Fictober Prompt #15
Fandoms: Enderal
Warnings: vomit?? (does that count? idk just to be safe)
Characters: Gertrude, Calia Sakaresh, Jorek Batarr, Dunwar
Gertrude's first response to Tealor's ultimatum about joining the Holy Order was quite literally: "Not interested, thank you." She hadn't even meant to say it aloud; but it was apparent that four years of stress and two of hard drinking had eroded her filter to all but nothing. His reaction had been more or less what one could expect from an Arantheal, and now she was doing it anyway.
The thought was probably funny, but she was not really in a position to appreciate it. She, the Shadowgod, slayer of the Lightborn, becoming a Keeper in Tealor Arantheal's Order. The number of times her employment was getting flipped was not particularly pleasant, though ironic.
Gertrude was beginning to think there was some sort of Deity, and something she had done had mortally offended it. There was no other explanation she could think of for the amount of slag she had gone through.
There were two novices who shared the dubious honor of being inducted into a religious order that was now essentially obsolete; a short, stocky, dark-haired girl with a strange mark on her cheek, and an Aeterna who was nearly taller than she was. Calia greeted her warmly enough, and despite her bad mood, Gertrude couldn't help but be gruffly warm in return. Dunwar, the Aeterna, was nothing of the sort, and Gertrude relished even the small vent that lashing out at his obnoxious airs offered.
Jorek was blunt and obviously bitter about her acceptance into the Order. Gertrude rather liked him, in a peculiar sort of way; despite the fact that he obviously didn't like her. His animosity she could handle.
The visions... she had a harder time with those.
She was half-way across the stone bridge across the river when she smelled something like brandy-breath on the air, and then, as if she had been struck over the head, she doubled over, the world slowing like she was stuck in thick honey.
"...bottle of booze and your bloody dust..."
"Coarek would have conquered the city!"
"...and then you will be ashamed..."
Her knees struck the cobblestones with a painful jolt that went straight through her spine and she retched, vomiting every scrap of food and drink in her stomach. Her head swam as if she was drunk, her stomach sloshed as if she was hungover, and everyone was looking at her like she had spontaneously become a Myrad.
Small, strong hands wrapped around her arms and hefted back to her feet. Gertrude staggered for a moment, but cast a grateful smile back at Calia.
She had been right about her.
