Bon nodded, "I think Thomas can wait, he won't recover in prison but I doubt the guards will let him get worse."

But before he could continue, a tall, broad man, wearing deep black armour, with a huge sword strapped to his back, strode up from the councillor stand.
"And who, might I ask, are you, to shout at my guards?!" he demanded loudly.

Karrain straightens, eyeing who he assumes to be the Councillor for defence (or war) up coldly.
"I, sir, am Karrain Unzual, first and last of the Sacrelarch's, the Scourge of Morthan's Field, the Eternal Prisoner, Archmage to Prince Uxas of El-Ethros, the Voidshaper and the Harbinger of Oblivion. I also happen to have over a century of military expertise under my belt and I have seen better defences conducted by drunken Smythian salt-merchants against an elite cadre of Deckie Assassins. I believe that answers your question."

Behind the two men, a group of people dressed in white robes arrived and took Varis and An'Inglefar away, towards a nearby building that as clearly a clinic of some form.

The Councillor for Defence grinned as Karrain listed his titles and achievements, respectful of the experience of the mage stood before him.
"I like you, Archmage Unzual. You are correct in noticing that the captain of the city centre is... distracted. He has never been particularly good at strategy and planning ahead. His position as guard captain isn't secure, if you know what I mean," he added with a wink.

"So what brings you to Tithuana?"

Karrain returns the councillor's smile, relaxing a little.
"Due to a series of unfortunate circumstances involving several estranged countrymen of mine I have spent quite a while trapped within a certain coin...fortunatley I was able to make my escape a short while ago and found myself and companions hired out to protect the Magic councillor...although protect might be too strong a word to use. I did not expect Master Thomas' seeming betrayal."

At the mention of the group being hired, the Councillor for War became slightly tense, and he asked, louder and more seriously than before.

"... who hired you?"

Karrain looks around, realising that Varis hadn't exactly mentioned who hired them.
"I believe that Bon here would deliver a better answer to your question. Or perhaps one of our missing comrades...DHarem, I was hired on after the contract had been accepted and discussed."

The councillor for War seemed suddenly ill at ease following the revelation as to the team's hiring.

He changed the subject, "So do we know the location of this Khan? If you deal with him, I need to interrogate the swordsman who attacked An'Inglefar."

DHarem bowed to the woman warrior and moved gracefully through the crowd deftly avoiding any collisions as he drew close to where his companions were located. Well some of his companions; he saw Bon and the newcomer Karrain who was talking to a city Councillor who’s bearing gave a distinctive martial aspect.

“Karrain,” DHarem said as he approached insinuating himself into the converstaion. He bowed his head to the Councillor, “Pardon me for the intrusion,” he said then turned back to Karrain,, “ what has happened? Where is Varis and Thomas?”

(I will not assume that Kera followed him over; for now will assume she didn’t immediately follow and she can maybe come over at which point he will make introductions.)

Varis panicked. He was falling, drawn into a hole in the floor. No, not the floor. It was there, it's not anymore. It's inside him, he's falling into himself.

Colours flashing. Dizzying. Disorientating. A solitary limb in an endless expanse.

A full tavern, all faces within turning to a newcomer, each the face of someone dead, flesh hanging off skeletons like rags. The music-oh the music-so hauntingly terrifying.

A mix, a blend of shapes and meaning. Thump, thump. A heartbeat in the dark, a heartbeat slowing, slowing, slowing...even as another one starts, quickening, quickening. Two beats between each other, one growing faster, more powerful, alive once more. One fading, forgotten in the endless dark.

Forgotten, but still there. A sudden light illuminates the heart, it's beat, starting it again as everything else dimmed...

-------

Black. Eyelids. Varis was looking at his eyelids. Opening them slowly, cautiously, he saw the panels of wood on a roof above him. He was...dreaming, or...something. He couldn't remember, just a thudding in his ears, that was his only remnant of the dream.

Varis breathed in, ignoring the unpleasant feel of the slime coating of his mouth. Twisting a sore neck, there were beds of wood and cloth to either side. His vision was a bit blurry, he couldn't make much out...

Dismissing his surroundings as unimportant, Varis leant back onto a remarkably soft, comfortable pillow, closing his eyes and trying to remember what had occured. Throwing every bit of magic he could summon desperately into the body beneath him, feeling-or imagining-the feel of a pulse on the body beneath him before a wave of white pain slammed into Varis, and all he saw was darkness.

Overall, the job didn't exactly go well. He had an idea what was happening now, though, but only one way to find out.

"Where am I?" Varis spoke as loud as he could force himself without opening his eyes, hoping someone would hear and reply.

But even as he spoke, there was a strange feeling. Of something being very...out of place. Wrong. Like...hearing sounds, cries and music from inside a tavern, and opening the door to join the festivities inside only to find it entirely empty, deserted.

Not long after Varis spoke, someone entered the room.
The smell of Spice soon followed, along with that of medium-rare Fluff meat, and the air flow that followed the entrance of the person drew the smells closer to the bedridden mercenary.

The sound of barefeet on the wooden planks, barely perceptible, but there. The light *chunk* as porcelain was placed onto wood, and the cheery, light-hearted "Hello!" that followed. Female voice, obviously quite young and almost naïve-sounding, yet with that slight, characteristic fleck of experience often found in medical professionals.

"You're in the Scarlet Clinic, sir," piped up the voice once more.

Varis was in no mood to chat. The bed was comfortable, but something still lay within him, leaving him dangerously uneasy...he wasn't sure what it was...

"Thank you. How long have I been here? What of the councillor?" Varis made out with a dry throat, hoping that he could fall back to sleep soon, and hoping that what he assumed he did to himself for his charge worked.

The voice left a pause, then continued, "We brought you here a few minutes ago, and that you're awake is quite surprising. The councillor is stable, but weak, and we're working on him."

Another brief pause.

"I have a plate of food for you. Do you want anything, sir?"

"Yes...yes...thank you." The relief was dizzying, yet Varis suddenly felt tireder than ever. His head swam.

"Just...leave the food. I think I'm going to sleep for longer, yes...thank you." Varis distractedly mentioned, eyelids feeling like they were coated with heavy ferrum...Third rule of the Diplomat, though; no matter how bad or distracted you're feeling, always thank whomever you're talking to at the time copiously. Helps to avoid causing offense.

The voice sounded concerned, "I have some distilled Shrum essence here, if you wish some help."

Shrums were renowned for their light soporific effects. But when they were stewed and distilled, they could almost literally knock someone down in seconds. Its only impracticality as a poison, of course, is that it's an almost perfect liquid.
This had never stopped it being used as a non-lethal poison and, in this case, a form of remedy. It tended to be very useful in cases of surgery.

Varis' thoughts were going nowhere fast, as his mind began to wander and drift, falling into sleep as Varis just had the energy left to flap a dismissing hand, eyes closing...