Rolled 9, 14, 4 = 27 (3d20)
>>5591355“Apart from that,” Irinnile moves on, “there’s also the thing where, like, I can move around on my own for a bit!”
Kinslayer pulls itself free from your grasp, and you do not fight it. The devil-sword hovers before you, doing a few playful swoops and swings through the empty air before practically sheathing itself in the end-table, right to the hilt. You imagine Irrinile made a joke abut that, but without your hand upon Kinslayer, you do not hear it. Still, as you reclaim the blade, you hear her laughter, and find yourself a little amused at how you were able to predict her. You are getting used to this demon.
“You seem less anxious,” you note.
“We-eeelll,” Irinnile says, almost demurely, “I can tell I’m in good hands, I guess.”
“Hm.”
“Big, strong hands,” she gushes.
“There it is.”
You both laugh. In some strange way, she really DOES feel like a friend or familial relation—moreso than surly and resentful Roth, or even your distant, deceased mother, who you only know through her reputation, her legacy, and through visions and dreams.
As daylight turns to night, you take some time to rest your sword-arm and instead turn to the art of divination. Mindful of the need to be free of even well-meaning distractions, you pass the sword back to Halle, who hurriedly sheathes it and returns to her cleaning and feeding (at Irinnile’s insistence, which you acquiesce to) of Heinrich Yosef. You pray to the Dark Gods, most especially the Serpent Ascendant and Baleful Beholder, that the Gods of Strength and Wisdom might prepare you for the trial to come, and guide you to victory in both their names.
[Rolling Divination.]
