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Forms of Worship

Lucian stands before the gathered followers, within the great hall of the Church of the Arcane Arbiter. He wordlessly draws his sword, and hands it to the closest worshipper.

“Sell me this sword.”


“You are here because you understand the value of trade. Show me. Sell me this sword.” Lucian looks on expectantly.

“Well… This is a fine blade, the balance near perfect, the design so cleverly done that it appears as a seamless whole -”

Lucian gives a dismissive wave “Not convinced, pass it to someone else to try.”

The sword is duly passed to a well dressed merchant. “This sword was forged in the heart of a mountain by the great spirit -”

Lucian cuts him off. “Zachary, much as it would be amusing to see what curse my cousin would give you for making a deal under false pretences within his church, it would be far too much effort to deal with the fallout. Pass it on.”

A young woman is the next to receive it - her satchel branded with the sigil of the college of the stars, and the crest of some minor noble house on her jerkin. She takes a look around the room as she balances the fine blade on her fingers. Her eyes settle on a burly gentleman elsewhere in the audience. “You - go stand next to Lucian.”

As he moves, she mutters under her breath - even those that can't sense the wave of mana can tell that she's casting something. The brute's eyes flash red, and his swinging arm hurls Lucian across the room, his barrier flaring.

“Hey Lucian, want to buy a sword?”

resources/fic/forms_of_worship.txt · Last modified: 2016/09/26 11:17 by michaelc