[Somewhere Viktor is out there, looking at a blood ward and torn between "wow, neat" and "he cut his hand open again huh." Truly, enduring a necromancer is an herculean act of tolerance; Viktor is a hero.

Palamedes, on the other hand, shrugs; he doesn't want it to be a huge thing that he's wrangled the pieces to put together this party, even if it's very intentionally a party born from his urge to make some sad teenagers a little happier. It being a big thing he belabors over and over isn't the point, so he doesn't say it. He appreciates that Allen says it, though— at least he knows he's hit the mark.

So, party status: as planned.]

It's not all my doing, which is nice. Good company goes a long way.

[Something something, it wouldn't be half as good a party if everyone coming wasn't fundamentally worth the effort and other such tenderness. Half of this party came together on the strength of friendly volunteers; he'll never stop being warmed by the willingness for people here to do things for each other just because.]

Thank you, though. Anyway, wards— yes, they do that. They're blood wards, and I know it sounds counterintuitive already, but I'm a necromancer; this is what I do. The shape carries the intention, be it a simple 'dispel' or a full-on attack on anything that touches it. But this is a party, so I kept it light just in case.

[It does mean that he has to bleed around the perimeter of the field, but like, whatever? That's fine; that's necromancy.]

It's not airtight, of course. But it casts a wide net as long as I've got blood to put down.