Show pageBacklinksBack to top This page is read only. You can view the source, but not change it. Ask your administrator if you think this is wrong. ======Questions and... Answers?====== It’s cold, here. When did it start getting so cold? How long have your hands been shaking? //Nothing but a test of faith, Salithra. Maintain devotion.// It’s damp, too. How long has it been raining? Are you boots soaked through? //Nothing but a test of faith, Salithra. Maintain devotion.// It’s dark, now. When did dusk begin to fall? Why is the path before you slowly disappearing into fog? //Nothing but a test of faith, Salithra. Maintain devotion.// Your whispers, trembling now beneath your breath, are less convincing with every repetition. It’s not supposed to work like that. The devoted, the //properly devoted//, they don’t waver. Their thoughts don’t wander. Their hands don’t shake. You stumble. Knees hit the rocky ground, hard, and you cry out. No-one approaches. You’re not hurt, not really, but it’s cold and it’s damp and it’s dark and, though you’d never admit it, you’re just a little bit scared. Years of donating food, donating time, and not one person approaches to help you when, for once, you’re the one crying out. You allow yourself this momentary display of weakness, just a few seconds, before your palms find your face and you scrub away the beginnings of a tear. As those hands touch the warm skin of the cheeks, they seem to know exactly what to do, before you can even think to question it. They slide up to the forehead, cradling, as your head bows down. One comes away, briefly, to mark the sign of three upon the ground, before returning to its blessed place in prayer. All is silent. All is calm. No longer cold, nor damp, nor fearful. Not now. It's not clear how much time passes you by as you hunch close in devotion. When, at last, your gaze allows itself to rise, twilight has fully engulfed the Bastion. Halos of light emerge only from the scattered lamps and beacons, throwing animate shadows against the rough walls of the buildings. It’s surprisingly beautiful – so beautiful, in fact, you barely notice the metallic glint from behind the infirmary. You squint. Surely not. //Surely not.// Feet almost tripping over themselves as you run, aching knees be damned, you reach the pile in a matter of seconds. The pile of corrugated iron. Not masses, of course, and quality far from ideal but… it’s exactly what you needed. You look down at your hands. Up at the fading light of the moon. Down to the iron. Before you can think to question it, a moment of thanks runs through your mind. //Blessings, Onóra. Devotion yields reward. Glory to the High Priestess. // And that’s when the gunshot rings out, sharp and clear. No time for theological musings now. You cradle as many of the corrugated sheets as you can handle, and you run. {{tag>writeup2 gm_ace complete}} turnsheet_bureau/2/questions_and_answers.txt Last modified: 2026/03/23 23:23by gm_ben