[While on a rescue mission gone crazed, a holy warrior and a rogue fight bandits, demons, and the urge to rip each other's clothes off.]
The mission, rescuing a princess, could be going better.
Séa is an earnest paladin, honest and gullible. Tash is...
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Trees grew sparse as the sun crossed the meridian, and the terrain grew rockier.
A fleeting smile frolicked to and fro across Séa's face. It's not the Crusade, but it's a journey. And it's not the ultimate quest, but it's a quest. By Torugg's empty socket, the air smells fresh out here.
From his rickety seat atop the undulating gelding, Ghomark glanced up at the pair perched on the tall charger. "Now, then. No possible spies out here in the scrub. Confession time."
Séa's eyebrows rose. "Short words from the wizard? Well, we'd better pay attention. Who is confessing?"
The wizard said brusquely, "The thief, first. Explain yourself."
"Oh, my. Should I be scared?" Tash drawled.
It took a moment for the word to register with the paladin. "Thief?" she blurted.
Ghomarck nodded sharply. Or maybe the gelding had stepped in a hole. He said, "Yes, Séa. Thief. Tash, you used us as cover to escape your mark. That is, your justly angered victim. It is time to clear the slate. Confess."
Séa now discovered that, while wearing plate mail, one cannot twist one's torso around to view a passenger perched on the rear end of the same horse. However, she did manage to flap her arms in protest. "You didn't really steal anything, did you, Tash?"
The white-haired sage favored the paladin with a sour expression. "Lady Séa, you're not helping. What say you, Tash?"
"Honestly, you are so righteous and serious. Lighten up, for feck's sake." The rogue huffed a lungful of air. "Yes, I took a purse from the man with the fancy shirt. There. Happy, now?"
"Oh, no," Séa groaned. "Well, we'll just have to give it back."
"The feck we will," Tash growled.
The negation flitted from corner to corner in Séa's mind, but no matter how many times it bounced, it failed to become logical. She tried again. "We absolutely should. It's the right thing to do."
"Stop. That will do," said Ghomarck firmly, "because we have more to hear, and I will go next."
More? Séa blurted, "Torugg save us! What is it, Ghomarck? If it's not theft, is it murder?"
The wizard kept one hand on the reins and clapped the other to his forehead. "Lady Séa, you're really not helping. The next point is not a confession, it's a mystery. It regards the man with the red embroidered jacket and cravat, and specifically the frilly cravat."
"The cravat caught my eye," Tash said, "but his coins were easier to nick."
Ghomarck said, "It is high quality, yes, but even more rarefied. Such scarves are made and sold exclusively in Mevia, by an eccentric gnome that harvests her own spider silk."
"Saying 'eccentric gnome' is a bit redundant," groused Séa. Why were they already on to a new topic? Why was thievery such a non-issue?
"Wait. I've heard of her," said Tash. "The 'bare-beaver weaver.' She wears only a layer of grease, so the threads don't stick."
