Eithne had been healed of her wounds some time ago, most of them were completely minor, but her hands had suffered some damage fighting in the mud and busting through masks. That'd taken a while and Eithne complained loudly when the Priestesses of Armas hadn't been gentle enough for her. Just to watch them apologize. Ah, Eithne missed temples now and then. She took enough time to say a prayer (as that was nearly beaten into her as a child) with the priestesses, and left them. Eithne didn't have a ton of money on her, and since she was a follower she didn't exactly need to offer anything either. But she left the two of a piece of silver and hurried off to the first bar that she found.
And there she sat, mulling over ale, and playing cards with Cols. Right now she had just about all of Cols' money, and was forced to buy his drinks, along with hers. Her uniform was fresh and clean now (how the Mud ever came out, she'd thank the small hands of the elf who cleaned it for her.) her mask hung behind her head. She was on her fourth ale, not feeling a damned thing, smoking like a chimney.
"Cols you're going to need more money at this rate." "I'll sell you something of mine, for money." "Like what?" "My soul." "Tch, that's not worth the dirt stuck in my boots, try again."
Eithne found herself laughing. She really didn't have to feel bad about whatever happened, she was completely outside of it. When she looked up at the bar, meaning to get a serving wench, she found her eyes on unhappy Vera of the something-or-other it was fuzzy now. Well. What did the woman have to be upset about. Oh right, not a job to her, it's life. Eithne winced about that but decided it was best to leave Vera the totally-bitchy-when-angry to her thoughts.