Penitent

They made good time as they walked up the road back toward Southwind. Pyotr may have been flagging a bit for a while, but after they stopped so that he could make some tea, he was moving with quite a bit more pep in his step.

"You're going to be addicted to that stuff by the end of the week," said Michael.

"Good! There are far worse things to be addicted to than tea. This way I have already given myself over to one that is not so bad, so I won't have so much room for those that are." He took a deep satisfied breath. "You are addicted to your new gods. That is a far more dangerous choice than my new tea."

"I mean, you prayed with me just this morning."

"I prayed once, after a night that would lead any man to prayers of gratitude. You pray many times a day. I worry you will start looking desperately for new things to pray to, constantly seeking your next fix."

Michael frowned. "You might be right… I'm already fiending for my next one."

"I thought as much… Marcus and I will schedule an intervention. We shall have you blaspheming and whoring as soon as possible."

"I mean… so far I seem to be able to indulge in the latter without too many problems."

"These gods may be more just than the ones people pretended at back home."

"They're certainly more active."

They decided to walk a bit into the night with their nighteye spells active in the hopes that they may still be able to catch up to Suraj and the others, then made a simple camp just off the road for the night.

The next day they got up early, had a bowl each of their new tea along with some of the meat from the previous day, then they started off again. In the early evening, just as Southwind was coming into view, they also saw a small group ahead. They ran at a light jog to catch up, and Michael was surprised to be greeted with warm smiles and claps on the back.

"Back just in time," said Suraj, nodding at them. "Did you find what you were looking for?"

Michael nodded. "My trip brought me closer to the gods, yes."

"Is that why you both smell of booze and sweat?"

"What's closer to the gods than that my friend?" asked Pyotr.

Suraj chuckled a little. "Fair enough. You two are going to be fitting in very well with the others."

They reached the small abandoned farmstead where Gemini had set up and quickly found that they were the first ones to make it back.

"The twins sent a runner back to say their rift was closed, but they have a lot of wounded to move. No contact from the other group."

That worried Michael, but he took a breath and said a quick prayer for them. They had larger groups and were all well equipped and capable. Davi and Marcus could handle themselves well, and neither would hesitate to flee if they needed to. Lys was with them too and she certainly gave the impression of someone competent to work with.

Michael made his way to his tent to drop off most of his supplies and took a moment to go through his equipment. He drew his new shortsword and found that aside from a few dings it was still in good shape. He pulled out his thicker, heavier sword and frowned. While it had lasted longer than his first sword had when using it for smiting, it was also starting to corrode and blacken. He poked at it a bit and it felt brittle. If he was going to be dealing with rifts regularly he needed a better solution.

He did what he could to fix up his equipment and then took a moment to pull his mirror out of his pack. He wasn't certain, but he felt as if he'd experienced some changes.

Titles:

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Michael Mann

The Restored

The Wound Man

Godseeker

Champion of Seras

Champion of Nykas

Deeds:

Bridge Holder

Revenge Denier

Run Conqueror

Resilient Competitor

Fort Healer

Righteous Defender

Castle Taker

Baron Breaker

Rift Sealer

Warrior Mender

Blessings:

Healing

Pain Transfer

Smite

Bless

Michael smiled, it seemed that his devotion of the fight to seal the rift to Nykas had been rewarded. Either Nykas was now strong enough to grant it to him or he'd done enough to earn it, or some mixture of both. He focused in on the title more closely.

Champion of Nykas

Grants:

Very Minor Reaction

Very Minor Magicka

Magicka was a surprise. He took a moment to sense the channels he had forged over the last year and did sense a small boost to how much was pooled in there overall. Not enough to start throwing fireballs like Ollie, but enough to strengthen his shields or maybe allow him to start experimenting with a few of the more draining things he'd seen Ollie manage.

He wrapped the mirror back up and slipped it into his pack before sliding into his tent and laying down on his bedroll. He spent some time sitting up and worrying about the others, but calmed himself down with some prayers and found himself sleeping peacefully through the night.

…

The next morning, Michael decided to take his coin into the city to see if he could find a blacksmith. Before heading into town though he found a basin that he cleared out and took some time to scrub himself clean with some soap he'd bought back when he first arrived in Swandia. He felt a bit exposed, but it was early and the camp wasn't exactly full with most everyone dealing with other rifts. Once that was done he grabbed a relatively clean outfit from his pack and got dressed before packing in all of his armor and weapons. He'd done what maintenance he could, but there were limits and he wanted to maintain everything as well as possible. He'd gotten a few estimates of what a new suit of armor would cost, and he did not want to have to part with that much coin any time soon.

He looked for a little while to see if he could find Pyotr, but he seemed to have disappeared into thin air after the previous night.

"Looking for Pyotr?" asked Clara, the young mage. "I think I saw him head into Southwind with Syl."

Michael laughed, impressed that Pyotr was back to chasing the elven scout after only just spending the night in the hidden village. "Of course."

"Are you headed into town?"

"Yeah, I was hoping to find a blacksmith."

"Oh, I just heard from DeAngelo and Cras that there's a dwarven blacksmith here who does good work."

"A dwarven blacksmith," he laughed a little.

"What's the joke?" asked Clara, seeming as if she was a little worried he was laughing at her.

"Oh, nothing. Just reflecting on how funny it is that my life has become what it is. That and I had a dwarven friend named Dugan back in Stent that told me that any dwarf working on the surface as a blacksmith is only half as good as any that stayed in the mountain. He also told me they'd be twice as good as any human blacksmiths."

"Seems like you're in luck then. Want some company? I don't want to just sit bored and wait for the others to all make it back."

"Sure."

They walked into town together, passing a few of the others mercs that were in town. The guards were eyeing them carefully, but Michael couldn't blame them. A bunch of armed strangers coming into town, for good reason or not, warranted a bit of extra attention. Before they reached the smith, whose forge Michael was able to locate even at a distance due to the black smoke rising from it, they reached a dressmaker that Clara wanted to dip into.

"I'll only be a few minutes," she said as they walked inside.

Michael sighed. He'd heard that exact phrase in that exact tone from Sara and Laura many many times in his old life. He was guided to a comfortable place to sit by the elderly seamstress and spent some time helping Clara pick something. He originally considered heading to the blacksmith himself, but decided it would be rude to leave her alone. Besides, he found himself enjoying it as little memories of his wife and daughter shopping together with him popped randomly into his mind.

"You're actually quite good at this," said Clara as the seamstress stepped into the back of her store to grab some fabric.

"I had a wife and daughter back on Earth. It was hard not to pick a few things up with them talking. My daughter worked as a personal shopper for a while too and I wanted to be able to talk to her about it."

"A personal shopper?"

"It's someone a rich person pays to shop for them."

"That…is idiotic."

"I thought so too, as did my daughter, but the money wasn't very idiotic at least."

Clara chuckled. "Coin makes many stupid things feel smart."

She wrapped up with the dressmaker, choosing a long blue peasant dress. When he'd referred to it as such she'd taken some offense before he explained that's what the style was called back on his world. He'd gotten so used to speaking Hume he sometimes attempted translation of phrases and words that made perfect sense in English but led to more than a little confusion.

They went to the blacksmith, finding the muscular dwarf stoking the flames of his forge with a half dozen different pieces of armor and weapons scattered around him.

"By the gods below! I'm starting to get tired of you people's gold. Can't you give me a break?"