#linini

Orella Steelhand: "Oh, for-"

Linini Mooglesworn: "Lay down your arms! We've come on behalf of Ashelia Riot of the Riskbreakers."

Nivelth Ajuyn holds up her hands to show she's non hostile, and puts them behind her head, as three different people come at them.

Ivan Amov wonders if they even know about the Riskbreakers, really. He holds up his hands, eyes briefly scanning the guards to see if he recognizes any of them.

The middle one with a gunblade frowns at them all, his odd eyes narrowing. "The Riskbreakers?'

Linini Mooglesworn tilts her head. "Er... no one was notified of our coming? We have contacts within the Dalmascan Resistance. We have... aided them in the past."

The man frowns at her, then takes stock of the others before lowering his gunblade. "We were informed that help might be forthcoming. We weren't given much more information than that."

Orella Steelhand: "Help." it's... too blunt to be a question.

Ivan Amov takes the lowered gunblade as opportunity to look around the camp. "Yeah, that's us. Hopefully. The help."

Linini Mooglesworn: "We the Riskbreakers have fought on the frontlines of battle against Garlemald for quite some time now. We have ousted the Empire from Eorzea, Ala Mhigo, and Doma. And intelligence suggests that a certain legatus has sights set on a location near to here. We mean to find out why."

The camp itself is bustling, people running back and forth, as well as what looks like a scouting party being treated at a healer's tent. It's fairly obvious that the scouting party was attacked, and that's what has the hrothgar man on edge.

Nivelth Ajuyn frowns, and nods at the man. "Our contacts in the Doman Resistance said were the ones to give us information on you all."

Orella Steelhand takes the opportunity to look around. She recognises the kind of place this is; she'd stormed one or two of them serving the Garleans, long ago.

Linini Mooglesworn: "Might we help with anything? Give us a task, if you feel the need to gauge our skills or gain our trust."

Orella Steelhand: "... Were there any stragglers?" Orella asks, slightly more directly. "Of yours or them. Doesn't matter which."

Ivan Amov: "I'll be glad to finally get the opportunity to aid the Resistence." He says this quietly in Bozjan.

Orella Steelhand looks over at Ivan with an eyebrow raised, not recognising the language.

The man sighs, and runs a hand over his head. He sheaths his gunblade. "My apologies. Bajsaljen is my name, and you've come into my camp." He blinks at Ivan, and nods to him. "Tis good to see another brother helping the fight." He responds in the same language.

Linini Mooglesworn fails to understand Ivan Amov, and makes a note of that for later.

Bajsaljen clears his throat, then looks to Orella. "We haven't taken tally yet. If you've a mind to prove your worth, we're missing two scouts."

Ivan Amov nods to Bajsaljen.

Orella Steelhand: "Which direction, and how far."

Bajsaljen beckons them over to the table inside the main tent, over which a map spreads. "Our party was in the south and east, closer to the Dalmascan border. According to those that came back, they lost sight of the two missing scouts no more than twenty malms out. Far too close for comfort."

Linini Mooglesworn: "I see. We'll find them." (says Linini, who can barely see over the table).

Ivan Amov seems lost in thought.

Nivelth Ajuyn goes over to the table, frowning down at the map and tracing border lines with her finger.

Bajsaljen nods at them, and then reaches to pull out what looks like linkpearls. "Here, to keep in touch. They're set to a specific frequency. Please call in if you find them."

Linini Mooglesworn: "Thank you, Bajsaljen."

The group takes the pearls, and turns to leave.

Linini Mooglesworn: "Before we proceed, might the four of us talk in private?"

Each of them shrugging in turn, they find the quietest area they can in close proximity to the main camp. It's not exactly private, but it will have to do for now.

Linini Mooglesworn: "Ivan... I take it you are familiar with this area?"

Ivan Amov: "I'm not. Unfortunately, my clan is............elsewhere, so I'll be as much help as any of the rest of our group."

Linini Mooglesworn: "Ah... I was mistaken, then. But you share a common tongue?"

Ivan Amov: "We do. We're still from Bozja, in the end."

Linini Mooglesworn gazes upon Ivan Amov in deep reflection.

Linini Mooglesworn: "Hm. Well, that is good to know, at any rate. It may help us in the future."

Ivan Amov nods to Linini Mooglesworn.

Ivan Amov: "I hope so."

Orella Steelhand, who knows what it's like to come home painfully, looks at Ivan carefully, trying to take the measure of him.

Nivelth Ajuyn nods slightly at that, frowning. "Any help might be good, when it gets down to it. Admittedly I'm not the best tracker -- is anyone else better than I am?"

Linini Mooglesworn: "Now... I am no scout, but I do have experience tracking down criminals and other sorts who do not wish to be found... Though we are at a clear disadvantage here because we do not know the area."

Orella simply nods at Nivelth Ajuyn.

Orella Steelhand: "Soldiers are easy to find."

And at Linini's words, all she says is-

Orella Steelhand: "I can lead."

Linini Mooglesworn: "Is that...?" She glances at Orella's arm and cuts herself off. "Very well. Ivan, I am familiar with Nivelth and Orella's skillsets, but what is your area of expertise?" She eyes his bow, but does not want to make any assumptions.

Nivelth Ajuyn: "Well.. At the least, we won't be dealing with dangerous stones like we did before..." She mutters to Linini and Orella. She turns to Ivan, and nods to him. "Nice to properly meet you, by the way, I'm Nivelth Ajuyn, but everyone calls me Nive."

Ivan Amov: "I'm Ivan. And.. ah, I was .. my main role was a scout. Or.. something like a border patrol, depending on what was needed."

Linini Mooglesworn grins. "Perfect - exactly what we need."

Ivan Amov agrees wholeheartedly with Linini Mooglesworn.

Ivan Amov: "I'll do my best."

Nivelth Ajuyn: "You'll be fine." She assures him. "If it's needed, I can also send out one of my carbuncles to cover more ground."

Still, she is no stranger to the darkness, and the longer she wanders the more she feels as though she has begun a journey winding into its bowels, never to surface again, as though she is being dragged down to the world's core. It's so much - too much, even; she feels as though she might stagger, might trip and fall and then the world will close in around her, crushing, all consuming--

In the end, she does stumble, but only because of an errant paper that she hadn't seen in the dark of night. It slides from under her foot and she goes down with it, growling, and she takes the time to scrunch the paper up and hurl it as hard as she can behind her. It passes through Lamont, who appears not to notice it, and lands ineffectually upon the ground. "Bastard," she whispers, for she knows what beasts stir in the night, and does not wish to rouse them.

But there is someone else there tonight, sitting quietly and calmly in the darkness. If one were to see her, they would think she was in deep meditation. But she held a stone in her hand, and she communicated with it as she did her Cluster - quietly, in her head, with none the wiser. She usually did this in the cargo bay in the underbelly of the Prima Vista. But she hid like a rat no longer. There was work to be done.

“And who might you be calling a bastard in this hour of night?” Linini called to the figure in the darkness, opening her eyes. Her eyes had long since adjusted, and she could make out a much taller figure that she suspected as one of the Riskbreakers.

Orella stops like a chocobo skidding to a halt - immediately, muscles tense, eyes trying to make sense of the world in front of her. She scans the darkness for whomever would creep up on her, but her gaze meets nothing. It's almost as if the darkness itself is trying to blind her.

"Whoever deserves to be called one," she says back, voice steady despite her confusion. "Who cowers in the night, out of bed? Show yourself."

“I am not cowering,” she said, bringing a candle to a lantern to light it. “Not today. It is just easier to see what you - and others - are in the dark, when you think nobody is watching. You’re the one called Steelhand, aren’t you? I don’t think we have been properly acquainted. I am Linini Lini, though most just call me Lini.” She pauses for a moment. “Is your stone keeping you awake?”

"... Aye," Orella allows, and crosses her arms as she looks over the tiny lady. The flame only steals her attention for a short moment, but the darkness suddenly seems more inviting than the oppressive fire, burning wretchedly, and she must tear her eyes away. Still, the comment gives her pause; precious few people, less than a handful, know of her stone. For this one to know, despite the foreign face, is... nothing less of suspicious. "I don't know what you're talking about," she says. "Must I need a reason to go walking?"

Lini sighs, disappointed. “I suppose I was mistaken. I figured most of the Riskbreakers had stones by now.” She saw the way Orella looked at the flame. “Would you like to go above deck? I’ve found that the troupe’s stage gives quite a lovely view of the stars. I could show you how to get there. No one is like to be there this time of night.”

"By all means," says Orella. In truth, she'd been avoiding the deck since she first boarded, wary of the wind, precarious as it always has been even half a world away. It was ferocious on the Lochs, and no less violent across the ocean-- but she cannot help but feel that no matter the strength of any gust, she will be safely rooted to the floor beneath her. She isn't sure what makes her think that, but any strength is better than none, even if only a thought. "Lead the way."

Linini leads Orella to the lift, up several levels and down two winding hallways where the airship crew worked more than the troupe did. A mechanical door yawns open, the wind whipping at both of their hair and clothes. Lini kept her back to Orella the whole way, confident and unafraid, but turned to her once they were outside. “It just occurred to me. You are scarcely wearing anything, won’t you be cold?” Lini, of course, is wearing heavier leathers.

It's true: the wind is cold, whipping around the two of them despite the airship's motionlessness. Still, the air is clean, devoid of the mechanical scent of the engine room, or the paint and paper of the tiring room, and it's almost welcome, though goosebumps raise on her flesh almost immediately. Orella simply shrugs. "I'll be fine," she says, though she knows she won't be. Ingvald will be pissed when she climbs back into bed to leech off his heat, but that will be a problem for the future. His problem, at that.

And as she cranes her neck to look at the stars, she realises that she recognises only a few of the constellations, and those closer to the horizon. Kugane, Dalmasca: they truly are a world away from all she knows. Briefly, she wonders how she would fare if she was dropped here, made to find her way home alone. But she knows the answer: she would not last.

Lini joins her in looking up at the sky. She spots Azionne gliding past her, eyes on Orella as if on the hunt, watching her while Lini’s gaze was elsewhere. She had been with Lini the entire walk up to the deck. “So how has this journey been treating you? It is certainly one of the Riskbreakers’ most dangerous quests yet, to my understanding.”

Orella doesn't pull her gaze from the sky, trying to make sense of what stars she can see. If she squints, perhaps that's the Destroyer, perhaps that is Kugane tower, perhaps that... a crab? "... Hm," she allows, and thinks about the question honestly. "It's a pain in the ass, but work like this always is. I think liberating Ala Mhigo was more taxing, personally." But then, she had been directly involved in that. There have been too many Garleans here for her to want to participate overmuch. She tears her eyes from the sky to glance down at Lini again, wondering just what it would take for that short stature to bear down upon her. Just... in case. "And you? I have not seen you on skirmish before. Or even around the Sandsea."

“I wasn’t quite as involved in the liberation of Ala Mhigo as I’d have liked to be,” Lini admitted. “I fought in smaller skirmishes throughout the region of Gyr Abania while half our company was abroad, guarding supply trains on behalf of the Resistance and aiding in the effort after that disaster after Rhalgr’s Reach. But I did fight to free the city itself.” Her eyes wander to Azionne’s phantom, pacing in front of them, eyes on Orella. “But I have been a resident of the Sandsea for some time now. I generally spend my time in my chambers, or patrolling the Goblet.” She takes a deep breath. “But this journey... our trials and tribulations have been greater than anything I could have expected. I was excited in the beginning, in truth. I was oft told stories of Dalmasca by my mother. My blade is even Dalmascan in origin,” she says, putting a hand on the hilt to indicate it. “It was not as I imagined. So much death. So much destruction. And so many people to put to justice.”

Orella nods at Lini's explanation of her past whereabouts, and simply listens to the rest. At the corner of her eye, she sees Lamont again and must turn her face away to ignore him; she cannot be distracted, should not let herself be distracted. It has already taken a toll on her.

Still, she cannot find it within herself to be impressed, or to feign the feeling. "It's like that everywhere," she says, barely resisting the urge to roll her eyes. "Dalmasca, Ala Mhigo - hells, I'd wager even the Sharlayans built their land on the backs of the broken." and she shrugs, as though that affects her not at all. "The world is filled to the brim with the darkness of man. And we press ever on."

Lini crosses her arms. “I know. I am no stranger to injustice. I’ve been a victim of it right home in Ul’dah. How do you press on, in spite of that darkness?” She continues looking at the stars, away from Orella.

She doesn't even need to think about it. "With effort," she says simply. Honestly. "With wariness. With uncertainty. But what other option is there?"

Lini looks down at her palms, then away from the stars and Azionne and straight to Orella. “We’ve discovered another option,” Lini said. “The stones. They give us the strength to keep fighting. To keep bringing justice where justice is due.”

"Is that what you think they are." and it isn't a question; Orella understands that Lini speaks her mind truthfully, from the heart. "There's no tool great enough for that undertaking," she adds, before Lini can interrupt or cut across her. "No sword, no stone, no shield that can raise justice so high." Rubbing her hands against her arms, trying to will the gooseflesh to warm, she can't help but scowl. "There is no justice but what you make," she adds, just a touch softer, though her scowl remains. "And one cannot make justice without power. And that," she says decisively, "Is that what stones have brought the Riskbreakers."

Lini gives her a scowl of her own. “Power, then,” she says. After a moment, she adds, “And when the time comes, I hope the Riskbreakers aren’t too weak to use it. We’ve been given a wonderful gift, and I’ll not see our company squander it.”

Orella snorts, rubs her arms again. "And what exactly would you hope the power was used for?"

Lini spreads her arms out. “The liberation of Dalmasca, of course. the power to crush our enemies. Freedom to its people. Freedom to... Ivalice.”

Remembering her spat with Ingvald, Orella frowns at the mention of Dalmasca. She finds she couldn't care less about the city with every passing moment: even the very mention of it is enough to have her heart beat wildly in her chest. And she thinks, well, perhaps it would be better off destroyed, then, and does not notice when Lamont steps close enough to her to touch her hand.

"Freedom," she grits out, and she cannot think why the concept makes her so mad. "There's no such thing as freedom."

Lini tilts her head. “Are your people not free? What did we fight for in Ala Mhigo then?”

"Hells if I know," Orella growls, nails digging into her arm so hard she'll leave marks behind. "To give them the freedom to choose another despot to live under, sooner or later, most like. Free. Ala Mhigo isn't free. Dalmasca will never be free. Anyone thinking otherwise is deluded. The darkness takes and takes and gives naught back, and that is the way of it."

When she turns her back to Lini, intent on storming off the deck to find somewhere else to stand that isn't quite as exposed, she can't help but notice Lamont's eyes, this close- flooded black, deep enough she can taste the power on the air.

"Take it," he hisses at her, and lifts his hand from hers. "Take it and do what's right."

Azionne sees the difference in Orella at once and whispers in Lini’s ear. “She has a stone.”

“You are certain?” Lini asks aloud. “I have no intention of attacking my unarmed and unarmored comrades without good reason. The scales will tip too far in my favor, and I cannot fight in the name of justice.” Even so, she draws her sword, Ayvuir Blue.

The wind chooses a convenient time to pick up and obfuscate Lini's words; the most Orella hears is attacking.... in the name of justice, and it's enough to spur her to grab for Lamont's hand, for the darkness he offers her.

All at once it surges through her like flame, burning brighter than the sparks that fell to earth during the Calamity, and she turns to face Lini once again, muscles tense, back ramrod straight. She makes to lift her hand to the hilt of the sword that typically rests upon her back, but not finding it there does not seem to dissuade her overmuch; instead her fingers tighten around where the hilt would be, and she pulls a sword into being, holds it out, point facing Lini unwaveringly.

It doesn't seem... real. It seems to be made of the all-consuming night, so dark all light seems to be drawn into it, and almost insubstantial but for the way Orella's muscle strains to hold it up.

"Do so at your peril," she warns. "I will pull you down with me."

So too does Lini draw upon the power of Exodus, her leather armor growing crests of gold. Twisting horns extend from her shoulders of equal length, and her blade glows with aether. She thrusts her sword forward, casting two Scathe spells that launch from the blade before rushing forward to clash against Orella.

“I am the Authority,” said Lini. “And I judge you unworthy of wielding the auracite’s power!”

Orella watches as the transformation takes hold of Lini, and for a moment she wonders is the selfsame happening to me? but no time, no time, hisses Lamont in her ear. Almost on instinct she lifts her hand and feels the very air ripple around her fist; no familiarity does she have with magicks, and cannot tell astral from umbral, gravitation from attraction, but she knows that what she does has power imbued into it.

Both Scathe spells twist toward her hand instead of her body, and she barely notices the sting as they make contact, and while she might be startled at the concept of casting magick for her own, her body knows the battlefield better than her mind. Her blade of darkness, split almost as a crab's claw, comes up and holds fast with the other's blade  firmly pressed against it, and looks down into the all-knowing eyes of the Judge-Sal.

"I may be unworthy," she says, and twists the blade she wields roughly to push Linini away, only to clench her free fist once more, trying to call that same gravitational power to the fore once more, "But I will continue to stand so long as darkness fills my heart."

“Darkness,” says a deep voice, most certainly not the Lalafell’s, though it spills from her mouth. “Gravity... Thou art the Condemner.” Pushed away, Lini uses the opportunity to raise both hands. She speaks again, and again her voice changes - this one higher, impetuous, yet almost singsong. “Darkness magic, you say? Exodus, I daresay it is my turn to enter the fray.” She gestures her hand toward Orella. “I, Azionne Melisandre, Sorceress of the Riskbreakers, challenge you now,” she says. She holds her sword high, her left hand next to it, channeling a spell. “Flare.” The aether shifts, condensing inward around Orella before exploding in a burst of magic.

The foreign aether on the air makes Orella flinch instinctively. The shadowblade she'd summoned forth is more reminiscent of the one-handers she used to wield in the days before leaving Ala Mhigo, and even months of using only a greatsword has not been enough to break her of the habit of raising her shield-arm when it's free. It doesn't work for her this time; she has no guard this time, only bare flesh, and she smells the spell hitting before she feels it. And oh, it's pain beyond anything even the Garleans had visited upon her. It sears like the midday Thanalan sun beating down on the desert sands, makes galaxies bloom behind her eyelids, makes the blood roar in her ears so loudly she cannot tell whether she is screaming or not.

It hurts, but it will take more than simple hurts to break the soldier from her spine. At least the night's air bothers her no longer, and she readies the not-quite blade in her hand, grips it tighter and bellows as she charges toward her quarry.

Something within Lini, within Azionne, gives her just a moment of hesitation, but the sight of a shadow blade swinging over her head and the urging of Exodus leads her to dive away from the blow. She retaliates with her sword, and now she is Lini again, shouting out as she swings away at Orella with a magically imbued blade.

Ever the assailant, Orella does not let up in her attack, mindful of where her feet are. The best advice she'd ever been given was that the best defence is a good offense, and she presses that now: meeting Linini's blade full on with enough force that her arm all the way to the elbow rings, and knows - faintly, somewhere in the back of her mind - that the other woman's arm will feel much the same. Still, her bladework is sloppy, guided by instinct and anger alone, and her swings are wider, wilder, than they otherwise would or should be.

"Yield," she growls harshly, and her throat hurts with the effort. "Yield! Let the darkness take thee," she speaks, in a voice that is not her own, and grated through a sore throat. "Lay down thy blade, Exodus, and give in."

Lini’s arm does indeed ring with the impact, as the Highlander woman is much stronger than her, even with all of her power. But she does not relent, swinging with all of her strength. She notices how wide Orella’s strikes swing, using that to her advantage. Where she lacks in brute strength she has speed that seems almost inhuman.

“I cannot rest, Zeromus. I shall not. The scales have been tipped; to not act would be to bring oblivion unto us all. Nay, ‘tis thee who must yield,” she says, once again in a deep voice that is neither Lini nor Azionne. “For I am the arbiter, the Authority. And thou art lacking.”

The thing that is Zeromus tilts its head as though curious. "I wouldst know how arbitration fell to thee," it speaks, and lifts its claw-blade of darkness as if admiring it... or perhaps holding it aloft, an executioner's blade. "Tell me: by whose hands do the death-bells toll? By the Judge's? Or by the one whom hast committed to the Beyond?"

The expression on Orella's face turns firm. "Thou hast no dominion over me," it warns. "Do not push me to ring those selfsame bells now for thee. Yield."

“T’was charged to me and me alone,” it says, running Lini’s hand down its blade. “By the gods, as is known. Our Lady bid me also. The executioner’s bell rings only for thee this night.” Lini flips backward, hovering in midair for a moment, and casts yet another Scathe spell - not the paltry imitation cast by thaumaturges, but the Scathe magick of eld, a beam of light and power directed right at Orella. As powerful as it is, the spell left Lini tired. As much as the power of Exodus and Azionne filled her, her body was not used to harnessing such powerful magicks.

Recognising the eldritch manner of magick coming its way, the auracite's demon lifts Orella's burnt arm, ignoring the effort the mortal body requires to make such a movement. It is nothing to the creature to clench a fist, no matter how ruined, and call upon the power of Gravity.

The feeling of the counterspell it casts is almost indescribable; as though a great force is pulling from further away than the eye can see. It hovers in the air thickly, like oil poured into water, before it begins to sink to the floor, where it joins with the decking to create what looks like a dark pool. It is not so, however, and Lini's aether finds itself drawn to it, falling to the depths of the well like a stone casually thrown. The pool remains once it has partaken of the Scathe, a great divide between the two, and Zeromus' host grows pale with the effort of all this aether.

"Alas," it intones. "Thine spells and mine force are evenly matched. What say’st thee, Exodus? Doth we fight on? Or dost the name of our Lady bid us make peace?”

“Balance. I had not thought us equal in power, but it seems it is so. Shall we leave it to our hosts to tip the scales?”

Orella's head is tilted in acquiescence. "This one has harboured the darkness for much longer than before the auracite came to it. Dost thou wish thine host to crumble so soon?"

Lini lowers her sword. “This host has long harbored the light of justice in her breast. She will not falter.” And with that, the otherworldly presence is gone. The golden spikes disappear from her shoulders and the light dims in her blade. “I will prevail,” she says in her own voice. “For the good of Ivalice. For the Riskbreakers. For my Cluster.”

“And since you lack your sword...” Lini drops Ayvuir Blue, letting it clatter to the floor. “I will fight you fairly. My hand to hand skills do not compare to Edge’s, but I will fight my hardest.”

As the light leaves Linini, so too does the darkness from Orella. The blade of darkness Zeromus had called forth dissipates like smoke on the wind, and as it returns to whence it came, the full pain of the flare Orella had caught with her bare flesh hits. She seems not to hear Linini, clutching at her arm and roaring loud enough for her voice to break once more, the feeling unlike any she'd felt before. Not even Garlean torture had exacted such agony on her, and that had itself been long enough ago that the thought was more a nightmare than a memory now.

With every gust of wind she feels the heat of the injury rise and ebb, a veritable tide of torment that she cannot shield herself from, and it is all she can do not to fall to her knees wretchedly. "Y-you," she manages, voice a harsh whisper from the screams. "What is it you want? The auracite? Take the fucker," she manages.

When she pulls her hand away to fish in the meagre pocket of her sleeping trous, it comes away unbloodied, but the skin seems for a moment like it might peel, might crack and stretch - but no, it only burns, and burns, and burns.

The Cancer stone itself itself is a pretty jewel, split almost to the middle, and looks like it glints even in the starlight. Orella holds it aloft for a moment, looking at it so deeply, with such emotion writ clearly over her face, and then at once she hurls it with as much might as she can manage. It skitters across the decking, comes to a lame halt a good three fulms from Linini's feet, and she watches whatever Lamont is disappear in turn.

“A wise choice,” said Lini, stepping forward to go pick it up. She picks up her treasured sword right after. “I am sorry it had to come to this. Truly.” She points her sword into the sky, light gathering around her like a veil, and she casts a spell of healing upon Orella. “It isn’t much, but I hope it offers you some succor.”

She turns her back to Orella. “I cannot face the Riskbreakers now, can I? Not after that. I am afraid to run off like some common thief into the night, but I think that is my only course of action now. I hope one day we can meet again, Orella.”

She feels a powerful weight descend on her after she picks up Orella’s auracite, its darkness a stark contrast to any light she normally bears, but stiffens her shoulders. It is a burden, surely, but one to be shared with the rest of the Cluster later.

Orella cannot even find energy enough to manage hatred, as had kept her alive in the cells all that time ago. The heal is balm enough to relieve her senses some, and she sinks to her knees at last, landing hard against the decking. Still, the pain is potent enough that she must clutch at her arm again, though she's relieved she no longer feels the urge to scream, for her throat is raw. But she raises her head at least, to look at the back of the lalafell, and finds she has no answers for her questions. Were it her in Linini's shoes, no doubt she would do the same thing: accept the burden of guilt and steal away before any could bear witness to her shame. It's worked for her in the past, after all.

So she cannot begrudge Linini's retreat, nor be angered at the loss of the auracite, much as she might miss Lamont's figure. Briefly, she wonders if that is who Lini will see, and decides immediately that it doesn't matter in the face of all else.