1 October 2023
When the templar captain stopped Fera and Kyra on their way out, Kyra groaned internally. Logically, she’d known she’d had it easy so far. The [x]’s weeks travel from Naothair to Cathwain may have been uneventful, other than a rare bandit or five, but she’d always known traveling with the saintess would come with complications.
Still, Fera was the saintess, right? Didn’t that mean her word was supposed to be law or something for these churchy types? What was the point of getting stuck with the job if the girl got all the responsibilities with none of the perks?
“I appreciate your concern, Captain Neumann, but Kyra has proven herself perfectly capable of defending both my person and my honor.”
“And I am grateful for her efforts in escorting you here to Cathwain. But now, surely we can pay her what she’s due, and assign someone more capable to stand at your side?”
Kyra growled and rested one hand on the head of her ax. Before either she or Fera could respond to the templar, though, a bark of laughter sounded from the gate. The three turned to find a hooded man reclined against the doorway, flipping a knife between his fingers. “Capable? Like the way you lot handled the [] invasion? Or how the [slums] are an absolute icon of honor and civility?”
The templar’s hands tightened into fists. “At the very least, we should be more capable of defending the saintess than some drunkard off the street.”
Kyra opened her mouth to protest, then cocked her head. He kind of had a point. At least about the “drunkard off the street” bit. From what she’d seen, though, she figured she could take any of these “knight in shining armor” types.
Based on the shake of his head, the hooded man agreed. “You’ve not even seen the woman in action. Don’t you trust your little saintess’s judgment at all?” Fera protested, but the man ignored her. “Look at the way the woman carries herself. Ten gold says she’d be able to take any one of your people.”
A familiar feral grin spread across Kyra’s face. “Sounds fun. Care to test me, Captain?”
Fera muttered, “Oh, pickles.” Kyra pretended she hadn’t heard her.