Luther stands on the wall of Castle Rend, facing south. A bottle of David Schrubb's Northern Kiss hard brandy is in his hand, one third of the way gone. War and battle had taken its toll on this man, this man of business and enterprise, and it was showing. He did not sleep very well at night, and only the nightmares of explosions and gunfire accompanied him to his bed. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was losing his mind, one day at a time, and only the bottle could assuage him.

"Dammit," he winces at the pain in his back and legs. The tank had not been the most comfortable, and the constant firing, reloading, firing, reloading, and firing had left a crick in his back that wouldn't go away. Was he wrong to trust people? Was he wrong to have such high hopes and faith in mankind? He couldn't stomach it. Not after this bloody battle. Not after the wars and hatred that plagued the world. He took a long pull from David Schrubb's again.

Would it ever end?

After spending time in the temple and working on different alchemy concoctions, Armella decided to get out and headed towards one of the walls. She had been looking for different ways go feel more useful and after the battle it was getting harder to relax.

Upon seeing Luther, seemingly distraught about something, judging on the bottles near him she was concerned. He was a businessman before this and they had dragged him away. He may have been a prisoner but at least he seemed safe there.

"Mr Luther? Are you holding up?" She asks cautiously, not wanting to pry too much.

"Huh? Oh!" Luther loosely kicks at the empty David Schrubb's bottles on the ground, realizing that he probably looked very sloppy and untidy to Armella. * To everyone, really... *

"Erm, well, you know," he stammers, trying to keep his thoughts steady, "just...shooting the breeze and whatnot." Luther looks over his shoulder, checking to see if anyone else is nearby. He pulls out a long flask, and offers it to Armella. "Care for a little? It's quite strong, but it's got a fantastic honey-like aftertaste, and...," he trails off for a moment, his already glazed eyes going distant, "...it helps you forget."

Armella eyes him skeptically, but accepts the bottle and takes a swig. It is stronger than she normally drinks but it wasn't bad. "Thanks, I'm sorry you had to experience all of this. It's not something I would wish on anyone even if they did choose a life with fighting. I wish I could say that the feelings and memories fade, but it's more something you learn to live with than truly forget."

Armella pauses, knowing that she can't say too much about the dangers of drinking since that is a mild vice of hers as well. "If you wish to talk with anyone, please do. We've all had our share of violence so it's pretty safe to say no one will look down on you for finding this all overwhelming." She offers a warm smile, trying to be reassuring. While she knows the group would mean well, she wasn't entirely sold on how they would offer advice and what kind they would give.

He lets out a loud hiccup, and belches, pounding on his chest with his fist to get the excess gasses out of his stomach. His words begin to slur as the alcohol takes its toll.

"Ya know sumfin...you're quite a swell lady, dem fine woman, eh? You've been around war and chaos, righ? Why not jus' call on th' mighty * hiccup * Tarj ta take care o' things," his stance is slightly wobbly, "when 'e comes down ta visit 'n' ever'thing!" He marvels stupidly at his own words. "Yeeeeaaaaaahhh, why not do tha'?"

And suddenly, in a fit of drunkenness, he falls over toward her, asleep and unconscious in his inebriation.