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The movement of the treetops behaved like the tides of the South Sea, pushing and pulling in waves. Every flippant twist and turn of the leaves left the horizon glimmering and blazing in the setting sun, the kaleidoscope sky stretching over the wind broken mountains. These colors were reflected in the clouds, which appeared massive and indomitable above them and their crackling hearth.
In the distance, the city of Coffinwell loomed. There were no lights, the stonework seeming to consume all color that surrounded it. The wheat fields that crawl from the spider webbed walls seem to become golden in this hour, the contrast between the beautiful landscape and the recovering city was stark.
A wistful sigh breaks this moment of pure appreciation.
“How can you look at that and not believe in the Almighty?” His voice came breathless. The man in question, the Priest, sat disturbingly close to the fire his party gathered around. The Priest was his title, leaving his name behind to be a vessel for the Lord. The heat burned his skin, and he reveled- it was cathartic, grounding in the face of such a sight.
Diego, the warrior, tore into his skewered meat, gnashing loudly. “Look at what?” Mouth full, he looked puzzled as he acknowledged the Priest.
The question was not meant for him, though. The mage, a young woman named Madeline, scoffed, “I can look at the world around us and believe in that, because I am seeing and experiencing it. Assuming anything beyond that without a first hand account…” She seemed hesitant to say, “..it’d be pseudoscience.”
Diego looked between them, “Wait, what are we looking at?” He whined, eyes searching.
“But you are a practitioner of magic, are you not?” Priest pointed out with a raised eyebrow, “Many in the cities would consider that a pseudoscience, the true magic you wield is a gift from the Almighty.”
Priest was a short man, long green hair bound tightly behind his head. His features were light, flat, indicating Batsurgian blood- the way he moved through the plains would confirm this, as he never tired throughout their travels. In battle, he was always the last standing- always the last, so he could dutifully save the lives of his fallen friends.
Madeline took a moment to gather her thoughts, “It’s.. my magic is a part of me, it’s intrinsic to who I am. Your powers come from your conviction-” She spoke faster, as if to catch up with her thoughts. “And I never said the Almighty wasn’t real. I’m simply saying that he may not be… well, All Mighty.” She flushed as pink as her robes, tucking her chin down in embarrassment, the large hat on her head beginning to slip over her eyes.
Madeline was a wonderful addition to their party. A scholar turned mage from Bloomingdale, she was an intellectual combatant to Priest and his philosophical investigations. Originally unaccustomed to the wandering life of a hero, she took to it quickly, abandoning her desire for many modern comforts- of course, she couldn’t let go of her ridiculous “traditional” mage garb that almost swallowed her in its fabric.
The Priest laughed lightly, “In the cities you would be ostracized for that heresy.”
A voice more steady, more assured, interjected. “Thank the Almighty we aren’t in the cities, then.” The Minstrel appeared. She clapped Madeline on the shoulder and sat next to her.
The de facto leader of their party had a quiet, but insisting presence. Her features were unplaceable to any one area- she seemed otherworldly in that. The way she carried herself, her mannerisms, they were that of someone far older and far more dutiful than a simple Minstrel. The best way Priest could describe it was… well, it was as if she carried the weight of the world on her shoulders instead of just a lute. And now, sitting by the fire, she seemed almost haunted.
Despite this, he grinned, “Hah, I take it you’re on my side then, Minstrel?”
“I don’t see the purpose in this discussion, Priest.” The Minstrel, Layla, fed the fire, “We have quite a ways to travel, and we’d be better off consolidating our strength and our-” Pointedly, she patted out an ember that began to burn through the hem of Madeline’s robes, “-attention, for the battles to come.”
The mage squeaked in alarm, scooting back from the spitting fire. She turned even more beat red in embarrassment.
“She’s right,” Diego added, “This place stinks of monsters. Any second could be a fight.” Although he had finished his meal, he licked his lips with the look of a starved man.
They had picked Diego up in the same place they had all met, through their mutual acquaintance named Patty. All that was said about the boy before they met him was that he was recovering from fighting monsters in the Djust Desert with nothing but a dagger. It was an incredulous story, until they had met the feral warrior.
Undeterred, Priest pushed on, “But you must think and toil with this at times, do you not?” He pried, “Even if you cannot see the Almighty, surely you can feel Him- does that not provide comfort and appreciation to your life?”
The flickering of the flame and the steadily approaching night cast a shadow upon the Minstrel’s face. Her eyes briefly flicked away from the hearth to Priest’s gaze, before darting back to the fire. In that moment, there was hurt- near vengeance.
Madeline began to protest in the background, sensing the change in tone. “Y-You can’t just ask people about that, it’s deeply personal-”
“No, no, it’s alright.” Layla assured, muted. “I dedicated decades to the Almighty and his Realm. But that was a lifetime ago, all I can do now is pray and work ceaselessly to enter His gaze and grace once more.” The world seemed to grow quiet with her words, as if listening. She threw a log into the fire and it barely sputtered.
Priest was briefly stunned, as was Madeline. Diego, however, beat them both to the question, “Your first vocation was a priest? That… makes a lot of sense now that yah say it..”
The smile that came upon the Minstrel’s face was tight, “In a sense, I was. But as I said, this discussion is for another night. Perhaps next time, when I treat us to a room with four walls and a ceiling, I will tell you all the story.”
At the mention of an inn, an unbidden grin broke Priest’s pensive expression, “With beds? And breakfast in the morning?”
The laugh that startled out of the Minstrel was more loyal to her current vocation, as it sounded like music. “I can no longer perform miracles, but I will try my best.”
The party dissolved into giggles at that, Madeline making an offhand comment on making Diego sleep on the floor, which spurred an impromptu competition of strength in which only Diego participated and only he won. Eventually, the fire died, and Priest began the first watch. It was only as he watched the smoke spiral into the starry sky that it occurred to him he should have asked what the Minstrel meant by “no longer”.