[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/zQXUPoA.png[/img]
[sub][@6slyboy6][/sub][/center]
That was everyone accounted for then.

Without saying anything, Serenity passed a small waterskin towards Amy as the half-demon stood upright once more. No need to mix flecks of vomit and bile with the interior of a flute. No need to linger too long upon the expression that was developing on Amy’s face either, so filled with righteous fury. How many times had she seen herself in those eyes, reflected by puddles of dirt-water, back in those days when everything was new? Even a wholesome faith could create shards to pierce flesh, if struck with a sufficient impact.

The lioness repressed that unwelcome smile she felt bubbling up. Even a cleric could become a demon, depending on the interpretations of the texts.

And so, it was for that same reason that Serenity allowed Amy to take her wrist, to work her magic, to share a sliver of the root of that terror. T’was an abyss, rotten and fetid, pulsating with cancerous growths that sucked one inwards unto their demise. The mind, a bastion of rationality, rebelled against such self-destruction, but that same mind became the vehicle for the morbid enticement. The void called. What would it be like to answer it?

She had seen once, a man fall off from the window of a tower. Panic, replaced by resignation, replaced by tranquility.

She had wo-

The connection broke, leaving nothing but the black of the night and the stench of blood, seeping out from the open doors of the fort. She breathed in. Breathed out. Felt the earth beneath her feet once more. Focus her eyes once more on Amy. And, after a moment of deliberation, shook her head.

[b]“If there is any who would benefit most from such protection, it would be the Knight-Captain.”[/b] The position as one who would inherit all that a Saintess was could not be besmirched. [b]“Stay by [i]her[/i] side, Dame Amy.”[/b]

And, with that, Serenity entered the Fort once more. Not behind the cleric, but beside her.

...

A stand-off.

Hah.

So eager to protect their client's identity that they would keep their silence, even in the presence of such a storied Order, one that served the rulers of this Kingdom directly? Did these sellswords [i]forget[/i] upon whose land they tread upon?

Her toes tapped a rhythm within her boot, entirely inaudible.

No need for words, no need to act.

But that need may change, depending on Fanilly's next decision.