<div class="floatright">(https://78.media.tumblr.com/81ec4eaef4631891f6cae74bf8399bb7/tumblr_p2iav1FFbu1tk4029o1_1280.jpg)</div><strong>Name:</strong>Jaela Sands, Half-Elf Druid<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Courtyard<br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>all<hr/>Jaela had been spending her evening just beyond the fortification's walls. Any further was too far, she knew; but just beyond the hills, just below the horizon, an entirely new land waited. Called.<em>Beckoned.</em>She sat cross-legged on the earth, hands buried in the loamy soil, feeling the roots and worms, the stones and old bones of the earth as the evening drained away and the dawn bled into the sky. Only when the sun's heat warmed through her hair to the back of her neck did she finally unroot herself, brushing soil from her fingers as she repaired to the fort. Spells burned in her mind like hot stones, knowledge drawn fresh from the sap and soil.<br/><br/><strong>"You're losing your talent for vulgarities, Corporal,"</strong>she smiled as she entered the gathering.<strong>"<em>Vine-crotched</em>, what does that even <em>mean</em>?"</strong>She scooped up a bit of the hard, stale bread that was left, taking a bite of the stuff like she barely noticed its quality. While spitting as few crumbs as possible, she gestured and spoke.<strong>"And I don't talk to the winds; I <em>listen</em>. It never listens back. Nearly never</strong>."<br/><br/>Her bright, oddly-slanted elven eyes took each member of the entourage in turn, chewing the dry bread thoughtfully, before extending her forefinger and pressing it and her thumb against her forehead in greeting.<strong>"Jaela Sands. I'm here to try to keep you from killing yourselves, and to patch you up when you try anyway. <em>In theory</em>, I can also keep the local wildlife from hurrying us to our graves, but since I haven't met any of it yet, that's a bit of a gamble."</strong>She poured some water into an earthenware cup, lifting it in smiling salute.<strong>"Cheers! Here's to living long enough to taste wine again."</strong>She talked of death like it was just a<em>thing</em>that<em>happened</em>. Which was surely a heartening trait for the person who's supposed to keep you alive. But never worry, because...<strong>"Hell, gods allowing I can even bring you back. Sort of."</strong>Another cheery smile.<br/><br/><strong>"Cinnamon will be joining us once we get outside the walls. The soldiers don't like her inside, and neither do the horses,"</strong>she explained.<strong>"Don't be alarmed when you see her, if she lets you."</strong>Jaela drained the contnets of her mug, setting it down lip-down on the table. Who, or what a "Cinnamon" was she doesn't volunteer.