travelers she might meet: that they could take care of themselves, if they couldn't afford to hire guards like Galen.
One of those guards responds with a derisive snort when she asks them if they need any aid. Galen gives a brief wave indicate the group is fine. Summer nods and returns to her original table, content to sit and rest a moment.
Khelgar - who apparently let the innkeeper show his gratitude in the form of free drinks - waves a mug at her kit. "Patched them all up?"
"For the most part." Summer sorts the remaining supplies and begins to pack them away, her mind preoccupied with bladelings and gray dwarves. "I don't understand how they got here so quickly, unless they're already searching the roads. Do you know what a Kalach-Cha is?"
"It's no proper dwarf curse, that's for sure," Khelgar replies, taking her abrupt subject change in good stride. "Sounds like something they want pretty badly, though. We'd best be moving on, lass. I don't mind a fight, but I don't like bringing others into our battles."
Summer pauses, hands hovering over her pack. "We?"
"Aye, lass. Heading to Neverwinter myself, so I figure I can get ya there in one piece, more or less." Before she can voice a protest, he continues, "You're handy with that sling of yours, I'll give ya that. But you won't get there throwing pebbles."
"They're not pebbles. They're little balls formed out of leftover bits of metal and they-"
Khelgar waves off the rest of the explanation. "Even so."
"Well, I think..." The journey would be safer if not made alone; recollections of her earlier vulnerability make that quite clear. "I think that might be a good idea," she admits.
"And if we happen across some more of those friends of yours," Khelgar adds, starting to grin, "All the better!"