Mosur had already shrugged off the chill of Winterspring by the time he returned home. “Sorry I’m late,” he called from the front door. “I didn’t know how long it would take Dictator to get there.” He followed up as he passed through the small house and into the kitchen. He grinned as he watched the small priestess tip the contents of a teapot into an awaiting cup.
“Sit down, tell me how it went.” Saashenka smiled and carried the cup over to Mosur.
Mosur had long stopped fussing over what she could and couldn’t do, in fact some days he forgot all together she couldn’t see, something she took pleasure in drawing attention to anytime she could lovingly make him feel foolish.
Mosur wrapped his hands around the cup, the heat radiating through the ceramic mug felt good against his fingers. “She is…worried but reasonable…to a point.”
“Start at the beginning.” Saaska said calmly and sat at the table across from where Mosur had sat. Her own cup was still steaming.
Mosur smiled and cleared his throat. “Let’s see, where to begin. Dictator told me after Teldrassil burned down her wife, um, basically fell into a depression and went to be alone in one of the barrow den of Moonglade.” At least that what Mosur had understood from the conversation he and Koryander had. “I’m not exactly sure how Dictator figured it out, but her wife was being held there or kept there by an eldritch being,” Mosur shook his head as he said this. “But, they–some Templars–found her and helped her escape. Dictator described the place they rescued her wife from as some kind of nightmare city, with the only described denizen being some faceless one she called The Walker. She said they didn’t get all of her wife’s soul back, that she had lost her…empathy. Apparently this Walker also took something, some of the Marksman’s soul too years ago.”
“Mosur.” Saashenka’s tone was direct and tempered with concern. Her young brows furrowed and her eyes searched just off center from his face.
“Saaska, don’t worry…” Mosur said letting his tone drop into a softer range. “I was only asked to give advice. Dictator said she thought she actually had a few options. She could try to go back and reclaim the rest of her wife’s soul, an option which I greatly warned against, she also said there was some possibility of the soul healing itself, growing back maybe? I didn’t quite understand what she was saying, or who told her that. But I offered to ask if you’d be willing to take a look at her wife? …I also suggested she and her wife leave Moonglade at least temporarily, I can’t say why really, but I just didn’t think it was a good Idea to stay there. I suggested the Exodar might be a satisfactory place that was nearby.” He finally lifted the mug of hot tea Saashenka had prepared for him. He hadn’t liked it at first, still didn’t prefer it when given the option, but the hot drink had grown on him.
“Oh.” He said as almost an afterthought. He pulled a small rock from the leather latched case by his side and laid it on the table. A pale rock with a gold cross etched into it. “I’m going to slide you something heavy.” He said and waited for her to position her hand against the table. He slid the stone across to her. “Dictator said I might need this again.” Mosur smiled as he watched Saashenka feel the etching and look up to smile at him.
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