<div class="floatleft">(https://i.pinimg.com/564x/31/45/b4/3145b4e25e035b5b63c491145192b6d6.jpg) (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=281618.msg13847025#msg13847025)    </div><strong>Name:</strong>Myra Gersumblesuch-Kettlespark (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=1456662) & Merle Fliffitygivvit<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Entering the courtyard<br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>Anyone<br/><strong>Active Effects:</strong><br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Stats</div><div class="spoiler_body"><strong>Initiative:</strong> +10<br/><strong>HP:</strong> x / x| <strong>AC:</strong> 24 (T: 16, FF: 21) | <strong>CMD:</strong> 18<br/><strong>Speed:</strong> 20 | <strong>Perception Bonus:</strong> +20</div></div><hr/><br/>Myra eyed the warrior askance, her gaze flickering over Ethan from toe to head.  Merle sniffed, his head turning to his gnome for a moment as he shared a telepathic observation.  Myra nodded, the corner of her mouth curling just a bit.  "That sounds rather like a funeral, captain.  The ham does look to die for...."  Where on earth had they dredged that up from, she wondered...then decided it was probably best not to know.  Somewhere in that story there was surely a few corpses and an oppressed slave.  "Best we show it some respect and tuck in."<br/><br/>Speaking of which..."But first, you've um...got some Moad on you, a bit.   There, and ah, there...."  Her nose wrinkled at it.  The filth was a stark contrast to her own appearance.  She was clean, groomed, well rested and smelled faintly of clover; her armor gleamed and her clothing seemed new and bright, not a single fray or stain.  If one didn't look past her easy smile and cheerful voice into the bottomless grief of her eyes, she seemed positively perky.<br/><br/>Not that she had missed the battle, or many of those which had come before in this war and others.  She'd slogged through mud and worse, dealt with the grime and piss and vomit, but the idea of not cleaning herself up the moment it was done horrified her.  A spellslinger, flameworker, fire jock, she'd walked away covered in soot and ash that had once been her enemies.  A few comrades as well, if she were being honest.<br/><br/>"Here, let me just-" she interrupted herself with a few arcane words and a short gesture, the useful cantrip causing the dreck to effervesce.  She left him with the smell of freshly oiled leather. Myra didn't do anything with the hair and stubble; it felt too personal.  "That's a bit more...sanitary."  How could she tactfully mention the hair?<br/><br/>Merle rolled his eyes.  "I could just burn it off," he muttered, and Myra had to stifle a laugh.<br/>