The moist, cool air was helping to cure her hangover, Ruchi noticed, and she was starting to feel confident. She began strategizing how she could, well, win. Ruchi stepped through Elashinn, knowing she would meet Zynrae, and possibly Xael'vyra at the crevice that led to the Underdark. The cleric had a leather bag hanging from her shoulder and a heavy cleric's mace fastened to her belt. Ruchi would do her damnedest not to turn back first. Her thoughts then wandered to the Ilharess. Shouldn't they ask the Valsharess for permission for a greater expedition into the savage Underdark? One of them might die, she thought, and they certainly would have to answer with a lengthy report. "It's easier to ask for forgiveness than for permission," Ruchi whispered, violet eyes glowing with slight amusement. Ah, yes, that seemed to be her life's motto, Ruchi thought, and let out an unladylike burp. However, as she walked past the Quellar's headquarters, she felt the air cool even more. Was the Ilharess here? Ruchi hadn't seen her for a while. Then she wondered. I'm a dirty dish towel to her. One that is used to cleanup soup made from eel-bowels. Not that I would ever use a dish rag, that's men's work. She wouldn't care if I perished. Or would she? "Ruchi, just one moment." Her voice. It was used to having every command fulfilled and every question answered. In a fluid motion, Ruchi tensed and formally bowed. Then she muttered a clerical prayer towards the Valsharess. "Yes, Malla Ilharess?"
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