Cheerful Sam
Half-Dragon Warlock | Imp Familiar
AC: 12 HP: 23/39 | AC: 13 HP: 10/10
PP: 10|14 PIv: 15|10 PIs: 11|13
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"Oh, I ran out of soap a while back," Sam laughs it offer, but stops and sniffs at his clothes, frowning. "I'll put it on the to-do list for when we visit civilization again."

"Stumbled rather literally into some cursed boots have we?" watching Senna struggle with the boots, Grepha hums a little. "Perhaps you ought to ask Deneir for a spell of curse removal as well."

Getting up from the rock he'd been seated on, Sam walks over and places a hand on Senna's shoulder, squatting next to her. He looks up at Caelyn as well with a look of sympathy. "When I went down during that fight, I finally encountered that thing Senna was talking about before. The one that seems connected to these... dreams. And what's been affecting the two of you, with your..." he can't quite make himself say 'violent urges'.

"It's been affecting you, too, Samuel. Less so, but I have noticed a shift." He stops and looks at the bird on his shoulder with a worried expression. "So you haven't noticed it yourself... when this first began, you were struggling not to vomit from the stress of hurting people. Even the orc. And now..." she regards him analytically. "An entire camp of dead bandits, many burned alive, and I don't see any concern."

The thought slams into Sam like a bag of hammers and he looks speechless at first, looking back at everything that's happened. The idea of offering surrender never really occurred to him. Even if the Fist would have just executed them immediately, it is Bahamut's will that criminals be allowed the chance to repent and begin the road to saving their souls at the end.

"But take heart, Samuel. Thus far it's only made you more quickly develop a resilience to the things a veteran soldier or mercenary would grow used to."