((The chains are attached to the wall; can try to pull them out of the hull, but it'll take some muscles to do.))<br/><br/>Chira regards the succubus, her face drawn tight with evident pain at the injury to her leg. "I hope so," she says in clipped tones. "And if there is a shortage of weapons, I can do without. I would prefer a good suit of armor and a greatspear, but my hooves and mouth will do well enough. Their armor and weapons probably won't help me much, though," she points out. "It won't fit, if nothing else. But thank you for the thought," Chira finishes politely. She shifts her weight, taking more off of the injured limb and scooting awkwardly against one of the hall's walls to give Delia better access to the wound. Scorning diagnosis (healing magic was healing magic, after all, whether treating poisoning or a stab wound), the succubus begins tracing the outline of the injured leg. Though Chira inhales sharply when Delia's fingertips stray a little too close to a sensitive area, she stays obediently still and calm.<br/><br/>As the music takes hold, she flexes her hoof experimentally and says in a controlled voice, "It feels different than druid magic. Not worse. But different." Putting her weight on the leg, she shudders a little in apparent still pain even though she gruffly says, "It holds weight and I can fight on it. Anything else can wait- save your magic for those who might need it more later." There's a thin tracery of sweat on the centaur's brow, and when Delia's lips brush against the centaur's brown-haired flank she can sense the her heart pounding heavily. And, she can't help but notice, a rich and almost nutty taste right before she pulls away from the warm flank. Unaware or not thinking about what the succubus might be sensing, Chira says, "More could be done, but as I said... it can wait. Do you know how many are aboard ship? Have you made a plan yet?" One of her 'good' legs scrapes restlessly at the wooden decking.<br/><br/>Standing well to one side (out, Delia can't help but notice, of kicking range), the drow drawls, "Well, I was arrested under the name Aron, which will do as well as anything. I don't much feel like having a long discussion of my true name in the hold of a small, unpleasant little ship, and I hardly think it matters too much, does it? Perhaps if one of you buys me a drink when we reach port." The drow's smile, again, doesn't quite reach his eyes.<br/><br/>Disengaging from the centaur, Xarius heads for the other cells. There are three cells along the other side of the wall; there had been on the first side, but two were combined for the centaur's space. The first one he unlocks and peers in greets him with a wave of stale, mostly-settled corruption; the body inside has been dead for long enough that it's little more than a sack of bones in rags, and hardly even stinks anymore. The other two both have live prisoners. In the first, a man has arranged himself so that despite his chains, he is sitting cross-legged and serene on the deck, lips moving slightly in what seems to be prayer as his eyes stay shut and his head pointed upwards at the top of the deck. After an awkwardly long few seconds, he murmurs, "Amen", and opens his eyes to look curiously at Xarius. From the greenish cast of his skin and the stubby fangs just pushing up past his lips, he's got orcish blood in him, albeit not likely to be pure.<br/><br/>"And have my prayers been answered?" He asks the newcomer, without a hint of irony or sarcasm. "I had wondered. They rarely are." He seems content to leave it at that, keeping his meditative pose intact until the shackles are removed. Standing up, he clasps Xarius's hand and forearm. "Another month and I would have almost given up hope. Well done. Are you well? Have you freed the ship yet?" He asks, dark eyes gleaming. "Just another proof that power structures are inherently unstable. Forgive me- I am Garth Mazorn, a traveling priest and inquisitor of the god Caydean Cailean."<br/><br/>The other door holds a pretty young redheaded human with an odd setup of her chains; while she also has all the normal chains, her hands are also encased in solid metal gauntlets, themselves securely locked together with the woman's hands behind her back. She's also got a rag wrapped around a wooden dowel shoved in her mouth and tied behind her head as an impromptu gag- the look of rage in her eyes only softens a little when she sees Xarius. The faint scent of burning fills his nostrils when he pokes his head in, and the walls and ceilings have a little bit of scorching on them. When the woman realizes that Xarius isn't coming for some malign purpose, her face softens immediately and allows her own youthful beauty to flow back into it- she's almost a match for the succubus in terms of pure looks when her face isn't being distorted by rage. Quietly, she half-turns, presenting her side to Xarius so he can see both her gauntlets and her gag, the same as her usual chains.<br/><br/><br/>((As is tradition, pictures:m<a class="postlink" href="http://i.imgur.com/pl54UFJ.jpg">http://i.imgur.com/pl54UFJ.jpg</a>mandm<a class="postlink" href="http://imgur.com/BoGcd1u">http://imgur.com/BoGcd1u</a>m(well, I mean, that one's of her in Happier Times, but...)))