>>5292741>>5292890>>5292879>>5292840>>5292741>>5292727>>5292716>>5292712>>5292711In spite of your passing fancy for this elegant creature, you keep your mind on the mission—indubitably so.
“Piety,” you say, plainly. “open piety to the Dark Gods Below and Beyond.”
Jazkarmel brushes her fair hair away from her dark, smooth-stone features, and turns to face you fully.
“A big ask for a little duel,” she remarks, once more the noble-blooded leader and stern sentinel of her people—no more subtle flirtation or youthful playfulness. Her age and experience settles upon her like a cloak.
“You have seen my people’s might, and our cunning,” you say. “You have seen their gifts firsthand, and heard what they can offer.”
Still, she hesitates.
“…And you gave your word,” you point out.
Jazkarmel sighs, rolling her eyes.
“Fine, what will we stand to lose?” she says, converting half-heartedly. “Betrayed by one set of gods, we survived. If yours fail us also, we will still be here.”
Not quite the fervent zealotry one might dream of in a new convert, but it is something. You are no deeply-pious sort yourself, not even after having met a Dark God in person, but you attempt to lead Jazkarmel in a prayer; she follows along, though she struggles with your ancient tongue more than even you initially struggled with elf-speech. You hope the sentiment of the moment is conveyed to the Black Divinity, and pleases and appeases them.
“What now?” she asks.
“In service of the Gods?” You consider. “Spread the good word of their embrace and their gifts to your race?”
Jazkarmel laughs, and shakes her head.
“Foreign madness, to make me an outcast among outcasts? I will be overthrown by a mob of girls before an elfman even comes for me at the end of my season.”
You are stymied, frustrated, but she sees this and gently pats your talons.
“I will say my prayers, as you have taught me, and wait for a sign… A beacon of your gods. Come back a hero, Dragonborn, and we will go to meet my queen. She alone can make your religion the religion of my people.”
“You will speak in my favour?” you press.
Jazkarmel nods.
“You have my word,” she assures you, and you think you believe her.
You return to your tent that night, a small portion of your being wishing you had asked for a kiss. Yet another considers calling upon Glowie, in your frustration and loneliness. Instead, you take a deep breath, channel your inner calm and draconic dignity, and you meditate.