Myrtha reflected quietly at Chase’s words. The warrior-woman had not known Reptile that much better, though they had travelled two full weeks together, on their way to Hochoch. He’d been agreeable and selfless, happy in both the seclusion of the wilderness road, and the modest comforts of the settlements they rested in. She too, wished she had been able to know him more, to share more victories and losses, learn of his past — the distant one in his fatherland, and the closer one in which he’d made a living out of guardsmanship. Above all she wished he’d lived beyond that fatal club blow to the head, she wished she could forget the sickening crack of his skull as Hamiff’s cudgel crushed the life out of the young man’s body. Not for the last time, the rage in her called for vengeance, for the villager to be flayed alive for finishing what Derek had nearly accomplished.
"Hear hear," she muttered as the ranger concluded his short speech. She whispered, mostly to herself,
"Go in peace, wanderer. May the gods of the Old Faith, and those of the settlers take you to your eternal home."OOC:
Being Flan, I picture Myrtha as more inclined towards a Druidic religious tradition, rather than that of the Oeridian or Suloise migrants who settled the flanaess. I hope it makes sense.
Once the mortuary rites have been accomplished, Myrtha would like to:
- ask Olpert if he can recommend a trainer I. Town;
- try to figure out if Bertrand’s sword is magical or high-quality;
- get her share of the loot, setting aside 30 for her training, and then handing what she can to the Jarls.
