Duty, Diligence, Evasion

[Pavel Vesely]

Leaving a familiar request to fetch him in the case of emergencies, or anything related to the Dungeon or tablets found within, Guy once again collects his campsite onto his back and begins his ruck into the surrounding woods. The way he saw it, obeying the Collective was not a job worth accepting, even if he was powerless to physically offer resistance. As such, he opted to focus on his gods-given task and assume his post as a sentry before the flooded ruins.


Setting up camp anew, he'd lean both Luin Airgetlamh and the steel glaive loaned to him by the Guild against one wall of his tent before laying out his other arms and armor for maintenance, carefully sanding his rust-speckled cuirass and polishing it with his cloak. It was going to be a long month, but between the scattered return to the inn for provisions, guard duty, and time to reflect on his briefly-wavering faith, he would have plenty to keep him occupied while Verbena was around.


Laying upon the fallen tree outside the catacomb, Guy carefully balanced himself, soon examining his gift from the Priestess, Nordin's Grasp. Unaware of its mystic properties, he nonetheless viewed the necklace as a blessing and complement to the growing collection of silver hands about his neck. Amidst his rumination, however, one thing unsettled him: It was not Nero's strength, nor the fact that he had to cooperate with disciples of Saa, but rather, Moralltach. He'd gone against Maxim during the play he'd been cast in, and drew the black blade. He could hear whispers in his mind every time his hand drew near, as though it were crying out in hunger, boredom... bloodlust, and as much as he wished to discard it, he could not. What if it held answers to his past, after all? Yet, the eerie runes upon its face unsettled him. Were those voices truly Moralltach, or were they simply his own intrusive thoughts? The silent sentinel had much to dwell upon over the month to follow, his eyes soon falling shut.*

[Pavel Vesely]

Seeing his previous prayer as an insufficient apology, Guy, after a couple days of reflection, approaches the dungeon entrance with Moralltach in tow, and his personal Hand of Nordin wrapped about his dexter. Taking a knee, he plants the blade, leaning against it as he grips the ricasso in silent prayer. Letting his eyes fall shut, he focuses on composing a more proper apology than his previous admittance to frustration.