[Q1] The Chains that Bind Us

Play things are play things, friend. He doesn't care where they come from. Noble are not, that is what we all are to him... Faelyn was unsure if he was something painful to look upon, or if the discomfort read from his so schooled features that led the tall healer to lay his shirt across his shoulders and give him some layer of protection from prying eyes. The temptation was there to retreat into it, wear it properly, allow its length to hide him away, but he could do no such thing. Not and retain any sense of forward momentum in getting these people to safety. 

That forward momentum was almost snapped in half and ground under heel as daggers were hurled at him for that very act. His tongue glued to the roof of his mouth a moment, words dead in his throat. But that would not do anyone any good. The heaviness that settled on his chest was an old, familiar one. These were often the slaves that instead of finding their freedom would crash and burn, gaining scars just as he did. There was little he could do to help that fact. Direct your rage elsewhere, dragoness. I am not your enemy. 

Fishing around at his feet among the pebbles for a piece of flint, it was a few seconds before he held flame in his hand, drawing the water in the air around them to cast a foggy mist around their gathered party. I do not know if they'll be tracking them or not. In years past, no. They weren't. I'd been able to get people to safety with collars still in place to be dealt with by a smith later. Now...? I am unsure. It has been milenia since my time. It is possible he has changed his way and I do not think it wise we keep them on. But the fog will roll ahead of us and can hide our movements at least visually. as he stepped off towards the direction the so angry dragon gave them, pushing the fog forward, but remaining close enough to the healer. He had his shirt after all.

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Summar: Feels bad, man. Feels real bad. Tells Jorah they're all play things regardless of where they're from, and despite wanting to hide away, tells Kat that he is not the enemy here. Finds flint among the stones and uses it to spark a small fire in his hand, using his magic to create a small, rolling fog. He is unsure if the collars are tracked or not, but they were not in the past. Keeps Kershaw close and sets off in the direction that Kat pointed off to.