*The magistrate nods and smiles at Loviana's refusal of the bounty.*
"Ye be a fair and generous woman, and I'll be doing just that. Take your rest, and we'll provision you for your journey in the morning," he says with a nod, and leaves the two to their own devices.
"That was kindly done, Loviana," Orshallan says with a warm smile and a soft kiss as the two finish their supper. The room the two were given was obviously the inn's finest, with featherdown pillows and comforters, and a small bathroom all its own. The two can spend the night in each other's pleasureable company, and it seems that Orshallan is far less restrained than before.
*In the morning the innkeeper has a sack ready with a great deal of fine, home-cooked rolls and pastries, as well as a small pot of honey and two bottles of wine. Packing up, both can leave before the execution of the criminals they brought to justice. The day is slightly overcast, lending a solemn air to a day when death is to be dealt. However, the two travelers are far afield before the deed is done. Despite the gloom, the birds continue to sing, and the faint sounds of small and large game give both the impression that life continues unbidden around them.
*Both continue journeying for a week, learning more about each other and exploring the simple pleasures of life on the road. Between the two they have more than enough wealth to make their traveling easy, and enough strength to defend their wealth. Unlike Ron Killey, any further bandits that watch them have enough brains to recognize their power and give them a wide berth. Only once more in that week is the couple bothered by troubles on the road, and that by a crazed and starving wolf. However, it is the things off the road that bring the most concern.*
*Dreams of Loviatar's vengence plague Loviana, of needles, poison, acid, hot coals, knives, and other types of torture come vividly to her mind. Many of these are things she's used in the past, and she now sees the masked and pierced form of Loviatar inflicting these same things on her own flesh, not for pleasure, but for revenge. Twice Loviana has thought she'd seen agents of the Pain Maiden lurking amongst the simple farmer's cottages, but nothing seems to have come of it so far. However, she knows she won't be able to hide forever.*
*Through their travels, Loviana has been able to learn more about Orshallan. Noble-born and gently reared in the skills of a courtier, he took it upon himself to learn the path of a priest, guided by a vision he had after a hunting accident as a child. Scorning the decadence that corrupted many of those of noble birth, even to the derision of his peers, Orshallan entered the temple early, and became enamored with Heironeous through many powerful visions. It becomes fairly obvious in Loviana's mind that Heironeous is as much a part of Orshallan even now as Loviatar was to her.*
*The next place they draw near is a slightly larger town with the humorous name of Water's Otter. A logging town with an unusually good relationship with their local druid, she often entertained the town's youth with her otter animal companions as she taught them about the flora and fauna of the woodlands. Their loggers were well known for being able to ride their logs down the river with great skill, as well as being able to pick the most excellent of trees. There was a great deal more traffic here, as traders would come from afar to find the perfect wood to construct a house or boat, or to purchase a finely-carved wardrobe or cradle from the skilled woodworkers.*
*As the two draw close to the bustling place, they begin to share the road with a few other travelers, including one that Loviana would recognize as a priestess of Talona, the goddess of poison and disease. Feared and hated, but tolorated because of their skills at healing, they are rarely seen traveling alone because of the fear of attack. This priestess is a pox-scarred woman in deep purple robes reminiscent of a winding sheet. Thin and bony, with a cowl that covers her hair, and icy pale lavender eyes that start from her face. She rides a pale bony nag with a canvas sack strapped to its sad withers. The only touch of richness about her is banner fitted to a socket in her saddle, flying the purple triangle symbol of her goddess. As she sees Orshallan, she gives a faint mocking bow, one with he returns warily.*
