Keeping her focus on praying was hard enough without the whispers of the children, Valandra feels. Having to use a sanctuary of a different god does not help either. Yet the paladin has an urgent need for endorsement, consolation.She kneels before the shrine, eyes closed, head resting on clenched fist, murmuring prayers: "Helm, let your light pierce this darkness.A shield does not exist to protect its bearer, but those who stand behind it. Guide me, Watcher..."
A flicker of irritation rises in her chest, directed at the noise, at the shrine, at herself. Has the Watcher turned His gaze from her? Has she failed some unseen test? Has the Great Guard given up on her? No. The Watcher does not abandon. The fault must lie with the supplicant. "Guide me, Watcher. Show me the path..." Her prayers seem to no avail, no guidance nor counsel reaches her.
She stands up, salutes the little statue of Tymora, and drops a small coin on the offerings table: “Thank you for your hospitality, goddess. The Watcher remains silent, but I do appreciate your hospitality.” “Why not let luck decide your fate, Paladin? It could be... fun." The voice feels like a cold chill around her neck, like fingers stroking her ponytailed hair .
She spins as fast as armor allows, only to find a cluster of urchins. Faces staring at her, greedy, fearful, a few in awe. Some brave ones had even made it into the small building, the paladin’s luggage too tempting a target. “Away! Out!” Valandra barks at them, grateful to have a subject for her anger and frustrations. She sees the little creeps scatter: “Like dire rats before the hammer.” She lets out a sigh of relief, yet seeing how thin they were leaves a bitter taste in her mouth.
Before leaving the shrine of Luck, Valandra sniffs in the damp air inside, the faint scent of mildew. Memories of her bedroom in a convent far away and long ago fill her mind.The voice of the abbess reciting prayers, the warm feeling of belonging. ”The stench of luck..Let your light burn brighter than this shrine! Hope is no substitute for vigilance."..."
She spots an inn where a familiar cart and horses are parked upfront. Walking over, she replays the fight with the goblins in her head. “It was an honorable duel.The assassin fought valiantly and skillfully and faced our opponents openly. Even the jester added to the fight. The priest stayed calm and played his part. Helm watched over us.”
Without noticing she reaches the entrance of the tavern. A diverse group of workers, probably miners, leaving the inn, blocks her way, Customarily her right hand lands on the warhammer hanging from the baldrick. “You're with those men, right? The goblin killers, they’re inside!” The greeting catches Valandra by surprise. The miners step out of her way, holding the door open for her to enter. “Helm’s light be upon you as well." She answers, or so do her vocal cords by themselves, years of training making them speak for her. ‘This is not Neverwinter’ and ‘Stay alert, you’re a guard!’ she yells to herself.
Inside the crowd, mostly dwarfs and humans,behaves with surprising politeness. ‘Commoners pretending to be at court in a tavern. Miners pretending to be priests, what kind of place is this?’ Her questions remain unanswered as she hears her name.
At a table nearby sit her companions, Roux, the occultist,is waving her over. As Valandra approaches he gestures her towards an empty chair, ‘unintentionally’ next to him. Perhaps a bit too warm a welcome, but at least she feels accepted by the men now. “Still owe you one, my lady” Roux hands her a glass of wine. Followed by a series of compliments, insults hidden within compliments and flirting that fuel her embarrassment and anger likewise. The good thing is that at least now her resentment is aimed at someone else. A proper target.
The arrival of food, and more beer and wine, ends conversations and flirtations. The inn’s menu is basic and decent, and fairly priced. So much that Roux pays for the whole group when the bill arrives. By then other visitors and locals have joined their table. And is their story of fighting off a few, at least six, could be more than ten, goblins and finding the horses the highlight of the evening.
Making sure she's out of the spotlight but within hearing range, Valandra cleans and polishes parts of her armour. Stories and rumours float over the table like the mating flight of dragons. “Lots of huffing and puffing and the only result is hot air!” She concentrates on a dent in her left gauntlet. A bite mark of a goblin? She should jump up and shout, show the scratch in the metal and claim there were wolves too!
But another figure is already standing.on table,and has claimed the floor! “We have to find Gundren! They must have been taken by the goblins! We know where they are. Together we can save him!”Roux (‘Who else?’) gives the performance of a lifetime! The crowd is cheering and beating their jugs on the tables. “Are you with us?” The occultist looks around, pointing at his companions: “Tomorrow at sunrise we will ride out to free Gundren and Silmar!”
Valandra shakes her head at him, but one looks at her other two companions, Nox and Ashtar, tells her they are already on his side: “He should have been a performer instead of an occultist, by the Watcher’s shield!” As she looks up, Roux catches her stare: “Will you help me, my friend?” “Helm’s light! Yes! And leave me be.” She waves him off, and off he goes, turning back towards the mob gathered around their table. “Will you help me, my friends? Ride with us tomorrow morning! Free our friends, get rid of those pesky goblins!” A roar erupts, people toast and drink, drink and toast.
The next morning, four lone figures are harnessing three ramshackle horses in silence. Ashtar priest joins Valandra, riding double, on Silmar’s horse. As they ride off through town, people hide or pretend to not notice them. Once more Roux’ and Valandra’s eyes meet: “Fame is a shadow that fades with the setting sun. Helm’s light is eternal." !” Her moral is met with a grin: “We’re as popular as your god, paladin!”
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