Tuesday, June 28, 2011

"My priestess." Ardara is tall, but Ghaunt is so much taller that his abasement compels the eye.

"Report, slave."

"The tavern is well-protected, my priestess. It seems to be busy at all times, and I sensed some subtle magicks woven into the very fabric of the structure; I was unable to determine their purpose. Also, many of the patrons have warrior skills, magical skills or both. I do not say that the thing cannot be done, but I believe it would cost us many warriors to succeed.

On the other hand, I was unable to sense any kind of protections about the gallery, and those who dwell there are children - quite beneath the notice of a warrior. If we wait until the woman is leaving or returning, a frontal assault may not be necessary, and we may accomplish our purpose by guile, without the need for undue force."

He remains on his knees, not daring to raise his eyes. Ardara is intuitive to the point of appearing prescient, and it would not do for her to read his expression. It is a long time before she speaks.

"Something troubles you, slave?"

"My priestess?"

"You think more than you say, Ghauntel. I would know your thoughts."

His words come slowly, as though drawn forth against his will. "Why this woman, my priestess? 'Tis clear she is no virgin, which makes her of lesser worth as a sacrifice - "

"Do you question my decisions, slave?"

"As the knife to the sheath, so is my will to yours, my priestess."

"I wonder if that is so...." She casts a long speculative look at the kneeling figure before finally answering. "This - gargoyle" - her mouth twists, as though the word is bitter - "she is kin to one of that group who took it upon themselves to execute my sister for her 'crimes'. By taking this one for a sacrifice, I do in part avenge my sister while giving my goddess a most unique delicacy." A slow, cruel smile plays about her lips. "And now I think it meet that you learn not to question the decisions of your betters... Tarvyll!" The call is not loud, but it is answered before the sound dies away.

"My priestess?"

"Take this slave and have him soundly flogged, together with whatever refinements you think needful to remind him of his place."

"It will be done, my priestess."

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