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The tension in her body was beginning to ache now. For the entirety of the walk back to the Keep from the Lyceum her instincts had been fighting her tooth and nail. She wanted to run. To leave. To do the only thing she knew when ever her past crept into her mind in unexpected ways but no. No. A deal had been made and she'd given her word and THAT was what kept her here; that ridiculous, stupid, tiny sliver of hope that Greg was truthful. That it could do this. Trusting the gods-damned floating pink jellyfish was why she walked the hour or so back, tense as fuck, and was now drinking in the chapel of Sarenrae.
The drink didn't help with the tension. Her shoulders, her jaw, her back and now her head was starting throb. The drink was there to soothe the thoughts running around in her head at breakneck speed. It didn't lessen their existance but it made them hazier and harder to latch onto while they bounced back and forth. At least it was quiet in the chapel with only an elderly gnomish cleric puttering about nearby who saw fit not to speak to the woman currently staring into the cup of whiskey, circling her fingers on the underside. Every so often she'd take a slow drink and savour the burn and the ember-lie heat in her stomach. Oh she was going to regret this in an hour or so but fuck it. Fuck today. Fuck Greg.
At least the sunlight through the stained glass windows was warm. Fall was in full swing and that left the air with a lingering chill so it was a little cool in the chapel, making the beams that much comfier. Slowly her body was beginning to relax. Her heart, which she swore had been beating hard enough to hear, was calming. A bit. Maybe she could simply stay here and out of the way until heading upstairs for a scalding bath and then a night to herself with Bellerophon to work out the stress.
And then came the heavy, clunking steps down the hall. Please, for the love of whatever god is listening, please do not let the-
No sooner had she begun to think that than the footsteps got suddenly closer, louder, and they were now clearly unhappy. Great. Perfect. Just what she needed right now; the only person in the group that had any reason to be suspicious about her before Greg dropped part of her name. And judging by the cadence of his steps the Warforged was also a very unhappy bunny. Closing her eyes she lowered her head with an almost inaudible groan. Fortunately for the warlock however Rune was distracted by the little cleric gnome into a conversation that gave her the opportunity to sneak out...
---
Our last session left off with Caz hiding out in the chapel of Sarenrae, avoiding the party because her future pact god deadnamed her twice in like ten minutes; the second time it was trying to be helpful. Somehow. The Warforged Cleric is suspicious of her because he rolled a nat 20 in Gilmore's when she lied about getting a book 'for her brother' and so he's the only one who has reason to think something's up, even if he's not sure what.
Caz is my little anxiety anarchist and i love her. Rune belongs to a frieend.
The drink didn't help with the tension. Her shoulders, her jaw, her back and now her head was starting throb. The drink was there to soothe the thoughts running around in her head at breakneck speed. It didn't lessen their existance but it made them hazier and harder to latch onto while they bounced back and forth. At least it was quiet in the chapel with only an elderly gnomish cleric puttering about nearby who saw fit not to speak to the woman currently staring into the cup of whiskey, circling her fingers on the underside. Every so often she'd take a slow drink and savour the burn and the ember-lie heat in her stomach. Oh she was going to regret this in an hour or so but fuck it. Fuck today. Fuck Greg.
At least the sunlight through the stained glass windows was warm. Fall was in full swing and that left the air with a lingering chill so it was a little cool in the chapel, making the beams that much comfier. Slowly her body was beginning to relax. Her heart, which she swore had been beating hard enough to hear, was calming. A bit. Maybe she could simply stay here and out of the way until heading upstairs for a scalding bath and then a night to herself with Bellerophon to work out the stress.
And then came the heavy, clunking steps down the hall. Please, for the love of whatever god is listening, please do not let the-
No sooner had she begun to think that than the footsteps got suddenly closer, louder, and they were now clearly unhappy. Great. Perfect. Just what she needed right now; the only person in the group that had any reason to be suspicious about her before Greg dropped part of her name. And judging by the cadence of his steps the Warforged was also a very unhappy bunny. Closing her eyes she lowered her head with an almost inaudible groan. Fortunately for the warlock however Rune was distracted by the little cleric gnome into a conversation that gave her the opportunity to sneak out...
---
Our last session left off with Caz hiding out in the chapel of Sarenrae, avoiding the party because her future pact god deadnamed her twice in like ten minutes; the second time it was trying to be helpful. Somehow. The Warforged Cleric is suspicious of her because he rolled a nat 20 in Gilmore's when she lied about getting a book 'for her brother' and so he's the only one who has reason to think something's up, even if he's not sure what.
Caz is my little anxiety anarchist and i love her. Rune belongs to a frieend.
Category Artwork (Digital) / Fantasy
Species Unspecified / Any
Size 677 x 900px
File Size 313.9 kB
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