The place is still very busy. Mostly by dint of being crowded - even if all the emergency healing that can be done has been done, a lot of people are physically there, and that means that walking across the room takes four times as long, having a conversation involves repeating everything two or three times over the din, and a lot of official staff time is being spent on breaking up fights about who kicked who in whose sleep and who was in a mob versus who was innocently at home putting their now-crying-and-in-the-way children to bed.

Aniol is still there. He caught a nap in there at some point, though it's anyone's guess how, and has been up for a couple of hours since then, having a long dark night of the sold.

He's not too far from the entrance.

"- you're one of the druids, yes? And that's - ah - I can show you where they're storing the bodies."

Yep, that's her, extremely obvious druid. She does not particularly want to wade into such a crowded space.

"Yes. Are they resurrecting the dead delegates? Because if not, I'll have other arrangements to make."

"Someone told me they most likely would but I didn't hear that from Archmage Naima herself. Apparently they might even get around to my nephew, though not my servants." Thisaway, step over these sleeping people - "Do you want me to carry her?"

She is very clearly not having any trouble carrying a corpse. Probably this is one of those rituals of civilization thing?

"No, thank you. ... Condolences for your nephew."

"Thank you."

Silence falls as they head to where the bodies are being stored.

"I am going to hold the church responsible if it is lost or buried," she says, flatly, but... yes, okay, she'll put the corpse down. She doesn't exactly want to carry around a corpse all day, Ant Haul or no. "Do you think that's likely?"

"No, but I pinned a note on Xavi, just to be sure. Abadarans are very organized but it never hurts to have more redundant information about who a body belongs to... do you have paper, I have some." Bought it off the temple to write a letter to his sister.

"I do, thank you." She gets out paper and starts labeling accordingly. 'Delegate Liushna, body retrieved by Voshrelka for resurrection. DO NOT BURY.'

And then she... has nothing to do. Hm.

"Druids of my power have a spell that can make a banquet, given a free table. I'd planned to ask the temple what I should do with it to still use it and avoid a stampede, but..." She glances at the crowds. Yeah, no, she doesn't super want to wade through that again in an attempt to talk to someone.

"Hmm - well, normally given that it's Abadarans I'd say buttonhole a priest and ask what they'll pay you for it, but again given it's Abadarans they'll pay you after the fact, assuming they appreciate it at all, which they might not because it'll keep all these people here that much longer instead of sending the hungriest out to seek their fortunes. Shall I see if I can inquire of one whether the teller counter is free for the purpose or whether they'd rather you went somewhere else for it?"

Fucking Abadarans. Why are they like this. Her expression of distaste is undisguised and very heartfelt.

"I'd sooner go somewhere else, the intention is to feed the populace, not to be paid for it. I want direction, not reward." The reward is the goodwill for druids.

"Yes, they're not really about farming Goodness. You might want the Shelynites or the Erastilians depending on whether the emphasis is the goodness or the farming." There's a quick, automatic smile, punctuation more than mirth.

"... I've no interest in 'farming' Goodness. It's a matter of practicality, and fostering goodwill for my kind. So. Whichever is more likely to earn me that."

"Erastilians are closer. Do you want me to walk you there? I assume you can take care of yourself, but it's wretched out."

She knows where the church of Erastil is, she led a wizard to it last night. But she doesn't say that; this man seems like he wants an excuse to escape doing nothing, and possibly the crowds, which she understands well enough. This is as silly of a dance as all of the others of civilization, but she won't steal an escape from him if he needs these silly rules for it.

"Sure. Though I'd sooner have you do the explaining, if you don't mind."

"I can do that." Out they go into the rain. "You like where you're going, or you don't like the idea of thinking about Good like that?"

"... It's more complicated than that." Also, she's an elf, and a powerful enough druid to be worth a reincarnate, even if she'll have to make the trek to Kyonin itself for the right kind. But she is risking an eternal death by coming here, so she'll engage with the question as it was meant. "I don't feel like paltry offerings to the shrine of Goodness will much matter for me, anymore. I'll go where I go, whenever I get to going."

"Anymore?"

"I am three hundred and sixty-four years old. The Barrowood has been, essentially, at war with Cheliax for about a third of that. I have killed a lot of people, in my time." The phrasing is meant to imply in battle, but that is of course not the case. She's not going to bring up how she probably has one of the highest body counts in the city, but she's aware of it.

"Oh, is that all, that's downright fixable, if you believe the preachers," he says ruefully.

No, it really, really isn't.

"I do not think I was wrong to, really. Is the problem."

"Well, I'm the wrong person to sell any mainline approach to getting out of the red, my casting about has been otherwise focused."

"Oh?"

This topic seems to hit strangely close to home for this man, and she's curious as to why.

"Sold my soul when I was sixteen. A lot of people have sold their souls, actually, I'm in correspondence with a few, but I think I might be the only one at the convention, at least the only one who doesn't keep it closely under wraps."

"Ah." She doesn't tell him that was very stupid; he already knows. "Well, if you would like to summon and kill the devil you sold it to, I'm not against assisting."

"Does that work? I think he'd have heirs."