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All six men manning the outpost had gathered outside to speak with your dad, and being surprisingly candid with their personal lives. ''Do not rely on them for long-term cures. You lad, Garm right?'' He pointed his chin at the youngest guards. ''You need to convince your mother to reduce her drinking. Bishop Belmont might sound like a pain in the ass for being stingy with miracles, but she's relying far too much on Cleansing to absolve her bad decision. I'm no doctor but everything you told me about her symptoms makes me think she abuses drinks, remember that miracle only removes alcohol, drugs, and poison without doing anything else.''
This kind of attention wasn't unusual for a Cleric of the Path. All the men forgot your existence, and that was perfectly fine for you.
You and your dad returned to the road in the early afternoon.
''You liked helping them.'' It's not teasing if it is the truth.
''Not really.'' He's embarrassed, there's zero malice in his groan. ''Doing my job, that's all. People need to learn that miracles don't replace doctors.''
Up the hill and into a forest your path continues, with more than a few newly cut trees around the paved road revealing this place was still a work in progress.
''Huh-uh.''
''Anyway.'' Ignoring you instead of arguing. ''You shouldn't have to mind your etiquette too much if alcohol starts flowing.''
''I'll stick to one glass of wine, no more.'' You've never gotten drunk in your life yet and today won't be the start.
''I'll be liberal with Cleansing if I have to.''
Perhaps the collective opinion of your family toward noble folks was a tad too harsh... but you couldn't disagree with your mom and dad attitude. Your father position as a Cleric of the Path isn't officially political but the truth is different: people like him, charged with traveling into all villages of the Allied Kingdoms can attract the curiosity of Kings and that spawns inevitable influence by reputation alone.
''Someone's on the road.'' Rikard warning end your musing.
The road had flattened after going over the hill and a fair distance away was a lone male figure clothed in white with streaks of somber colors. Walking stick in one hand and wearing a visibly large leather backpack, he acknowledged your presence with a large handwave that was soon replicated by your father.
Once distances close, the man gently removes his hood revealing... <span class="mu-i">goodness.</span> He has to be the prettiest man you've ever seen. Lengthy white hair fell around his neck almost like a crown, his colored eyes offered a striking pale blue-purple hue and a gentle, pretty yet masculine face greeted you with a polite smile. You don't need to see his ears to know he's an elf, perhaps one of the oldest generation too.
''Blessing of our Eternals, travelers.'' His voice has that perfect mixture of grave, fatherly gentleness. ''I am Armin White, would I be wrong in assuming that you two are master Furibol guests?''
