<div class="floatleft">(https://i.imgur.com/GhFuQV8.jpg)</div><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 24pt;"><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: impact;"><strong>THE FLAME DANCER | BLAISE GABIETA </strong></span></span><br/><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 9pt;">Tiefling  Gestalt (Cleric - Light Domain | Warlock - Hexblade) | Background: Entertainer | Neutral Good</span><br/><hr/>The Tiefling cradled the half-elf's head in her lap, and gently stroked his long hair.  He had saved her.  Just as she had expected.  Tears filled her eyes to overlowing, and then ran down her cheeks as she learned of Gregor's sacrifice.  The Strongman had taught her so much.  His training had been merciless and strenuous, but he'd always helped her care for her body, even when she had loathed it. He helped chisel her into the woman she was today, and helped mold her self-worth like a father might have.<br/><br/><strong>"We're safe now.  That's all that matters."</strong>she said softly as her cracked and cut fingers smoothed his hair.<strong>"Neverwinter, I'm told."</strong>Her free hand moved to her head and she gently probed her scalp for where she may've hit the ship's keel.  She winced slightly when she found the tender spot.  Then her hands, in an exploratory fashion, continued to feel the rest of her head.  Finally they moved to where her horns should be.  She gingerly felt them to see if they were damaged, or even missing.  There'd been many times as a girl she'd wished for them to disappear, but now she dreaded the thought of being less than whole.<br/><br/><strong>"The boy is bringing some chowder, and water.  Share it with me?"</strong>