This get-up she was in now made her feel a little indecent, and very exposed. But it was the native dress of the area, and to have any hope at all of speaking with the persons who interested her, she had to blend in. This was not an Empire for individuality. So she had forced herself to become accustomed to the thin linen trousers, the barely-decent breastband, and the loose, draped linen robe that covered very little. Some of the women around her dispensed with the breastband, even though their robes then left one breast quite exposed. Golivanth had been unable to bring herself quite to that point, and so bore the dress of a much younger person. But what was one more deception? She was also going into this under the disguise of being a human. This Empire, for whatever reasons it put forth, did not take kindly to her race, or any other race beside their own. She could only hope that her sources, and their predictions, held true about this place. If they continued as they had begun, the world would be a much bleaker place.
She passed by a structure that bore the sign of Asmodeus plainly on its lintel, and suppressed a shudder of distaste and fear. The people she was looking for would make enormous changes in the world...perhaps demolishing the worship of such abominations would be among them.
She finally came to the monastery she sought, and spoke with the gate keeper who stood beneath the sign of Irori. Dropping the name she had been given, she was ushered immediately to a small cell, deep within the monastery walls. There, the old man who awaited her greeted her warmly. His motions were as fluid as if he were twenty years younger than his deeply wrinkled skin implied.
"My dear," he said, "I'm glad you've come. Your subject will be here presently. Please, sit."
He indicated a set of flat cushions in the center of the room. Golivanth managed to take the unfamiliar seat gracefully. The old man joined her, settling onto his own cushion with no more visible effort than a leaf falling.
"I should let you know," the old man said, "that he's likely to be very terse with you. It's just how he is. He dislikes questions, and he can be very intimidating and gruff. His life has molded him so, and you must be aware of that."
She nodded. Then, the door of the cell opened, and in came a tall, powerfully built young man, with skin dark with street grime and laced with scars and cuts. His eyes blazed with an expression that made Golivanth think of caged lions and their fierce stares. The old man didn't rise, but instead waved the half-orc over.
"This is one of my students. His name is Baradin," he said simply. "Baradin, this woman wishes to speak to you."
Baradin sat on the cushion at his teacher's gesture, and eyed Golivanth, his posture like a wound spring ready to pounce on the merest hint of danger. He said nothing, however, and only nodded.
Golivanth coughed a bit, and began with the simplest of questions. "How old are you? How did you come to the monastery?"
"I was born twenty-five years ago, in a monastery of Irori. Not this one," he said before she could ask for clarification. "In the country. I was brought here by Master Da Rill."
She nodded and continued. Baradin's posture indicated that his patience, or his time for this interview, was short.
"What was your first mission - your first adventure?"
Baradin considered that for a short moment, then replied, "My first mission as an adventurer was when the Prefect noticed me fighting humans in the street. He offered me pay and safety in exchange for my violence."
Golivanth blinked. "I see." Then, gamely, she went on. Baradin's eyes watched her with the same intensity a lion might show to a snake.
"I hear you are now working with some others," she ventured. When he didn't cut her off there, she asked, "Are they easy for you to work with? Do you feel you are a team?"
Baradin snorted. "My companions and I work for the emperor in various capacities, so we've done missions together before. I find Mercer to be a sub-par fighter weighed down by his faith, and Acacia to be a blind zealot. However, their combined power equals mine, and the additional bodies permits additional accountability so I don't bear the brunt of retaliation for failure." He lifted one shoulder in a mildly dismissive gesture. Golivanth saw a glint in his eye that made her think perhaps he enjoyed whatever mayhem he and his teammates got into, no matter what he might say.
"What if you had a young admirer? Would you give advice -"
Baradin cut her off. "That would not happen. My line of work is the only line of work for me. Half men have only one future here. I hurt people for a living. No sane youngster is going to admire anyone for that."
His tone was so casually brutal that Golivanth found herself unable to formulate a reply, much less another question. Silence dragged out for a few minutes, and then Baradin glanced to his teacher. The old man nodded once, and Baradin stood, without preamble or farewell, and left the room.
She watched Baradin leave, her brow furrowed. "I don't understand..."
"You don't need to understand," said the old man. "Only to observe and listen. Now, you've seen what you needed to see here. You know your way out. I must bid you farewell." And with no more ceremony than that, the old man, too, was gone from the little room.
Golivanth stared at the door, stunned. After a long moment she finally got to her feet, and walked out of the monastery. Her next stop was a different temple entirely, and another difficult subject to speak to.
As she began to walk in the correct direction, following the tiny map she'd been given, she wondered if she had made a wise decision after all, to travel to such strange places for knowledge of heroes from all over.
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