>>5444492“We have nothing to fear from mere ghouls, here in the sovereign domain of Holy Death,” you declare.
Some elves cheer this bold claim. Others, swayed by your charisma to follow you yet still uncertain of the Dark Gods, are more hesitant.
“Those who would join me in prayer may do so,” you continue. “Then, you will see the true glory of the True Faith.”
Azonia yawns, stretching in a way that strains her chest-covering to what is very nearly the breaking point as she does so.
“SOMEONE must keep watch,” she says pointedly. “If the alternative is this religious… Thing… I will gladly lead first shift.”
A few others groan, whether because they would rather be engaging in your cultural exchange project or simply resting. You rattle with laughter, only a touch smug.
“There is no need.”
Azonia looks at you sharply, the dual-wielding swordself looking as if she is about to argue the point. She stops short when, with a gesture, you summon the electrical elemental from its semi-dormant state. It rises like a lightning bolt in reverse, hooting up from the ground to the ceiling and crackling outwards to form the crude effigy of a bipedal being once more.
“The Light Elemental and the Junior Novice will take watch,” you say, and Junior bows his head quickly in automatic submission.
“So you leave us with no choice but to pantomime faith to your evil spirits?” Azonia huffs, hands on hips. “Theral, you are strong, but I still don’t know about this… ‘True Faith’ of yours.”
You shrug your shoulders. Azonia seems surprised, even incensed, at your lack of fight. Her expression turns to curiosity as you rummage around in your pack for a moment, and then produce a bottle of dark elven mushroom wine—a gift from Queen Myrymma, which you have been eld to believe is a quite desirable sampling of this beloved intoxicant. You throw this end over even to Azonia and, without hesitation o flinching, she snatches it out of the air with an ever-more-confounded face.
“The Gods are eternal,” you explain. “You will see their worth in time. For now, you and the others may celebrate.”
Azonia’s vexed expression splits into a grin, and she pops the waxy resin plug off of the pilfered-and-repurposed surface bottle.
“To King Theral the Generous!” she toasts laughingly, and passes the bottle to one of those who join in her toast.
