Naethra inspected the gem. Fifty gold was quite a sum... definitely more money than she'd ever had to her name before setting foot in this dungeon (or realm, as she was beginning to fear). An now the salary of a few years had been converted into a gem. It was dazzling, glinting in richly fractured light, subtly tinted in the way only diamonds seem to manage. With the old mines and dwarf realms cut off from the cities of Sienhelm by the Wilds, gems like this were heirlooms and estate treasures. On its own it was an absurdly expensive bauble... but Naethra could feel how it bent and shaped and fractured light, and somehow knew those same principles would work for the spell she had in mind.
The tears were almost gone.
She felt filthy. Filthy for every transaction with the entity that had brought her here, filthy for her faithlessness, for breaking her pact, filthy from her own weakness. Also, filthy from having worn the same clothes for several days of fighting and hiking, but that was a rather more literal filthiness. Her clothes were probably a lost cause at this point, but she still had to get rid of her old armor, so she figured she might as well try and trade for a new tunic or something. She cast a dubious glance at the hand, certain that she didn't want to wear whatever degrading scrap or trinket it would produce.
"Thank you," she said,slipping the gem into a pouch and walking away from the shrine.
She felt... almost stable. She'd see if she could trade her old armor for some fresh clothes with anyone roughly her size. Not a tavern uniform, though. She never wanted to think of that place again. Even the notion recalled her time inanimate, and made her shudder. She tried to grab onto that. That helplessness, that horrible, cloying, drowning pleasure... she broke the pact so that could never happen again. There... would be consequences. If she survived. Maybe reconciliation. Maybe... what in the hells happened that night? What was that seed? Was any of it real? Had she been betrayed, or had she just double-cross the only entity who was willing to save her from terrible doom?
Naethra sucked in another breath, willing her pulse slow and wishing she still had teeth so she could chew on something. First things first. She needed clothes. After that, she needed to hook up with the others again. They'd probably be heading out soon. Since those thrice damned pills were rendered ineffective, it was unlikely they would have turned themselves into bar stools or tavern wenches in the fifteen minutes she'd left them alone. Hopefully, by then, no one would be able to see how shaken she was. She took another deep breath and began looking, for a tailor or maybe just a woman roughly her size.
