“It’s okay if you messed up in the past”, Lyssa says reassuringly. “We all did at some point. Don’t let the trial get to you. I understand it’s difficult - believe me, I do - but you must not dwell in those thoughts. They’re toxic.”
Oslando agrees with her in his head, but he doesn’t show it in his face. She has a point, he does know that, but something doesn’t feel right about talking about this part of his past. He doesn’t want to show and admit he feels ashamed.
“We’re all screw ups, Oslando”, Bruq says somewhat comfortingly and he smacks him roughly on his shoulder. “That’s why we all get along so well.”
The satyr’s grin reveals his slightly yellowed teeth. It’s the first time he is so close to the half-elf while smiling that only now he notices one of Bruq's teeth is chipped.
“Speak for yourself, hunter”, the cleric snarls.
Dargothoth leans with his back against the wall, arms crossed and expression displeased, like most of the time.
“Don’t be like that”, the hunter replies. “You’re probably the biggest screw up of all of us.”
Even though Bruq says it with a teasing laugh, there is definitely truth in the words he speaks.
The cleric pushes himself off the wall and walks towards the hunter, but he gets distracted by the black demon that picks up the last bottle.
“Can we skip the whole wine tasting act when you drink that piece of my soul? It’s getting a little old. We get that you can guess their fears based on taste, big deal.”
Daemion raises his eyebrows and wiggles his head, annoyed by the sivak.
“Part of the trial”, he answers bluntly. “And I like it. So you’ll just have to sit through it.”
He brings the bottle to his nose with a pleased smirk on his face and smells. He quickly puts it down and starts coughing heavily.
“Very funny, priest”, Dargothoth says with grinding teeth, “you want to show how rotten I am. Get on with it!”
The souldrinker covers his mouth and shakes his head.
“No”, he says quickly during coughs, “that’s not all.”
His eyes are wide and his body is restless, chest heaving to catch his breath.
“This was not abstracted by this fihyr”, he continues after clearing his throat. “We have a few fihyr downstairs and one of them is an elder. Basically, he is bigger and badder than all the other fihyr. It’s so rare that it abstracts a drink like this that I forgot how strong the smell and taste were.”
He looks at the creature at the altar.
“I can’t use this one for the trial. I need to get the elder fihyr.”
Daemion walks towards to door, first steps fumbling a bit, and the creature of nightmares follows him.
During that brief moment that he’s out of the room, no one dares to speak. They fear a lot of things: what did it abstract from Dargothoth? What kind of unholiness are they going to see during his trial?
The sivak’s face doesn’t show any form of anxiety, but his interest is peaked. This again, for him, proves he is superior to all the others. Even the gods of this realm can’t instill terror in his heart without the help of a stronger creature.
“There we go.”
The devyryl re-enters the room and behind him follows another fihyr. This one is at least three times as big and has more vicious maws and penetrating eyes. Thick yellow saliva drips down its green and purple tongues. Its tentacles reach for Dargothoth, but Daemion keeps the monster in place.
“Well, this going to be very interesting”, the draconian says with a frugal smile and narrowed eyes.
Daemion is visibly uncomfortable. He peaks down to the back of his right hand. A white draconic skull with crystals for eyes stares back at him. He remembers how horrible it was to receive that mark, how sick he was the last time he drank something coming from an elder fihyr.
He sighs, closes his eyes and drinks the whole bottle in one go.
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