[quote=@Smystar99]"To be fair Revna most of my scars are from you as well."
[/quote]

"Ach, you're just not in the habit of fighting every guard and drunk you come across is all," Revna said with a shrug. "But if everything goes well, that'll change; you'll get some new scratches on that pale hide of yours before the journey's done," she added with a high laugh. As much as she enjoyed sparring with the smaller woman, Revna was ready for more. Ready to fight with [i]real[/i] stakes. Fighting for glory, fighting for her own life, not just practice. [i]I guess to save the world, too,[/i] she considered after a moment.

[quote=@Blizz]"She’d better be a devil with that bow of hers. Safest bet between that, a sword and some shiny daggers too big to throw. Unless one or both of you can conjure up some holy flame from the sky, I’m not betting on either of you in a knuckle-bang with demons of the Deep.”[/quote]

Revna raised her eyebrows in surprise at Katrina; or rather, she raised one eyebrow. The other, with a deep scar running through it, only twitched imperceptibly, the muscle or nerve beneath having been severed from a broken bottle’s jagged edge years ago. The effect was a sort of perpetual, roguish aloofness on her expression that was not at all intended. 

"That's just Katrina's sense of humor, you'll get used to it," Revna said with a forced chuckle, giving her a playful [i]thwack[/i] on the back of her thigh with the halberd's wooden haft. Of course, she was lying. Katrina had no sense of humor at all, or at least none she'd ever shared with Revna. Katrina was dead-serious, but Revna didn't think it would serve their mission to start off with pure pessimism. She hoped Katrina would get the message. [i]Play nice.[/i]

Revna's innocuous question about the rest of the party did little to soothe any tension. In fact, she was shocked to see Osric lose his temper. She didn't [i]hate[/i] it though. That anger could be useful if they ever had to fight, and Revna was really hoping they would. She couldn't imagine the devout man plunging a dagger into the heart of a ten foot tall demon, but it was fun to try painting the picture in her head. He stormed off to see to the wagon.

"Well done Katrina! You've managed to piss off a serene monk of the Holy Wisdom," Revna said in mock admiration, though truthfully she [i]did[/i] find it amusing, reminding her why she drank with the vagabond in the first place. "He does have a point, though. If storming into Hell's gates with an army at your back worked, then none of this would have happened in the first place. Besides, do we [i]really[/i] want every farmboy with a pitchfork stomping along with us? I think a small group is best."

She watched the monk as he disappeared into the stables before turning to Sage. "I [i]am[/i] surprised you lover boy didn't tag along, though. What was his name? With the sad eyes? Hennik? I thought he'd follow you anywhere!" Revna said with a smirk. She remembered the man vaguely, always watching their sparring sessions from a distance from beneath his large hat. Handsome, in a sort of plain way. Revna had initially flattered herself by imagining he'd been watching [i]her[/i], but quickly concluded that he was smitten for Sage. Even if she didn't know it. "Well, perhaps the less the better," She concluded with a shrug.

Revna stepped towards a nearby field and let out a sharp, three-note whistle. The tall, swaying grass rustled, and a massive grey head rose from the yellow ocean. Her horse. The great beast came stepping towards them, carving his way through the field until he stood towering the party, snorting gently. 

“Valdur! I was wondering where you’d been off to, my old friend,” Revna said as she ran her hand along his broad neck. She never bothered hitching him up, and the horse never strayed far from her. Haldor, her father, had told her never to do so. Horses were a noble breed, rare in their land, and should be left free to roam. Valdur in particular, he told her as a girl, was special. The steed of a great queen from Illskaheimr. Haldor had even learned the stallion’s true name, which according to their folklore, created a powerful bond between horse and rider. Revna was unsure if this was a children’s story or something more, but still kept Valdur’s true name a secret. 

In truth though, Valdur was a draft horse, won in a drunken bet by her father. The only thing that set him apart from the average riding horse was his immense size and strength, best suited to pulling plows. She slid her halberd into the saddle’s side-sheath and went about double-checking her traveling gear, while listening closely to what her companions said.