[ Iorveth is too angry to let himself die like this, which is a familiar state of being with a brand new twist. As he follows Damris towards the corner of the district, past the extravagant estates clamoring for attention on either side of the main road and towards an area tucked scenically along the water, he tries for a brief sift of fingers through silver hair. He hates how weak the gesture feels, but he swallows that indignity down. ]

Don't hit me now.

[ A soft murmur, and a bit of a concession. Admitting that a punch may or may not be enough to wipe him out at this point. Not great.

Also not great: ] Hells, we really should have gone shopping.

[ Their inventory is literally four sharp objects and a spawn they can use as potential blackmail material. The odds are against them, for sure.

Damris leads them up a little hill towards what is presumably the Alkam Manor: a palatial residence built comfortably for several dynasties to inhabit, let alone one family. Stucco and redstone, marginally more tasteful than the gothic exterior of the Szarr Palace, flanked by gardens tended to by vacant-looking servants. Clearly, Alkam is very vain. ]

Knowing what you know about spawn, [ Iorveth huffs, winded just by the journey up that small hill. Fuck Damris, honestly. ] How likely is it that he'd actually cure me?