Precious BB!Doomguide
@twicebetrayer, @theweaponsmaster
“What they don’t tell you when you start being sent places,” Iswen told the acolyte Doomguide as she trudged back through the swamp paths of the Mere, “is that armor will save your life, and in turn, will take hours to clean.”
The abandoned temple had gone deeper than either of them had expected; they’d had to check every room, looking for just what had gotten the local dead stirred up and generally unhappy. And of course the artifact was on the very lowest level, but at least it had only been tedious to work their way through every room and not truly dangerous.
Once they’d descended below-ground, it had been both colder and damper, the waters - and worse - of the swamp seeping through the walls and floor, dripping onto them both. Now her chainmail felt nothing short of clammy and thick and heavy on her shoulders, and she dreaded the time it was going to take to get the mud and slime out of the links.
When they’d finally emerged from the temple, she could see that it was lighter - even under the thick trees of the Mere - and her shield had felt too damn heavy on her arm; he couldn’t have been in much better shape even if he was more used to the hours.
As it happened, her camp had been closer than his home, and she’d gladly offered him at least a respite after the work of the night.
She had just a moment to be relieved when she scrambled up the low slope and looked down on a meadow that was not covered in swamp water, her camp tucked on the far side, by the treeline. Then she looked at the two horses grazing, and realized just what that meant. “Oh, fuck,” she said without thinking.
“I should probably warn you that my partner is--” She turned to look Arizan, and realized exactly what was going to come out of her mouth. “...Is often a pain in my neck,” she finished instead.
