Rite of the Torchbearer

As the battle raged on outside, the calmer she seemed. Picking up the feather and burning sage from the altar, Felicia walked around the area performing the ritual preparation of smudging. The acolytes and the few torchbearers that remained took their positions, even the blind one and the one without legs. Their faces looked peaceful as they focused on their religious duty. They did all of this knowing that, outside, Athrogate and only a handful of temple guards fought a full contingent of Luthcheq soldiers. It was a battle they were going to lose and inside were only Jarlaxle and the torchbearers themselves to stand between the madmen and the former slaves of Shussel.

Despite this the faithful concerned themselves with the ritual rather than mounting a good defence, a chant starting up as Felicia finished her round.

How clerics could so firmly believe in their deities, especially after decades of silence, as was the case with Hekate, puzzled him to no end. He'd never bent knee to a god - or goddess for that matter - and he wasn't about to now. Jarlaxle had already arranged for a safe departure for the three of them, even if he had to knock the stubborn princess unconscious to get her out of there. Then he'd re-design that drab and dull priestess dress, and he'd not accept any argument on her part.

Until he saw how the outfit looked like from behind. In that moment he immediately changed his mind.