|Gear||Birchwood staff for her weapon. She wears a white tunic belted with an x-pattern leather belt, met at the front with a wrought iron buckle. Attatched to the front and back of her tunic are long sheets of chainmail that are held together by six short leather strips, three on each side. She wears long, dark sleeves and bright red/orange glovesthat merely run between her index and middle fingers. She wears dark leggings and high boots.|
|Behind the Mask|
Bethany hummed idly as she cupped a wilted flower in her hands. Once it had been a bright, regal blue, but now was cradled in her palm, nearly black, once lucious petals now dried and curled. She channeled some mana through her arms, and her gentle smile played across her dark lips as once again; the flower's color returned. She looked up towards the dying fire in Gamlen's hovel, and, without much else to do with it, tucked the pretty thing behind her ear. She pushed herself to her feet and strode over to the warmth of the fire. She drew a long breath before she turned her gaze on the rest of their claustrophobic home. Gabrielle and Carver were off on some venture or other, most likely gathering funds for the Expedition. Her mother had went up to Hightown with the will, to wait for an audience she would probably never get. And Gamlen? Not even past noon and he had already managed to get passed-out drunk, and had occupied himself by 'resting his head' on the table, in a puddle of his own drool.
Bethany had been partial against her Uncle since the discovery of the will's contents. While it had made her mother happy, it had also established a mistrust between Gamlen and Bethany herself. So it came at no surprise to half-concious Gamlen when Bethany announced she was going out for a walk. She thought better of bringing her stave - she wasn't planning on doing any fighting - and promptly left it abandoned on the wall beside her cot. She sauntered into the street, when she overheard the frantic cry of a young woman,
"Please! Someone tell me where they took my husband!"
A pang of sympathy shot through the young apostate, and she only listened long enough to find that the woman's husband had been taken to the healer, and the woman herself would need escorting there. Bethany volunteered herself rather quickly, since she knew the way to the clinic. After careful prodding, she found that the woman's name was Gretchen, and that of her husband was Warwick. He had been involved in a scuffle at the docks and it hadn't looked good. Bethany did her best to comfort the woman, for she knew Anders would be able to help Warwick and she told Gretchen so. As they stepped into Darktown, the young wife stayed close to Bethany, while she unknowingly clutched the arm of an apostate. It wasn't a very long trip, and no sooner had they entered, Gretchen sobbed in relief and went to the side of her wounded beloved.
Bethany looked about the clinic, expecting to see Anders at work. Her gaze shifted from bedside to bedside, but, there was no sign of the blonde. Just as she started to panic, her hazel hues laid on him; nearly passed out, looking drained, even from here. Bethany half-jogged over to him and smiled gently, royal blue flower still tucked in her curls,
"Anders..! Are you alright?"
She looked to him, the bags under his eyes, and pity wrought her heart while it fluttered beats in her chest. She always wondered how he managed to take constant care of his patients. Evidently it wasn't as easy as it looked. Charitable as his work was, there's no cure for mana exhaustion. Piled on with physical exhaustion just seemed painful. Whether he was willing to admit it or not, he needed help.