Ric'lail

Ric'lail blinks several times. He hadn't expected that sort of response; surely Thirsk wasn't offended? Probably not. He was gruff on occasion, but thick-skinned as a rule. The elf isn't entirely sure he'd know how to insult him even if he intended to.


Aha. Whisky. VELN'S whiskey. That explains it. Foul stuff. I don't know how Malcolm manages to channel sometimes, with everything he puts into his body.

Like I said, maybe these other folks know something we don't. That's why you're always trying to pay attention to them, anyway.

So it is.

He nods to himself and dusts his hands nervously.

"Right. Well then. Ah...Oliver's got the right idea, it looks like. It shouldn't be too long before we need to head out. I'm going to saddle Caelar, if I can drag him away from whatever he's wandered into. If anyone else would like a ride...?"

His thin shoulders rise in a half-shrug as he leaves the offer on the table and move away from the group. Caelar might not have been as much of a handful as James, but when that damnable animal wanted to make himself scarce...