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Oct 18, 2019 6:55 AM
sky is a bad dm
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"I only came to pay tribute to Velan. I'll be on my way."

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"Tribute? By conducting rituals to false gods in the presence of–"

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A hand clamps down on Yvan's shoulder.

"I'll be dealing with this one."

Her tone of voice brooks no argument.

"Go make yourselves useful elsewhere."

Her hand is glowing out of the corner of his eye.

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"...yes, ma'am," says the armored man, faintly. The party turns and goes quickly on its way to 'elsewhere'.

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He gives a suitably intimidated cringe, looks chastened.

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She watches them go. The glow fades.

"...if you come with us down the mountain, you shouldn't be bothered again."

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"...thank you, ma'am. You're too kind."

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"I'm just trading one favor for another."

She ushers him towards the waiting group.

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The cultist nods to him minutely, signs quickly over his chest.

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The faux-cultist's eyes flit between Yvan and the dispersing crowd.

"Thanks for fielding that one."

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"It's no trouble," he says, returning the sign. "And no favor. I think you're here on the same business I am, though it seems with no better success."

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"You're not the first we've met on that hunt. No one knows any more than we do."

They start off towards the road down the mountain.

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"That's an understatement."

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"C'mon. Not everybody can hook up with god."

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He follows along; as he does, he opens his shirt again, to remove the annulus pendant from where it hangs.

"What brings Skäli's acolyte on that quest?" he asks, laughing lightly at the comment which seems to call for it.

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He opens his mouth and then shuts it.

"–right, you mean the real one."

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He watches the pendant, quirks an eyebrow for just a moment.

"...it's not my quest."

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"Monster hunting is already traveler's work. So is this."

She's looking out at the road ahead, not at him.

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"Fair enough."

The heavy metal ring goes in his pocket; he fastens his shirt again.

"May I ask where you're headed next?"

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"Corto. There's a library I need to see, and a giant insect problem."

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"The library -- business or pleasure?"

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“...mostly business.”

She smiles, a little wistfully.

“But they have a set of fourth-century manuscripts from the Katoi Res, from before the monastery burnt — they’re relevant, but even if they weren’t...”

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"Oh..."

He looks rather like he's been hit over the head with longing.

"...I don't suppose you'd have room in your caravan for one more? I'm not much of a fighter, but I busk when I pass through towns, and I'm told I don't snore."

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Her eyes go to his pocket, where he tucked away the annulus.

“We have room. Four fighters out of five is enough.”

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“Do none of us get—”

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