Iron Willed

Berra — Iron Willed

????, Storm Season, Movement Week


Context

Movement Week of Storm Season. [[[s02:session-28|Session 28]]]

Events

It must have been half a day since the group began to ride through Sartar instead of Prax, at a time when Yelm was already high. Berra spent an hour smiling but now as she angles Followed clumsily next to Xenofos’ new mount, she looks different.1Xenofos fails at Insight, while Berra passes.

Xenofos is quiet, almost brooding. He is scanning the horizon from beneath his brimmed hat paying scant attention to the group itself.

Berra says nothing for a moment or two, and then starts to move her bison away a bit. She might have changed her mind about talking to him.

He is scanning horizon from center to right and back. But only takes very quick peeks to left.

Berra nods to herself just a little, and draws rein, slowing Followed enough that she can come up on his right-hand side. “I… got a question,” she says, her voice pure North Sartar.

“Yes, what is it Berra?” he asks with a sideways glance.

“Um…” She takes a deep breath, then comes out with it. “Can iron eat my magic?”

He thinks for a moment. “I do not know. It is said iron can inhibit magic. But if it can sever your contact to your spellfocii or hinder the power of Gods? I do not know.”

“I think it did. A while back. I just kept forgetting to ask.” She looks uncomfortable, which could either be worrying or charming, depending on how one is inclined to interpret it. “But it wasn’t my link to the god. Only I’ve been worried since then.” Short, choppy sentences.

He looks at her inquiringly. “I am sorry I can not alleviate that worry. How is the cough?”

“Well, telling me it can happen helps. I think. The cough’s alright. Mostly breathing well, just a few moments. I left the worst of it in Prax.” She gives him a grin, irrepressible despite the worry.

He nods. “Good. … I was worried about that.”

“Yeah. Healing. It would have been bad if it didn’t. I think Rajar made.. I think he did something. I was a bit confused, though.” But she shrugs it off, gives the area to the right a slow long look, and relaxes a little. There might be other things on her mind, but at least one has been taken off it.

Xenofos checks area to the left and returns his gaze to the Humakti. He does not seem to relax at all, but is all tense.

“I’m thinking I need to give my sword to the Temple,” Berra says after some minutes. “But I don’t want to, because it’s mine.” An impressive change of subject, but it would lose points for being something she had already referred to in the conversation.

He looks at her again. You can hear him take a deep breath as if he had forgot to breath for a time. “No one can make you do anything” he says “is it not what they say in Sartar? But would you be happy if you do not do what you think is right?”

“I wouldn’t,” Berra says in a small voice. “I need to check with the Blacksmith, though. I think. Because I think he thinks it’s mine. So I don’t know.”

He nods looking a bit green. “I can see that means a lot to you. But no use worrying. He can probably tell you.”

“Want to go scout in the hills to the right?” she offers.

He glances to left. “Do you think that is needed?”

“I think so, yeah,” Berra says, although she looks at him, not at the landscape.

He nods and signals with his javelin to main group the direction he riding to.

Berra makes sure they have seen, and turns to take the bison off-track. Followed responds well, obeying the little barbarian like she was born for this sort of animal.

Xenofos heads towards a good vantage point in as brisk pace as seems reasonable in the terrain.

Berra takes Xenofos on a tour of areas that have comforting hills behind them, always keeping the group close, but making sure she is on the left and he can look right.

Xenofos glances the little Humakti with expression that has hints of suspicion, sadness and tenderness in varying proportions over his face.

After an hour or two, Berra drops them back onto the trail, and rides off to scout ahead for a bit.