There were party rooms in the infirmary, although they weren't as fun as the name suggested.

"Hurrah," said Praetorian from his bed, as Mist glowed into existence in the room's teleportation alcove. "Our final member has arrived, we are united once more. I do sincerely hope that there isn't any kind of Total Party Kill merit bonus."

"Even if there was they wouldn't get it," Amanda muttered, as two healers began to treat Mist's wounds. "Sly wasn't with us."

"Ah, that's correct. Well. Lucky him."

Praetorian had lain back as he'd spoken, wincing at his recently-healed injuries, and for a time the only sounds in the room were Mist's light whimpering and the low, businesslike exchanges between the healers who were tending to her. Soon enough they'd helped Mist out of her armour and taken her to a bed, where she lay, one arm over her eyes, her small mouth tight.

"I'm sorry, everyone," she said, her voice heavy with emotion. "Valkyries are supposed to be protectors—"

"Now now, don't be quite so hard on yourself," Praetorian said, lying flat on his back with his eyes fixed on the ceiling. "You outlasted a zombie, a glumgirl at that—"

"Only because they didn't bother with me. Why would they, I'm just useless, I couldn't do anything—"

"You hit that lancer," Amanda said. "More than once."

"But it didn't DO anything, just ... just nothing!"

"Well," Praetorian said, "speaking as the first to fall I don't think I'm in any position to criticise."

Nala had been observing this exchange without comment, from where she sat near the room's doorway. She had been the third to fall, trying to defend Tzugakk ... but there had been nothing she could do. An arrow had found Tzugakk's arm, this single injury enough to knock him out, and it was while Nala stared at the teleportation glow surrounding her friend that the lancer's weapon had pierced her shoulder. Though the wound had been healed, there was still a hole torn through her cloak and clothes.

Now Tzugakk sat nearby, staring down at the three black butterflies fluttering over his hand. When he noticed Nala's eyes upon him he covered left hand with right, dispelling his BrightCircle and the butterflies with it.

"You were right," he said, with a soft smile and a gentle shrug. "My thoughts ran too far ahead. Before anything else is possible, survival is necessary. We need a plan."

"I am in complete agreement with young—young?—Tzugakk." Praetorian was sitting up now, his eyes brighter and his bearing less pained. "Some weapons and accessories and so forth would be a good start. Personally I would much appreciate a stave, it was a wretchedly shameful experience to be utterly unable to resist my attackers. Even if it would have been futile to fight back, to simply stand there unable to do anything ... no, that was not pleasant in the least. Of course we need merits to buy equipment, and without equipment we cannot effectively earn merits, ah, such an exquisitely painful dilemma. But then perhaps this is our fate, to be a stepping stone for others, to provide them the merits they require to go on to grander things—"

"Could WE attack some weaker students?"

Amanda winced at the looks this suggestion attracted.

"Just asking," she muttered.

"Would there even be anyone eligible?" Praetorian mused. "I fear that we may literally be the lowest of the low. Most of us have no form of attack at all—although perhaps if Sly were with us we could Pinpoint one target per day—"

"What? What? I can't believe you're even talking about this!" Mist had sat up and was staring at Praetorian and Amanda, a look of horrified reproach on her face. "We can't attack people! I'd rather be expelled!"

"Yes, well, it's not as if you're enjoying yourself here. Being expelled might be best for someone like you. Or myself, if I'm honest, I'm beginning to forget why I even came here—although looking to my right I'm given a small reminder."

Amanda, sitting to the right of Praetorian's bed, gave him a falsely bright smile.

"In any case it's all academic," Praetorian continued, "seeing as none of us have so much as seen Sly in days. Too busy flouncing about in exciting new places hunting exciting new monsters with his exciting new elven friends—and does he give so much as an introduction? Some kind of an ally he turned out to be, would it kill him to simply, oh, I don't know, invite me to view his room and the surrounding beauty? Perhaps arrange a shared meal with myself and the more attractive of his new companions, my meagre hoard of merits would be well spent upon such an opportunity. Really I'm disappointed in him, has he even checked in with us? Have any of you heard from him beyond 'hey guys sorry busy good luck'? He's abandoned us already, found NEW people to associate with ... wait, where's Nala? Did she leave? When did that happen?"

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Tzugakk sat up, staring around before slumping back in his seat.

"Gone," he murmured.

"I don't suppose I blame her, out of all of us she has the most freedom. Stealth! Considered a useless ability, at least so far as I have heard, but for the likes of we ill-fated low-tiers it at least allows movement without fear. If only I were a veilcaster! But alas, fated to be born a necromancer, fated to die a necromancer."

Amanda was looking at Tzugakk. "Um, Gakk, if you want to go after her—"

"She can stealth. She is safer by herself. If she left here..." Tzugakk frowned down at his big knobbly hands. "Maybe she has a reason."

Almost before he'd finished speaking there came a soft chime from his BrightCircle, and glowing letters appeared above it.

"A message from Nala?" Praetorian said. "'New Places', now just what are those cryptic words supposed to mean?"

Tzugakk shook his head, still staring at his BrightCircle.

"Hm. Well. So then. What of those of us who cannot utilise stealth? I wouldn't put it past those thugs to be lying in wait outside the infirmary—"

"No," Tzugakk said. "Not until tomorrow."

"Ah, yes—they can only earn merits for defeating us once a day, that's correct? And should they defeat us again we wouldn't receive further demerits. Finally a rule in our favour. Perhaps the only one, in this foul place. Tomorrow, however..."

"It's my fault," Mist said, looking like she could burst into tears at any moment. "Because you were escorting me—"

"No," said Amanda. "They targeted us."

"Mm," Praetorian agreed. "Try as I might I can't find it within myself to blame you. We've been accurately marked as easy targets, and as such it seems that our expulsion is inevitable. With that said, I think I may pay a visit to Fauxgreen this evening. Try my luck, as it were. Why not? Soon I may no longer have the opportunity, why not take a risk while I'm still able?"

"I don't want to go to Fauxgreen."

"Well, I suppose instead I could tend to your body—"

"No."

Amanda still bore the injuries she'd suffered—numerous tears through her clothing showed the bloodless wounds beneath, and she had three arrows sticking from her back. Praetorian waggled his finger at her.

"Now, now, modesty has its place but I assure you I am a professional. It really is rather vital—if you'll excuse my language—that you don't allow yourself to fall into too severe a state of disrepair, the more damage your shell sustains the weaker your binding will become—"

"No."

Praetorian sighed out, long and dramatic. "Well then. I will bring this up again later, do not think the subject has been dropped. Hm, indeed, at this moment you look more in need of a seamstress than anything."

"I, um, I can maybe help with that?" Mist said. "I have a sewing kit, so if you want..."

Amanda stared at Mist, then cleared her throat in a rattly sort of way.

"Um," she said. "I don't know if it'd help, these rags I'm wearing aren't exactly the greatest anyway, I don't know if anyone would even notice the difference ... although these cuts here aren't doing anyone any favours. I don't think many people list 'blue zombie underboob' among their interests."

"You'd be surprised," Praetorian muttered, before making a face at the look Amanda shot him. "Not ME, but you know what they say, for every fetish a season."

Mist coughed quietly, then tried a smile at Amanda. "Um, maybe if you come to my room ... it's kind of small though ... but if you don't mind..."

Amanda half-shrugged.

"Ah, perhaps we can find a compromise?" Praetorian said. "I shall graciously wait outside Mist's place of rest while the repairs in question are made, after which we shall both away to the fairy-lit commons of Fauxgreen to perchance sight an elf or two. There, let it never be said that I am an unkind master."

"YOU are NOT my MASTER."

"Habit born of a lifetime, pay no heed to my callow words."

"Do we leave now?" Tzugakk asked. "It is still light, it is time to rest, time to eat—"

"Aha," Praetorian said. "Except for those bullies who have figured out that this is the time that pathetic little loser groups are likely to move. Second-guessing, as it were. Safety in numbers is an illusion; this place is never safe, not for our kind."

"And we're back where we started," Amanda said. "We have to go through the gourmet quarter again. Unless there's a different route."

"Um. Um, I don't..."

Mist trailed off, then sat up and looked around at the others.

"I don't have many merits but I want to spend them on food!"

She shrank back, embarrassed at this outburst.

"Um," she said through her hands. "I-if you guys want to eat. I can pay for you, to thank you for always coming with me. Um, if I can afford it ... I don't know how much it is ... probably too much..."

"Hm," Praetorian said, stroking his pointy beard. "I can't say the notion isn't tempting—though of course I cannot allow you to pay for my meal. Still ... yes. Yes, why not! Who knows how long we have left here, forward planning is for those with a future, we happy losers must live in the moment—Mist Reginleif, Valkyrie of the Sunrise Islands, on behalf of those present I accept your invitation; we SHALL eat tonight!"