For a moment Herian's expression is utterly still, as if she had been caught in time.
"Enchanter LeBlanc," she clarifies, after a long moment. Enchanter LeBlanc had been her teacher. A mentor, of sorts, so much as someone can mentor a person whose magical abilities veer so widely from your own. Fire and ice, healing flesh and the vicious strike of a spirit blade. The stillness remains a moment longer, and Herian realises that this is not the time for her own indulgence. Enchanter LeBlanc is alive. She would, more than likely, still be alive in a few hours, or a few days. Herian had duties that demanded her attention first, for all that she is sure the colour has drained from her face. Perhaps the excess of dust hides the effect, perhaps not. She doesn't much care.
She swallows to wet her throat, and stop dryness dragging across her voice. Herian is torn on whether to accept the aid. Such an action would set her in debt to someone of whom she knows little other than scant facts that do not add to a satisfactory picture. Abandoning her charges, though, in such a place as this? The thought sets her ill at ease.
"I can see to it," she finally replies, and her voice sounds fainter than she'd like. "I have received some information already. All I need do is confirm, and that can be done with the Liason, I'm sure." It seems simple enough, though she learned long ago that seeming and reality do not always align happily.
no subject
"Enchanter LeBlanc," she clarifies, after a long moment. Enchanter LeBlanc had been her teacher. A mentor, of sorts, so much as someone can mentor a person whose magical abilities veer so widely from your own. Fire and ice, healing flesh and the vicious strike of a spirit blade. The stillness remains a moment longer, and Herian realises that this is not the time for her own indulgence. Enchanter LeBlanc is alive. She would, more than likely, still be alive in a few hours, or a few days. Herian had duties that demanded her attention first, for all that she is sure the colour has drained from her face. Perhaps the excess of dust hides the effect, perhaps not. She doesn't much care.
She swallows to wet her throat, and stop dryness dragging across her voice. Herian is torn on whether to accept the aid. Such an action would set her in debt to someone of whom she knows little other than scant facts that do not add to a satisfactory picture. Abandoning her charges, though, in such a place as this? The thought sets her ill at ease.
"I can see to it," she finally replies, and her voice sounds fainter than she'd like. "I have received some information already. All I need do is confirm, and that can be done with the Liason, I'm sure." It seems simple enough, though she learned long ago that seeming and reality do not always align happily.