>>5655883“Well obviously,” she huffs when you tell her of your slow recovery.
“But in return—”
“Yes, yes, the Dark Gods have seen fit to grant you something-or-other,” she sacrilegiously waves away your great accomplishment and spiritual vindication. “Do you think this make you immortal? Show greater care for yourself, fool, or you will just be simply an especially memorable MARTYR.”
“Yes, Superior One,” you allow her. After all, she has always been of a rather skeptical and secular bent, regarding your Dark Gods with a most transactional mindset in spite of the priestly caste into which she was born.
After a moment, you tilt your head and ask, “So you worry for me? Did you miss me, also?”
She looks away, flustered. You rattle with laughter, deepening her embarrassment.
“My best guess would be that you have rested insufficiently, if at all. Too busy fumbling about, and probably generally involving yourself in matters best left to Lesser Ones, or those a SENSIBLE Reptilian would have ignored altogether. It is you incredibly frustrating custom, yes?”
“Yes,” you admit. “Will you help me, Oh Great Fleshweaver?”
She is silent for a time, then shouts for one of the Infiltrators who accompanied her to produce her supplies—of which, it seems, she brought a great many.
“The better to repair the results of your impulse and arrogance, Oh Meatheaded One,” she says, swatting you sadistically. “Strip.”
You wince and grumble. Still, for all her lambasting of your dubious decisions and distracted deviations, it is not long before the Novice Fleshweaver turns her physician’s ability to the art of mystical massage. She weaves away your pain and discomfort with care—even compassion?-just as undeniable as her skill.
You sigh, happy to bond with her in this familiar way. To be alone with her again, to enjoy the comfort of her familiar company, is a wonderful thing, and to know her healing touch.
“Have you… Completed your mission yet?” she asks, breaking the silence.
“Are you asking if I have yet mated with the Princess of Hawksong?” you tease.
“You know full well what I ask,” she hisses, pinching you with her claws in jealous spite.
“No,” you admit. “I… Became embroiled in local affairs.”
“Ha. Typical!”
“Soon,” you assure her. “When you have mended me, I will be marrying her.”
The Novice stops, and after a moment you glance at her, finding her expression almost as inscrutable as that of another race.
“What is wrong?” you ask.
“You will… MARRY her.”
“Yes,” you reiterate, then quickly amend: “In a false identity, thanks to your Amulet of Disguise. I am known in this country as ‘Long Wang’, eastern exorcist and adventurer.”
