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After being dragged to the water and being nudged with a staff violently and repeatedly, Macalaure finally escaped the grasp of work... erm... sleep. He rose himself and had somebody tell him what has been said and done, while the Sun had been journeying on her paths, and he was not too pleased with what he heard. Critical eyes could be seen under his dark cloak of weathered leather as he spoke to the outlaws.
"Sleep I suffered myself, so I shall not judge those who suffered the same, or still do, at least not yet. But, I ask you, does that excuse the manner in which our curséd company deals with its pressing peril when awake? I think not.
Let us no longer offer the obvious, or jest our time away, or condemn companions by causes contrived of questionable content. Most of you have made an ill-favoured impression on me so far, most notably Shasta, who, like others have observed as well, does not practice what he preaches, and Rikae, who made aggressive accusations based on evasive evidence, possibly stated to see if someone bites."
Exhausted by his elaborations and annoying alliterations, Macalaure laid back on the leaves and proceeded on his productive napping.
(edit: crossed with Guy and Nogrod)
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