He glances at the Blade, "...I guess I will, then." 

He nods, determination settling. 

"Istaim said they'd give me some of their spellbooks before we leave - and I can keep working on freecasting with them until then, too." 

How worried should I be about that freecasting?

    "That's good, sir. Let Deskyl know if you have any trouble practicing; she shouldn't exert herself too much while she's recovering but she might be able to help."

(Deskyl rolls her eyes fondly at the droid for her addition to that message.)

So long as he uses it only on consenting persons, and uses only first-tier amounts of mana, he should be fine, he sends. Formal Life spells at that level are more for careful detail work - simple healing is safe enough without them, though there are spells for it. 

(Ilek nods.)

All right. Thanks.

    "She's going to wake your brother now, sir, would you like to come?"

"Yeah," he agrees quickly, "Jaim doesn't wake violently, but he wakes easier if there's a mana signature he recognizes nearby." 

Deskyl nods and heads for the door; DZ waits for Ilek to go first before following. She knocks on Jaim's door and lets the Force effect fade as he wakes up.

...He blinks up at the ceiling, noting the difference in the light coming from his window. It must be getting on in the afternoon - he threads up a bit of Time mana, casting a quick spell and deciphering the symbols that form to find the time. Just before dinner. 

He hasn't slept without interruption for longer than three hours in months. He stares at the results of his spell for another long moment, and then rolls out of bed, pulling on his coat and buttoning it up over his bare chest as he walks over to the door to let in Ilek - and presumably Deskyl and DZ, as well. 

 "...Good Afternoon," he greets them, runestone active so Deskyl can understand. 

Deskyl nods a greeting back. Dinner?

"...Yes, I suppose it is about that time. Just let me finish dressing," he waves them in, going over to his dresser to pull out a change of clothes, and then heading into his bathroom. 

Ilek glances at her, "He'll be putting on some armour too, I think," he says, waving a hand at the stand in the corner. "Since he has the time to prepare. We might need to wait a bit." 

He wanders into the room and settles on the loveseat. 

Deskyl follows, and DZ stands nearby to translate.

    "That's fine, sir. Deskyl says he's recovering well."

He's relieved, "That's good to hear." 

Jaim exits the washroom a few mintues later, dropping his dirty clothes onto the bed and going over to the armour stand. 

"Ilek, would you-" he starts, motioning at it. 

Ilek stands and goes to help him pull his armour on and secure it. 

Once he's all armoured up, Jaim pulls on his coat overtop - the looseness of the garment is explained by the closer fit with the armour on underneath. 

"There, that should be everything," he muses, taking the Nomad's Bow and slipping them into a holster on his back. 

He glances up at Deskyl, "Thank you," he says, "That was more uninterrupted sleep than I have had in a long time." It will be good to be closer to top form while he fights, for once. 

(DZ takes note of how the armor goes on; she's circumspect about it, but Deskyl still notices.)

Of course, she nods, and stands to go.

To dinner, then. 

The place is less busy than it was the first day, and more than yesterday. There's a tense feel to the air, the Cialin soldiers and servants preparing for the fight that might soon come. 

The food is mostly more of the same. Jaim takes some and fixes himself and Ilek both some tea (Ilek takes his with a long-suffering expression), and offers some to Deskyl as well. 

Then they can find a table, or go elsewhere in the fort, if they wish. 

DZ prepares Deskyl's plate, and the Sith accepts the offered tea. Either way, she signs. I haven't seen much of the fort yet, but this is fine, if you'd rather eat with your troops.

"I should speak with Istaim at the very least," he says, nodding to where the person in question is sat up at the high table. "And I expect it would help morale, to remain," he admits. 

To the high table, then. 

He talks with Istaim, getting their report on the situation inside and outside the walls. The enemy is still dug in. The Cialin are tense but expect victory, with the incoming reinforcements. Said reinforcements should contact them briefly shortly before they arrive, giving them time to prepare to leave the walls. The elites are ready. 

In other words, all is as well as can be expected. 

DZ translates all this, and Deskyl nods along. When they come to the end of their discussion, she hums briefly and closes her eyes, meditating to expand her senses out to reach the enemy.

She finds them - they're setting up defenses. Someone has set up a weaker, sorter-term set of wards over their little fortified camp. 

She also finds something else - the edge of a massive set of wards, much stronger than the ones she's encountered so far. 

Stormsinger's attention turns to it, What is that, he asks, shocked.

He looks closer at what she's sensing, noting the size and comparitive strength of the wards, Is that a City?!

Could be. She expands her perception out to its full range and adds detail, giving herself an impression of what materials things in the area are made of. Certainly looks like it. What does that mean?

The Cities are... great, mobile strongholds, controlled by a single person wielding an attuned Artefact. They're powered by wellsprings - we must be sitting on top of one, but you'd never know, with the City drinking up all of its power. 

The Sanctuary must be one of them, he adds. I believe this is another, however. 

There's a lot of marble down there - buildings and streets, and wide open spaces. A whole city beneath their feet, seemingly empty of all inhabitants, except -

She can also sense a mind. Old, with the distinct feeling which Artefacts give off. Ancient and genderless, feeling of Air and Water, and the freedom of the skies and seas. It feels similar to two minds she has spent much time around recently - not exactly the same, so much older and somehow both more and less burdened, but much alike.

Well then. We definitely need to look into it. The thought of the Artefact trapped down there for who knows how long puts a knot in her stomach, but she pulls back her senses rather than strain herself learning more about their surroundings at this range.

General, she signs, the enemy isn't up to anything very interesting, but I should talk to you privately before you leave.

Agreed, he sends back, mind still focused on the Artefacts. I think this is the Wanderer's City, he mentions, considering the feel of the Artefact, Air and Water, and their temperament - they're suggestive.