The party rests beside a campfire. The soft orange glow illuminates their haul— a small mound of gold, jewels, and strange artifacts. Though sunburnt and aching, there is scarcely a frown but for Charles, whose eyes are fixed on a point on the ground between his feet.
“I am ashamed,” he says.
The party stiffens.
“Yes, I’m ashamed for being fooled by a demon I pictured as my old love. There, I said it. I risked the party whom I've grown fond of. I have never truly had others I could rely on.”
Gaston and others nod.
Charles continues: “I’m the son of a poor farmer. Poor and hungry. I overheard my parents arranging to sell me into servitude. Turns out I was not the son they wanted. So I ran away, leaving behind a baby brother who probably grew up as miserable and lonely as me.”
“I lived on the streets and in orphanages. I watched with envy the kids born silver-spoon-in-hand. I fought for money, working the underground rings. Yeah, I stole. Yeah, I rigged fights. I scammed the dainty nobles who bet on our scrums. I took up selling fake jewelry—could pass them off as the real thing to those desperate fools looking to grease some love affair.”
“Then I tried to scam a real jeweler. He hired me on the spot, probably saved my life. He taught me the trade, and we made some damn fine pieces. Things were looking up for me. I met my Erica, then, a noble girl. She entertained the passions of a mere journeyman like me. But our romance was short lived. You now, there is no hope for a couple of such different means. But I persisted and was banished from the town. So here I am, looking to make a name for myself. Sick of light pockets, of not being taken seriously.”
Those round the campfire nod and groan in agreement, as most of them have known want.
Gaston rubs Bijoux’s belly takes a big swig from a flask, eying Almaric, all bedecked in the polished gold chainmail of a Judicial Vicar of the Order of the Star— robes pristine, wide-brim saturno hat tipped as if to condescend.
"Oi! Priest!" growls Gaston, waiving the flask in the air. "Oi! Priest! I'm talking to you! "
Almaric absentmindedly fingers the beads of his star necklace. He silently mouths words of what appears to be a prayer.
“Hey, I’m talking to you!”
"...and I'm ignoring you," Almaric replies, slowly raising his head. He grins, making the sign of the cudgel, a closed fist with a raised ring finger.
"What’s that s’posed to mean?" Gaston shouts, rising to his feet unsteadily.
"Come now... sit down... I apologize," says the priest.
"Just who you think you’re talking to?" Gaston slurs.
"A fair question" the young priest answers bemusedly, almost absorbed in the question.
"I suppose as the youngest judicial vicar in the last 200 years, and the most accomplished novice in the history of the Exarchate of Blackspire, I am entitled to speak to you however I wish. And - as the personal representative of Ilduin the Incorruptible, Third Primate of the Order of the Star, I believe if you will have to take it with a smile, unless you want to become more intimately acquainted with these flames... along with the rest of your family."
Gaston reaches toward a dagger on his belt. "Now that is quite enough, boy..."
Almaric smiles. "...no, my friend, you’re right. I have no ‘right’ to talk to you like that," Almaric says, turning to look across the party.
"Fancy things aside, I'm just the son of a corrupted sinner and a whore. An unwanted boy abandoned on the steps of a monastery. Now a humble priest dispatched to Ilmire to discover what has become of the faithful, and, should conditions permit, burn out the rot of heresy."
He extends his hand to Gaston, gesturing for the flask, who yields. Almaric lifts it to his lips and coughs.
"...Or die glorifying St. Cuthbert, I suppose."
Thing scratches his head and rises to speak, taking a position near his most prized possession, a gold statue of a goddess he acquired not more than an hour ago.
“I am Thing. This is my statue. I don’t know much, and I don’t speak all fancy. I grew up in a mining village. I always loved the work because I got to see all kinds of shiny things. I really love shiny things. I was an amazing miner, so strong, they always asked me to knock down the biggest rocks. One day a group of goblins started harassing our village and mine. I tried to help fight the goblins, but there were so many. I really hate goblins.”
Thing continues, seldom punctuating or pausing to breathe.
“It lasted several days and finally the village elder sent for help. A band of adventurers came and rid us of those nasty goblins. They were so amazing! I remember one named Yttocs. He kept screaming his name out as be killed the goblins. It was very odd! Anyway, the adventurers told me I could earn some coins, which are nice and shiny. I really like shiny stuff. I decided to set out to try my hand at earning more shiny stuff, so that is what led me here.”
Serenity applauds as Thing nods and returns to his place on felled log. Serenity clears her throat.
(To be continued…)
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