in tenebris est veritas.
A rattling sigh escapes them, one which could have been mistaken for mere exhaustion considering the awkward burdens on either arm. But so too is it a noise of tested patience. There is a sort of solace in having company for such a chore, but Chaele finds themself in a similar dilemma as Talyson: they have not yet decided if this particular companion is a worthwhile diversion or a tiresome distraction.
“And what is a cultist, to you?” They rejoin, more to fill the silence than to challenge the word. “I follow no leader, worship no god. One could argue that pretense is all we are. Mine is made of masks and lectures, yours of fuss and bluster.”
Socially adept, Chaele was not.
Finally a suitable clearing rounds into view, a small but dry-enough hill risen by the roots of a particularly large tree. It must have shaded out its brothers in the daytime, long branches and thick, drooping foliage blotting out the stars where the shaman drops their load. Immediately they begin to gather what muddy stones might be found into a small fire circle, presuming the man will stick around. “Will you help me prepare the fire?”
“And what is a cultist, to you?” They rejoin, more to fill the silence than to challenge the word. “I follow no leader, worship no god. One could argue that pretense is all we are. Mine is made of masks and lectures, yours of fuss and bluster.”
Socially adept, Chaele was not.
Finally a suitable clearing rounds into view, a small but dry-enough hill risen by the roots of a particularly large tree. It must have shaded out its brothers in the daytime, long branches and thick, drooping foliage blotting out the stars where the shaman drops their load. Immediately they begin to gather what muddy stones might be found into a small fire circle, presuming the man will stick around. “Will you help me prepare the fire?”
