...this startles a laugh out of her. They sure aren't!

Follow follow.

"Up on the table, please," he says, directing her to one, and then he's getting the fully intact soldiers to move adjacent tables out of the way so the injured can crowd in.

Venn hops up onto the indicated table. She resists the urge to pose dramatically, and instead glances around to get a better idea of what's going on here.. 

He has ever managed a channel before, apparently, and knows how far out thirty feet is and how closely people can huddle in around her before some of them are occluded from the line of effect. Eventually he is satisfied with the layout and gestures encouragingly at her from the edge of the circle. He took some damage in the fight but has not been letting it slow him down.

"If you need to cycle a new set of people through, make a signal and I'll stop. I can do this for about two minutes." 

She takes out a beautiful-looking harp and plays a backing tune for her singing. She doesn't need to, for the magic, but it makes the song sound better, harmonizing with herself. 

She's excellent with both song and string, of course, and as before, the wounds of those in range slowly but surely start to heal up.

He assesses the scratches and sprains of a few other people but ultimately does not see fit to interrupt her to rotate anyone in.

Then she will sing until she runs out of song-sorcery, finish out that verse, then bow with a flourish. 

"Thank you, Miss Urdina." Soldiers disperse, gossiping under their breaths (seems like none of them knew there were song-sorcerers who could do that and someone is making what might be a sex joke about how a song-sorcerer like that would fare under the duke back home).

She glances a bit sadly in the direction of the joke as she hops off the table, then heads towards the Chosen.

This one? He was making his way back to his office but he stops when she's clearly after him. "Do you need directions to where your party may spend the night?"

She nods. "If it's not too much trouble, that would be great." 

Proobably she should have just headed back the way she came and looked for Rowen? But she is admittedly kind of curious about this guy, he seems more reasonable than the soldiers.

"Down that hallway, the one that would be your second left from the fort entrance," he says, pointing, "you will want room 15, that should also be what your party members were told."

Venn nods. "Thank you."

She valiantly resists the urge to go Invisible on the way to the room, because she is a professional Worldwound Strike Team Reserve Member.

The room is unoccupied except for their party. It has beds big enough for two-if-they're-friendly-and-it's-cold, bunked, enough that the room could sleep sixteen if it had to. An un-uniformed woman is dropping off blankets and ducks her head to Venn as she arrives. The party is presumably entitled to rations in the mess hall, which is in between everything else and easy to find again as soon as they're hungry.

Ah, she's back. He nods at her. "Urdina. Any trouble?" 

She shakes her head. "No, sir. Their commander organized everything." 

She slips off her backpack, putting it down next to one of the unclaimed beds. "I'm going to go hang out in their dining hall for a while, if you don't need anything."

She's curious why #11 seems to be doing so much better than the other Chelish forts she's been deployed to in the weeks since the four day war, and a dining hall is the right place to investigate. 

"That's fine." He'll send Marit to check on her if she's not back in an hour or so, but he's not worried. She's good at this kind of thing. 

She flashes him a smile and heads off to the dining hall. 

People there are eating stew, playing cards, chatting. Blue hair attracts attention, though she's not the only person with a little color (there's a wizard who's got a streak of white in his, and one of the whores is sitting with a different wizard who's ?flirting? by putting interesting colors on her arm). There are, of course, Asmodean clerics; their motion through the room prompts little ripples of attention but not alarm.

Well, she wouldn't color her hair like this if she didn't want the attention. 

She'll get herself some stew, reflavor it with magic, and then look around for a good place to eat while absorbing local gossip. 

"So I said, yeah, I think I can figure out making ox parchment, it'll be kind of shit, you want a goat or at least a calf for the good kind you write spells on, but for letters it'd do maybe. So I'm on that now, apparently, till the supply is back to normal, Prestidigitating the fur off the damn hides and trying to rig up a stretching frame."

"You'd think the one thing the government'd agree with the last one about is the fucking Worldwound."

"You'd think! But I'd take this over fucking patrols or I wouldn't've let on that my folks made parchment."

--

"You ever heard of a singing healer?"

"Yeah, sure, is that not how how they usually do it?"

"Fucked if I know."

--

"Trade you the sequel for your bird book."

"Fuck you, Inky loves the bird book."

"Then I guess you'll never find out what happens to Lady Blanca, will you..."

It makes sense that they'd be having trouble staying supplied, with the regime change.

She returns her stew bowl and then finds an open seat within conversational distance of the parchment-maker. Gives a little wave, when the people there look at her.

"Hey, blue bard. Is the food any better down south?" asks the guy the parchmentmaker was talking to.

She grins. "I wouldn't know. I heard from a retired wizard that I'd better learn the trick for Prestidigitating flavors if I was going to fight at the Worldwound, so I did." She looks around. "Any requests?"

"Chicken and dumplings."

"Peach cake."

"Idiot, it's still going to be shaped like rice and beef, haven't you ever gotten Txell or somebody to do this one for you?"

"I don't fucking care, it's been so long since I had peach cake at this point I won't know the difference."

"Salmon and potatoes."

"Oh that's a good idea, I'm stealing it."

"Bitch."