warwaited

[warwaited]

There's a sound of understanding, if not agreement, as Isobel presents a counterpoint. She looks up to the dome again, then back down at the balustrade. When she turns towards the cleric, she's... trying for a smile, but the thing on her face is far from it. It looks profoundly discomforted, an expression ill at ease on the features being used to create it. There is no warmth or comfort, though it might theoretically be meant to take as such. It's an expression of pain.

"I can assume that the gods have turned their faces from me." Still, she persists. The divine doesn't have any interest in her, but neither does it have any hold on her. Whatever lies ahead, she'll get through it on her own merits or not at all.

"...there's someone in the city that I need to meet." And that's all she'll say on the matter. The air between them doesn't grow frosty so much as still, the casual conversation having given way to something... more personal. A light blunder into something she wasn't quite willing to discuss. "And it's where I live."

Isobel had once thought the same of herself. Even when she'd had the privilege of sharing her life with the child of her goddess, she'd always thought herself... inconsequential, in the grander scheme. The pages of her own story may have been eclipsed by their love but, one day, she would be gone. Aylin would find love in someone else. She would be but a footnote in the annals.

Now, under the shadow of her father's misdeeds, she cannot help but feel the weight of her own importance. In her second life, she would no longer be a footnote. Instead, she would be featured player in the cautionary tale of Reithwin Town. It was her hope that she could make a second appearance, heralding the restoration of a place she once called home. The woman beside her would be found between the pages, as well; a force to be reckoned with, among her campmates.

"Getting tangled up with the pantheon is easier than you might think," Isobel murmured, gesturing to the dome overhead. She dared not refer to herself as chosen, however. Favored, perhaps? Pitied? "I haven't thought much of what lies beyond the curse. What waits for you in Baldur's Gate? "

[warwaited]

Rakatak’s quarters are not the same as she left them, although there are no obvious signs of tampering or intrusion–beyond the greatsword currently leaning against the wall, which had not been there before.

An angular crossguard with jagged, crown-like spikes ends in a pommel bearing a dark emerald, and the hilt is wrapped in supple black leather threaded with platinum filigree. Once unsheathed, the blade–blackened steel, polished to mirror-like perfection–ripples strangely under any light it catches. 

+2 Greatsword – attunement required. Subjugator’s Edge: Once per day, the wielder can unleash a wave of psychic energy from the blade in a 30-foot cone. Creatures caught in the wave must succeed on a Wisdom saving throw or be Charmed by the wielder for 1 minute.

Attached to the pommel by a velvet ribbon is a simple black card that simply reads: ‘For my favorite tyrant. –G.’

The paladin(?) spots it immediately, and the implication is even more clear than the note. Despite herself, she crosses the floor to wrap her hand around its hilt, slowly rotating the blade (while making sure not to accidentally cleave through the ceiling of her own tent) to get a better look at it. Of course it would be now, with her faith in both her god and her people shaken.

Part of her wants to refuse it on principle, just for the gall of thinking she could be bought. That she would waver if plied with jewels and offerings from a source concerned only with its own importance.

But when she catches sight of her eyes, reflected murkily in the blade, she can't find it in herself to cast it down.

[warwaited]

“ i think i know why you’re proud of it too. it makes you strong.”

She stays silent after that for probably too long. Leaning against the rain barrel, hands still wet from trying to clean the blood off her face. Doing... middlingly, and checking her work every time she looks down into the water.

"...there's a difference between being strong and being tough. If you're lucky you can go your whole life without needing to learn it. Some people think they're both when they're just strong." One more pass with the water, and she turns back to face Cait, eyes serious but expression a little less dour (and a little cleaner) than it had been before.

"I was tough before I was strong... and you're right. I'm proud of one of those."

[warwaited]

" i'm on your side . we're in this together . "

"I'm on my own side. Even if I thought I was on your side, I know you're not on mine." She casts down the pipe she'd been about to crack Cait across the head with, though, and settles for a glare that's almost as damaging.

"Did you get separated from your tour group? Normally Pilties aren't just walking around here."

[warwaited]

Give my muse(s) gifts! Send 💝+ a description of the gift!

[warwaited]

Waiting for Student was a small puzzle box. Should she be able to solve it, or crack it open, there would be a makeshift first aid kit - decked out with high-end produce as well as a note stating "Look after yourself. From V."

It's a half hour of work. Pushing tabs this way and that, trying to figure out how much force is appropriate and how much is trying to make something move that isn't meant to. Slowly but surely, the box clicks, shifts and separates, every move getting her closer to-

Oh, there's something inside of it. She reads the note first, smiling slightly at the thought of Viktor hand-picking things she'd need. It's hard to imagine anything she-...

Compression bandages. A splint. Fruit. Things easy to eat while patrolling, and things to patch herself up with after. Now she knows why he had to leave it somewhere she'd find... if she'd been given all this stuff without pretense she probably would have just given it right back.

She doesn't know what it is about that that fills her with warmth, but it's a rare and heartfelt smile that rests in her features for most of the remaining day.

[warwaited]

She frowns slightly. If he's going to train himself back into using human emotion, this isn't the best partner for Jason to pick. Every expression is minor, every acknowledgement or consideration just a few seconds on the face or in the way her body moves. It's a long story. She thinks on that, then shrugs. "I have time."

And so she listens, to the few words he's willing to offer. Halting, both uncertain and completely sure. Stranded on an island. Left to fend more or less for himself. Given a knife and told to use his wits - wits that hadn't been properly honed yet and grew in tortured, twisted ways. It explains a few things. "It sounds like your teacher had little time to show you the way things should be properly done... although it also sounds like you didn't have much time to offer in return, either."

A low sigh.

"It isn't my place to ask for specifics. You've given me what you're comfortable with sharing and I'll respect the distance you choose to keep from your past. It informs things about how you fight, certainly." And, maybe, why he doesn't like the colour red. Blood writ large. Blood he probably wishes he didn't get so used to seeing. "At any rate... you're well-versed in staying on the attack, but your guard and decision making both need polish."

Xue rolls a shoulder. Hesitant. "...I know a couple of things about punishing bad people because no one else would. I spent a long time thinking of nothing else, but... people need to change eventually. I apologize if this wasn't a pleasant experience for you - the spar or the talk. If you feel unfulfilled in your classes, I could move you up a form or two and put you to work properly."

The sifu's assessment was scarily on the money. Impressive, too, just from the quick minute fight. Though her last query... struck a nerve. If Jason had been anything other than human, he might've answered immediately with pinned ears, raised hackles. Might've bared his teeth, puffed fur or ruffled feathers to make himself bigger. Might've even growled, clear warning to drop it, leave him alone. Given more than enough indication he was more trouble than the payoff could ever hope to deliver. Brighter colors, bigger danger. Yet he had none of that. No lupine ears, no fur to puff. No real warning other than a clenched jaw, forcefully calmed breathing. Almost a switch was flipped; panting to serene at the drop of a hat.

"It's a long story."

His second-immediate response. Clipped. Restrained. Wishing it could be yanked back and choked down the mere moment he says it, eyes still staring right through her. Not that he has a real radar for tone much anymore, his or otherwise. One way of saying things was just about as good as another, (even if it took a reminder to recall) and he wasn't going to waste time thinking about it. Catastrophizing about it. About her. If you told him you liked his shirt, he'd go about his day after forgetting the compliment, not wondering just what you meant. The same could be applied here. The same SHOULD be applied here

...possibly to both of them.

It didn't stop the teacher from gauging, and Jason forced himself to relax again. For real.

Instead, following her lead. Bouncing lightly on his feet, shaking out the nervous energy. Not caring if she judged him, not caring if she was thinking and perceiving and making mental notes. Forcing himself to let go of her caring, instead reminding himself. Here. Now. Not Rook, not the outposts, or the stakeouts, or God forbid Cali.

Following her lead, and padding back over to sit where she'd instructed. Muscles still buzzing with unspent energy. If she was going to kill him, this was an odd place to--

"I got. Stranded. On an island. And it was. Them or me."

me or them.

"I. Had to choose Us. Me."

Another pause. Staring right through her, pinpointing his gaze through her own intense stare. He hadn't intended to tell her his life's story, but something about the way she asked questions really set the mood for oversharing. For some semblance of trust there, that she wouldn't judge. As much as he enjoyed his discretion, enjoyed his time alone and away from everything that reminded him he was human, Jason also seemed to hate the silence between words. Did his best to fix it, even if speaking felt wrong. Alien.

"My 'teacher' handed me a backpack and a machete and said 'good luck'-- and I made it work."

There were also bigger, badder weapons he'd been handed, but Jason didn't mention them. Almost felt ashamed he'd enjoyed his time with that flamethrower, enjoyed causing burns to scar and maim on his fellow man. Enjoyed it so much he missed it, never once blinking as he answered.

"Fast offense was the best defense, and they were bad people."

As if convincing himself he wasn't beyond salvation.

"No one else was going to."

[warwaited]

What do you need to hear?

you are enough.

I see how hard you’re working. I see how your body aches under the weight of it, how you lose sleep and rub the red out of your eyes in the hopes that they can’t tell how desperately you’re clawing at “good enough.” I know how that dirt feels under your nails, that filth of never being what they want. you’re running yourself into nothing trying so hard to be good for them. but you are already good. you are already enough. you have nothing to prove. you are beautiful and what you bring to the world, what you have to show for the space you take up is perfect. it is enough. you are enough. you can rest. you don’t have to try so hard to be more than what you are. you are, and that’s enough. you’re already perfect.

there is no such thing as sin.

you are not dirty. you are not broken. you do not need to be saved. you are whole. you are pure. you are human and you are perfect. they’ve tried for so long to make you believe that you are something that is filthy and broken and this is not true. they do not define you. they do not tell you what is good and what is evil. as long as you are not hurting anyone, you are good. you are doing good. they cannot make you something you are not and you are not dirty and you are not broken and you do not need to be saved. you are already perfect. your life already matters.

you matter. yes, you specifically.

yes, the universe is infinite and full of things infinitely beyond our comprehension, and yet, here you are. you, in all your infinite complexity and uniqueness. here, now: you. in an infinite universe it is easy to feel insignificant, but you can’t forget that the likelihood that you would exist at all is unintelligibly small, and yet, just as small and just as grand, here you are. you are here because you are meant to be here. your place in the world is uniquely yours and could never be filled by anyone else. the universe made you because it needed you. yes, you specifically. yes, you are just one microscopically small piece in an unfathomably huge infinity, but you are entirely irreplaceable. you are impossible and you are inevitable and you are beautiful and you are so, so important. yes, you specifically.

stolen from @mxchineherald

[warwaited]

“…would it be too cliche to say I don’t do well in crowds.” It’s oblique enough to allude to several things, many of which totally innocuous, but she has her hopes that the Firelight King or whatever he goes by will understand the subtext. “Doesn’t play well with others” should be etched into her skin with how uncomfortable she was realizing who she was fighting alongside.

Not uncomfortable enough to stop, mind. She had work to do regardless of who she was brushing shoulders with, and, frankly? If he hadn’t been a representative of something she would have had a pretty good time. They’d taken about half each, trading partners a couple times when the situation had called for it. She’d hit someone about to tackle him with a snap kick brisk enough to send them most of the way through a window. He’d taken down a meathead who’d been about to catch her across the face with a pipe - giving her time to deal with the one trying to hold her arms. It had felt good. It had felt right.

It had felt overwhelmingly like things were going to be awkward if he figured out who she was - if he knew who she was. She wasn’t one to play favourites and while she didn’t have any specific ill will towards the Firelights… she still didn’t trust them much. Come to think of it, she doesn’t know if she trusts anyone much.

But especially not anyone who wears a mask out in public. She’s brave enough to show her face. Invite challenge. Let them know who’s putting them down.

“We did well. Maybe Finn will think twice about sending these idiots into every dark corner of the city when they come out looking like this.” She grunts softly, rubbing her shoulder and shaking her head. “They did better than the last ones, though. At least I’m not being given complete amateurs…”

Her eyes flick to his faintly smug face.

“…never been put down by anybody I couldn’t get back up and answer to. Don’t plan to get too comfortable on the floor… no one keeps me there long.”

@warwaited said: "Suspicion. Admiration... concern." cont'd.

❝ suspicious? ❞ ekko's face contorted with amazement, his inquiry dripping with faux offense. ❝ but how? nah, that's crazy. concerned too? for what? ❞ he let out a laugh, the kind that bordered between amusement and calculated deflection. then, a wily grin whips across his face, communicating an unspoken secret that only he seemed privy to.

reclining back comfortably on the pile of finn's slickjaws, ekko seemed entirely at peace. the defeated goons weren't so slick now—not with their jaws dislocated and their augmented limbs crumpled like a spilled plate of cookie crumbs. if they had anyone to curse after this, it wouldn't be him. nah, vi deserved that credit—she was the one who’d invented these techniques, after all. ekko simply practiced them, so he absolved himself of any accountability he should've taken here.

❝ i think we both should be considered if these dudes develop a taste for tar, ❞ he said, referring to the first goon who got slept and hit the ground. the poor man was the foundation of the pile, his slackened mouth wide open like he was trying to sample the zestier parts of zaun's streets. ❝ never had it myself, so i can't judge. ❞

he shrugged, folding his arms behind his head like he didn't have a care in the universe, his gaze drifting upward to the starless sky. ❝ what about you? ❞

[warwaited]

The grin on her face slowly fades as Viktor's laugh turns into one of his increasingly common coughing fits... that amps up to an uncommon strength before he's hastily shoving his face into his elbow to keep from spewing blood and who knows what else on the floor. Her face pinches, and she looks away - partially to be courteous, partially because it makes her uncomfortable to have such a stark reminder of mortality right in front of her like this.

And the Shimmer doesn't help. She knows that he needs the stuff to keep his condition from getting much worse than it has - even if it sounds like it's not doing as much for him as it used to. He probably doesn't know why she hates it so much... and it would be outside their professional relationship for her to tell him. Best not to rock the boat.

And then he tries to change the subject. She walks over to help him stand upright, putting a hand to the small of his back and pushing him gently. "If we have used up our time for the evening on closing me up, I don't mind coming back later to see your metal man. Although..."

It would be helpful to him for her to move his new things. She grunts and moves over, hefting one up onto a shoulder and tucking the other under her elbow. It skews her stride (a bit) but she's more than strong enough to get it the rest of the way. "I would think you would appreciate something keeping you awake other than spite."

A small, grim smile. She's trying.

Viktor couldn't help a light chuckle, but it quickly got masked from a rather chesty sounding cough. It took the breath from him, as if punishing him for laughing. He brought the crux of his elbow to his face as he felt something shift in his throat - unable to retrieve his handkerchief in time as he coughed blood into his sleeve. As soon as the blood from removed from his lungs, he snatched up the Shimmer mask that lay against his chest and brought it to his nose and mouth, taking a second to breath as deeply as his condition allowed. His eyes shone with a purple hue - an expression of a drugged high overrode his expression temporarily before it all receded back - just as his breathing returned to normal.

He tried to turn his back on her while this happened. Primarily because he knew her hatred for Shimmer... As much as he was working on finding something more viable that a drug to keep him alive - everything had failed him thus far.

"Ah... excuse me..." Viktor muttered, a form of apology for his coughing fit. He cleared his throat, as if quickly trying to distract her from his ache. "Do you want to see it? The golem, I mean. I have never been very creative with names. Too logical, it seems. Perhaps once you see it, you can think of something for me?"

Really, a scientist should never expose their work until it was complete and undeniably theirs. But...Viktor found himself extending a touch of trust towards Student.

"While you're here, perhaps you can assist me in bringing the shock dampeners you brought with you-" He gestured back to the equipment in question. "I'm getting rather tired of the electrical surges shocking me when I'm trying to work on it."

[warwaited]

"Would you? Like I said. We've got all night." Despite her bravado, she doesn't make a move towards the window. She's done a lot she wasn't proud of... and some of the things she is proud of would probably make a Piltie's toes curl. But torture feels like a bridge too far, and, after a few seconds, she huffs shortly and takes a few steps back.

The gun's picked up without any real care. It's clear to see she's never held one before just by where she puts her hands, and she looks Cait over one more time before shaking her head in annoyance.

"...get out of here, idiot. And tell whoever did send you that the next person they send, if they get sent back at all, because they might not, is going to be in a bag. I don't think they should start looking for any volunteers they weren't already trying to get rid of."

Pause.

Pause.

"And I'm keeping this. As payment for you wasting my time."

She snorts, stalking back and forth in a short enough path that she's still mostly between Cait and the gun. This would be fun if it weren't so irritating, the back-and-forth obstructing information that she really does need to know. Her wrist flicks, rolling around the joint. "You asked me a leading question about who might be after me and now you're catty that I'm offering some options. I think you just want to fight." She wants to fight too. A little. The adrenaline's still running kind of high, energy filling her limbs and putting a gentle buzz at the back of her head. "You know if I really want to find out who sent you, I've got all night. We've got plenty of windows." And there's already broken glass on the floor, throwing into sharp relief a threat that she's only alluding to.

// whatever it is, caitlyn clearly does not intend to share. maybe a fight is what would be in order. not that the young kiramman could claim to be actually good in hand to hand combat, especially compared to her gunsmanship, but she could hold her ground at least. usually.

her gaze narrows, arms uncross. " I'd like to see you try. " , she says, probably foolishly, in a hissed tone. the young woman wouldn't be who she was today if she wouldn't be someone who pushes themselves to their feet and fight when it is necessary.

breathe. finally, she shoves herself further away from the other, still on the ground, but clearly ready to get up if she feels seriously threatened.

[warwaited]

"...I'm not going to lie to your face and say that Zaun is on the cusp of some grandiose rebellion against Piltover. The city is..." She trails off, huffing to herself and shaking her head. This isn't the time for an impassioned plea or some poetic tale of woe. "They are killing us."

She raises her chin to meet Ambessa's eye, rolling her shoulders before casting another distrustful glance back at the guards. Just seeing them makes her bristle just a little. "But I have a feeling that whatever Piltover was doing to us, the odds are good that Noxus would do the same thing."

She doesn't sound as sure of that as she would like, though. Maybe something that's just a different kind of bad would give them the ability to properly get their feet under them and gain independence in a way that didn't involve trying to convince a whole city of highborns to see them as people.

"What kind of help are you offering."

Is nobility the word for it? Can the act still be truly good when the intention behind it is purely selfish? It’s not because she wants to protect the weak that she does it - not really. It’s what she usually tells people when they ask. She says what she wants is to keep the downtrodden safe. What she really wants is for the oppressors to hurt. The follow-up question earns a bit of a face, gauging its honesty. It sounds rhetorical, but something about the look in Ambessa’s eyes when she asks it compels her to answer as if it should be taken at face value. “They came into Zaun four wide and six deep. Seeing what you’ve brought to bear… I don’t think you’re hurting for resources. Or men.” She doesn’t want to admit she doesn’t actually know much about Noxus. “…are you going to tell me you aren’t?” When in doubt, put the onus of clarification back on the asker.

// maybe not. but even noxus believes itself to be noble and in the right for it's actions. they are driven by a need for survival and yet they think themselves to be fair. wanting the oppressors to hurt is just as noble of a reason as to want to protect those oppressed - the result is the same.

there's a laugh when the question is turned back on her. it's unsurprising that the other doesn't seem to know enough about noxus - as well as it's tried to write itself all over history, they haven't quite reached piltover and especially zaun as much as they'd like to.

" no, resources or men definitely isn't what I came for zaun for. " , she agrees, shaking her head with a small smile. " but I am certainly not looking to destroy or hurt it, either. quite the opposite, I've come to offer my help. this city clearly needs it. "

[warwaited]

"I didn't think you were trying to hurt her. I just know you will." She steps foot over foot, distancing herself from a literal line in the dust and closing the range with Sevika. Her hands come up - fingers flexing and forming claws interposed between herself and the gangster. "I don't know much about you. I know you used to run with Vander. Then you ran with Silco... then Silco died."

Foot over foot, foot over foot. Either Sevika is going to have to start taking space back, or she's going to be forced away from where Isha is currently lying. "But I know your type. She'll be fine." Lot of certainty in her tone for a person being referred to that's lying in a pile of blood. Some of it has got to be her own. "She'll be much better somewhere far away from you and whatever pox you continually bring on Zaun. Fine - so you're not peddling Shimmer... but I know you use it. And I know you work with people who do. She deserves somewhere she can actually grow up without having to worry about a carousel of junkies and criminals."

Despite the hostility in her tone, she hasn't attacked yet. She doesn't really want to take that deranged-looking new arm for a test drive, even if it's pretty obvious to see that it's way offset Sevika's balance. Just needs to work that outside leg, slow her down... make her sloppy. This time she's not going in full force. This time she's going to think it through and make sure there are no mistakes. If Xue doesn't come out on top here, she might be personally responsible for whatever happens to that kid.

"Come the fuck on..." Sevika groans, desperation coating her tongue. Of fucking course, this is when the supposed vigilante wants to start shit with her. She can see Isha struggling and it's tearing her apart. She needs to get to her. “Just hand over the kid and we won’t have a problem…” Her voice is softer than it usually is when speaking with Student, hoping maybe she'll understand. An anxious undercurrent ebbs and flows in her chest. She needs to get to Isha before things get any worse… Before she loses her for good.

Something twists in her when Student tells her that Isha isn’t hers. It tears at her, reminding her that she’s not good enough for Isha. But she has to try. Isha deserves that, at the very least. Deserves more than to be left

“You have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m not trying to hurt her!” Her frustration and desperation is growing by the second. Every one of those matters. She raises her hands, trying to prove she’s not a threat despite how part of her instincts tell her to bash the other’s skull in, but fists aren’t the answer to everything. She knows that all too well. "Just... please. Let me help her. This isn't me trying to hook some stupid kid on shimmer... She's mine." Student may not believe her, but she really fucking needs her to.

[warwaited]

I have a strong desire to add Nameless Man/SF6-era M. Bison to the roster but I gotta be honest with myself about the likelihood of people wanting to write with the fucking guy

[warwaited]

She snorts, stalking back and forth in a short enough path that she's still mostly between Cait and the gun. This would be fun if it weren't so irritating, the back-and-forth obstructing information that she really does need to know. Her wrist flicks, rolling around the joint.

"You asked me a leading question about who might be after me and now you're catty that I'm offering some options. I think you just want to fight." She wants to fight too. A little. The adrenaline's still running kind of high, energy filling her limbs and putting a gentle buzz at the back of her head.

"You know if I really want to find out who sent you, I've got all night. We've got plenty of windows." And there's already broken glass on the floor, throwing into sharp relief a threat that she's only alluding to.

"I guess you should have checked your corners." She bites on the snark a little, getting a jab in that's verbal rather than physical. Her hand goes unconsciously to the opposite wrist, working a kink out of the joint as she stares down at Caitlyn. When the sharpshooter's eyes go to her rifle again, she takes three deliberate steps to interpose herself between the interloper and her weapon. "I don't know. Could be anybody. Maybe your boss got tired of the number of black eyes I was giving your illustrious organization of aristocrat stooges." She gives the same treatment to the other wrist, brow still furrowed as she examines her quarry. "Maybe you, personally, have a grudge. Maybe the Council thought it reflected poorly on them to not be able to quell this... tiny little uprising. There's plenty of options. I'm asking you to narrow them down."

// she rolls her eyes in annoyance when student obstructs her vision on the rifle. it drives her insane that she was overtaken this easily. hand to hand combat isn't exactly her strength.

" right, because let me just tell you everything I know. " , caitlyn speaks with sarcasm, taking her eyes off of the zaunite only to dismissively look away. like a caught animal, she's dismissing everything student is saying only to act like she actually has nothing to do with it.

no interest in actually answering any of her questions. her arms cross. almost childishly. " are you done acting like you'd be on everyone's minds just for them to kill you? "

[warwaited]

That's more than half and I've got work tomorrow, so I'll knock the rest off then.

[warwaited]

"And were your conviction as strong as your grievances you would have worked to convince me of the efficacy of your idea instead of starting to pout when I dismissed it out of hand, saving your points on why it would have been an ideal option for after our business has concluded. But I understand. You didn't want a fight." She follows after the cleric, her longer stride bringing her up alongside with a minimum of hurrying. She has to lean over to speak into Shadowheart's ear, with a heated self-satisfaction that would very easily read as threatening.

"I certainly wouldn't if I were you."

The moment passes quickly and the hobgoblin straightens up, moving towards the door but pausing to turn and examine the scene behind her. Yes, they should get to moving, they weren't exactly quiet... but she knows she saw the spread of a merchant on the way in.

It'd be foolish not to check if there was something to aid in the task ahead among the wares he would have likely hawked to them if they had not descended with blood and fire upon the apostates of her faith.

"Wyll. Check that goblin by the corner, and those valuables as well. Prioritize weapons and potions, we will return for the valuables later." As he moves to start rifling, Rakatak turns yellow eyes towards Shadowheart with a sneering grin.

"Indeed. Far be it. At least your chiding tongue doesn't stretch beyond your station."

Rakatak was the very figure of imposing. Massive, and especially threatening when spattered with goblin blood. They did not see eye to eye often - but Shadowheart did believe in penance paid for their faith. Or, rather, their lack thereof. It did deserve punishment.

Even then, this brazen show of force needed not be so careless. Far too much energy was expensed at a draw of a sword, and to fight an entire courtyard worth of slimy goblins that could have been dealt with far more efficiently.

❝ were your wit as sharp as your tongue , then you would have beholden efficiency and saw the value of an alternate option . ❞ Shadowheart mocks, too easily, and it was clear that she did not fear repercussion from the leader of their troupe. She steps over another corpse, moving towards the entrance of the chapel - ugh . selûne . ❝ i prefer the easy way when its benefits far outweigh the cons . it ' s remarkably pragmatic - hence why i had been so surprised that you ' d rather dirty your blade . but far be it for me to tell you what to do . ❞ There was a certain bite to her tone - but she did not look over her shoulder. Her mace is placed against her waist again, hanging from her belt, and her shield is stowed onto her back once more.

❝ no use in dawdling out here . i ' m sure there are more than enough vagrants inside that are just begging for another example . ❞