#clericaltendency

🐻 — @clericaltendency

Without the weight of cold steel to harden the blow, being run into by the elf was the equivalent of bumping into a solid, pillow-like wall. She was engulfed in arms she didn’t expect of a man as beautiful as him, the scent he carried with him stronger now thanks to it not hiding under the plate he normally wore.

Olithier was an affectionate being, she had already learned that, but she was discovering right at that moment that he had no plans to stick around. Just as she was about to lean her head against his chest and comment on the thickness of his arms, he bolted.

Gone! And without a single word.

“The hell——?! Hey, Pretty Boy, where are you goin’ now?” She couldn’t tell if this was part of a game or some affectionate pilgrimage he was on, giving hugs to everyone he could lay eyes on. Huffing, she crossed her arms and watched his disappear. Chasing him seemed pointless— he was too quick, and he looked like he had plans.

  — Falling into a familiar pattern was easy. Mace ready, spells prepared and into the temple they had went. But as ruined and abandoned temples always were, there was always that air of mustiness. That feeling of dread. That smell of decay. That one notion that screamed; there was something here. Something that should not be. 

Something that ought to be removed.

Of course, his first instinct had been to quietly cast a spell. One that allowed him to detect the presence of anything untoward. After all, it was just he and his companion and the preservation of the younger’s life far outweighed anything else. The outcome of which had come as little surprise. For abandoned temples often held within that of the living dead.

And so it was that falling into the familiar pattern had happened. His life's task, his own personal mission. 

Naturally, he had warned the other of the perils that lay ahead. A necessity, as far as he was concerned. Yet he was sure that there was a level of fierceness that had entered his tone, one wholly unbefitting of him. One not so common. One that generally tended to surprise any who knew Olithier to any extent. Perhaps that was the reasoning as to why the younger had said the words he had. That he understood just what was ahead, that despite this he wished for the elf to retain his usual composure.

He nodded, never once turning to look upon the smaller knight beside him, his brilliant blue eyes no longer shining but hard as they remained focused n the path ahead, “Please do not worry, I have no wish to, how you say, put your life in danger,“

— ☩   Ingus felt the hilt of his blade slide from his grip, preventing the weapon from slipping completely just in time with luck. His eyes were wide, set firmly on the elf. It was so strange to hear him speak in his tongue—as he had conversed, or attempted to, with him in some foreign language just moments before.

           “No no no, nothing like that, sir! I was simply being cautious and decided upon warning you about using too much spells... For our safety, not simply my own.” He shuffled on his feet to keep up, the tone of his voice softening the more words he said. “From whence I came, using healing magics are just as—if not more than—powerful as using fire spells on undead beings. Though it naturally repels them, it also allows them to know exactly where we are.”

           He knew that the man had not meant for him to be lost on his words completely, what with the inflections and smiles and expectant gestures that came from him. All that Ingus could do was only smile back, eyes lidding in misunderstanding, and heart hoping that he did not mistake his confusion with insincerity.

           He flashed an apologetic smile to the man, before taking his position beside him once more.            “The crystal should be somewhere within the centermost reliquary. I just pray that it isn’t too far-off from here.”