๐ฏ๏ธ from fal and minthara
fallahan.
there are loose pages slipping from the journal. oriax had been sewing them into the old book when the night had grown dark and he had slipped away to hide beneath the heavy blankets provided here by fallahan. looking at it, one can see oriax's clean and practiced script.
a peek wouldn't hurt, would it?
The last time I glimpsed Fallahan had been from the balcony of my home, when my father had been dealing with him for materials that only an ex-adventurer could get their hands on. I don't remember being seen -- but he responded with familiarity when we finally made the acquaintance of him and those he works alongside.
I must admit I find his company agreeable, even preferable to many of the people we have met on this journey yet. The others think I am losing myself to naivety once again, but I am simply glad for some of the comforts of home.
Perhaps I will make time to dine with our current benefactor on the morrow.
minthara.
there are diagrams on this page - half-sketched images of the sigil of the absolute tucked beside the skulls of myrkul, bane and bhaal. he's had a lot on his mind recently.
the writing on the page is neat and tidy, though it smudges in a few places where he's grown careless with the ink.
Minthara walks into the city with us. I can't stop thinking about seeing her in the camp, a tactician surrounded by stolen text, before we turned on her. I think there's still a crack in my skull from her mace. There's certainly a scar on my horn on the right side.
She swears vengeance on the things trying to guide her fate against her will, and I have grown to. . .trust her in some measure. Her rage is something comforting in the chaos of the city.
I need to meet with her and discuss our plans for taking the temple beneath the city. I'll deal with that in the morning.
inner thoughts.
