Naethra stayed silent as she watched Red and Oric fight. Oric had been perceptive enough to notice the discrepancy in her magic, but had chosen not to press the point. Now she knew why.
She felt like she ought to say something, but couldn't really think of anything constructive to add. She was intimately familiar with shameful heritage, and couldn't fault the dwarf for seeking freedom from the sins of her forbearers. It could be a terrible burden, born with every waking step and breath, and Red had no perception of it what so ever.
But, at the same time, inanimate oblivion seemed like the worst possible way to cope. She shuddered at her memory of her time as a tankard. Had they destroyed the goblins that supped from her? She sincerely hoped so. The memory of their lips on her rim made her feel filthy. But Oric... She had had a different experience entirely.
Naethra shuffled a bit, feeling distinctly awkward and so.show wrong. She looked at her green hand, absent the claws she had spent so much of her life grinding down to suitable nail size.
"If you want out, now's the time," she finally murmured. "Things are going to get worse. We likely won't survive what's ahead. Everyone is terrified of the gnoll, and one way or another she will move to stop us. If you take those pills and loose yourself in a cushion or chair or some such... well, whatever you become might be happy. We could probably replace you. Those gems we've looted might make a villager into something approaching a good fighter."
She sighed, looking at her smooth green fingers again. "But I can think of better ways to find absolution. An new body is... something very big, and it doesn't seem to work out as well you'd hope..."
She sighed. "I miss my tail," she said to no one in particular.
