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chapter eight. the apple
They set out against a cerulean haze, for the sun deities were smiling upon them that day, touching every inch of landscape in a milky and radiant glow. Bird song trilled sweet in the crisp breeze swirling the surrounds, parting leaves to rustle, stirring tawny dust below their feet. It was the finest day Fallon had seen since parting with the western mountains, taking it as a good omen and spurring the haste of her step. She thought not about what truly energised her, a force far less optimistic and instead born of apprehension. An acknowledgment of this, even in the safety of her own skull, might threaten the tenuous handle on her nerves.
Astarion led the pack in confident strides, Fallon working with some effort to keep even with him. More than once she shot a wary look to her side, only to find her gaze returned. Each time Fallon would whip her head forwards, her lips pursing sharply as she attempted to ignore the obvious smirk upon his face.
She fanned the flames of irritation as the land sloped upwards, the incline pressing jewels of sweat onto the smooth surface of her forehead. There was no point in dwelling on his actions. She would hardly do so for stolen jewels or a pouch of coin. He should hold as much significance to her as goods to a merchant.
The group grew within distance of the goblin camp, the towering fortress rising against the landscape to cast a dreary shadow. As they approached, Astarion broke the uneasy silence.
"This should be simple enough. They're cultists, you see, for this 'Absolute'. Wouldn't shut up about it to be frank, but they're hardly cunning. Easily influenced by yours truly, of course."
Fallon frowned. "The Absolute?"
"Yes, the Absolute." He said in a bored drawl. "Some deity or ... Group hallucination or ... Gods, I don't know. Half of them were drunk out of their puny minds, and even if they weren't, I'm hardly in the habit of taking mad ranting into account. It has something or other to do with the tadpoles. They were calling their leaders 'True Souls', bit of a misnomer if you ask me."
"The gnomes mentioned True Souls," Marth said. "Suppose we find them at the camp, do we—"
"Yes, suppose we do. Would you care to wave through the bars at them? Maybe toss them a leg of turkey?"
"I'm simply saying that perhaps it would be worth investigating. There were children with them."
"If you plan on playing saviour, go right ahead, just don't expect me to bother with the same."
