<div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/2/20/Halfdrow_portrait.jpg)</div><strong>Name:</strong>Maggs<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Path to the Cemetery<br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>Funeral Procession, Adina, Amanda<br/><strong>Active Effects:</strong>None<br/><strong>Initiative:</strong>+2<br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Stats</div><div class="spoiler_body"><strong>HP:</strong> 12/12 | <strong>AC:</strong> 15 (T: 12, FF: 13) | <strong>CMD:</strong> 16<br/><strong>Speed:</strong> 30/x4 | <strong>Perception Bonus:</strong> +7 (+9 vs Animal)<br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Spells</div><div class="spoiler_body"><strong>Spells Per Day:</strong> N/A <br/><strong>Memorized Spells:</strong> N/A</div></div></div></div><hr/>Despite her immediate discomfort among the local mourners-- as death rites without alcohol to ply the nerves are agonizing-- Maggs is a little relieved to see that she's not the only one who is, apparently, an outsider here.  Through the countryside she's become impoverished... not that this is particularly unfamiliar to her, but without the backdrop of her small city, the cold, stark countryside has been a bleak backdrop without hope.  Here, at least, there are others perhaps like her... people touched by the Professor in some way, however alien and remote their lives have been to her own.  Still, the estrangement and disaffection she's faced... the wagoners who spurned her meager coin and spat on her cloak when they saw the features of her face, the threats in unfamiliar tongues at the glimmer of her eyes nearing nightfall, the gut-wrenching fear she felt when curled in a makeshift tent from the roadside as unknown riders passed with drink-slurred voices and shaking lanterns... never has she felt so profoundly the indifference of the world, nor been so tempted to hide her face like a guisard.<br/><br/>Yet this is what she was summoned for, this man who once saved her life-- whatever his true motive-- never forgot her, even at the end.  How many could say that, after these years apart?  And when the need for pallbearers was clear, Maggs offered her shoulder without hesitation.  She'd served as pallbearer when there was a need once before, back in Tamran, and she'd carried her corner of a hefty butcher's body because his son-- a stout lad-- was too vexed with emotion to conduct the task.  Though thin and lean under her dark leather garb, it's clear that the half-elf possesses ample strength, and aligns herself opposite the other two young women, taking her share of the weight effortlessly-- too effortlessly, it seems.  The man was as light as if made from bird-bones and tea-leaves, and for a moment Maggs shoots a questioning gaze over to the other two women as if to note the strange observation.<br/><br/>Still, this is no time for questions, or for questioning... and not for staring, though she finds her lips hang open as if they've forgotten their solemn purpose for a moment as the flicks her gaze between the two of them.  Then, snapping her jaw shut and averting her eyes, she fixes her gaze forward and is ready to move with the others to the appointed resting place for the Professor.  The sleight weight is easy to bear with one hand, so she takes a brief moment to adjust the hood of her cloak as if shielding her eyes from the temptation to stray.<br/><br/>[Unless someone has chastised her already for it, Maggs is traveling armed, carrying a sword at her back that there's no hope of concealing.  I'll leave it to the DM if Amanda's looking her over for concealed weapons which are noted on the sheet.]<br/>