| Letters.
Sitting in a familiar Fronepu tavern with a bowl of stew, Nerta notes how quiet it is this time. The chill of winter and the armies of the Sunken Kingdom on the march gave a far more oppressive atmosphere than a tournament rioting in the streets.
She'd come out of the sewer with the head of a bogwraith to the tavernkeeper's insistence on a meal. It was an added reward to the posted bounty, but a welcome one.
The letters less so.
The Old Man had frowned and tisked, muttering about the Valentic Order throughout reading her the exchanges. Finally she'd interjected with the stab of a spoon.
"What does it matter what some Patrician on the other side of the world thinks about temples?"
"Nerta, I'm going to assume your tired after hunting beasts in the dark." Pretending to sit next to her the shade sighs and gestures to another scroll, "This faith they speak of is expansive and by these very accounts, militant. Nevermind that conflict between humanity is one of our greatest weakness, to anger this faith is to invite some crusade or another."
With a sigh the woman leans back and scrubs her face with one hand, trying to wake herself, "Okay, so why then? Why are we even talking about this?"
"Well..." The specter scratches at his beard, ethereal grave dust drifting, "Though many adopt the the old ways and seek to win the love of the Gods, they retain newer ways of thinking. Valentic ways, we called it back in the day."
"Yes you muttered about them, with the same tone you use for 'barbarians'," her tired voice dry, the woman shifts in her seat and tries to stretch her back against the corner.
The Old Man smirks, "Good catch. The Valentic Order was alwasy more militant, more concerned with orthodoxy, truth," he pauses, "and power."
"Mmmm," she winces and adjusts the digging pressure, "So you figure these guys are just, what? Itching to prove they're right and Daishi is wrong or something?"
"A man who will lead a rebellion is a man of conviction, and those who will follow him are comfortable with risk." He raises a finger, "And power."
Signing the woman turns back to her stew, back still tight, "And you weren't?"
The shade's smile is almost boyish, "I had other avenues of power. Besides, the quest is too important to play dice for the fate of Beluaterra."
"Your piety still surprised me at times, so at odds with your cynicism."
"Piety is not as impressive when it comes from knowledge rather than faith. Before my death I walked the halls of the Gods and after," he frowns, "they made it clear the price of our failure."
"Ya... Humanity under the talon of a dragon, forever."
They sit in silence for a time, the stew growing cold as appetite fades. Finally Nerta sighs and pushes it away, "Fine, I'll get some scribe to write your reply."
"It would be easier if you learned how to write you know..."
"Don't start with me Old Man," rising to her feet she smiles faintly, "Besides if I do, what will you have to do all day?"
"Relax?"
Nerta snorts and pushes out into the cold, "You don't know how."
"No," he smiles, "I guess I don't." | 
