[color=9966CC]"I cannot think what sort of abominable act would deserve such punishment, though if one were to summon a powerful demon... no, no, that sort of person would already be unlikely to try and speak to the gods, surely... ah, actually, a thought comes to mind."[/color] Settionne said, which echoed Jezebeth's sentiments. For all her knightly life, she had sought an answer to her lack of divine favour, but to no avail. She had seek the wisdom of the most trusted priests, consulted librarians and their library, visited oracles when she could. They had all given varied answers, some common, others not so.

A particularly mad oracle had told her that she had committed a grievous sin in a past life - if there is such a thing as reincarnation. A philosopher speculated that the reason could lie in her lost memories, before she was 16, that she must have done something remarkably evil, and regretted it so deeply that her mind could not take the strain, thus forgetting. But what could a child do that must anger the Gods so much?

[color=9966CC]"You must understand, my lady, that most people are not in fact granted so much as a word with the gods they worship. Even the most devout priests of some deities are rarely granted interaction with them; why, I myself was just yesterday granted a minor miracle that I'm sure I would never have been so much as considered for under normal circumstances. Perhaps, then, such is the case for you: they may hear your prayers, but as is often true of deities do not respond... at least not directly. It could be that rather than directly assisting you, they have guided you on your path in ways that have not been obvious, such that it has seemed they've done nothing at all? "If you do things right," as they say..."[/color] Settionne preached, another addition to the army of clerics, priests, oracles, librarians, wise men and philosophers she had attended throughout the years.

Jezebeth gave it some thought as she secured the plate on her left leg, while the priest tightened the buckles on the right. Her back ached when she bent low, her wounds crying out at her, like ghosts of the past, like her unknown past.

[color=Silver]"Perhaps. I have been tutored in the mysterious ways of the divine, and yet I see only paths of my own making, nothing to suggest their help. Many of my peers had been blessed by the Gods. At the battle of the Twinbridge Peak, say - Knight Greymoor glowed red with the power of Rodgar - I was just behind him. He started chanting eldritch words, and the knights in formation around him were blessed just like him - all but me. We had been outnumbered by cultists and their demons 3 to 1, and we won the day because of Rodgar. There are a great many other accounts I can give you, I believe I can put to you that we, the Guardian Knights, are constantly under the gaze of the Gods and Goddesses. Yet I seem to be the black sheep... Even my enemies within the order had seen fit to insult me with the fact, that I belong with the outcasts and the treasonous! My closest friend, Elizabeth, even joked that I was Selene's avatar, and thus has no need for divine favour,"[/color] Jezebeth explained sullenly. Elizabeth had actually made some sense, considering the circumstances of her life. But wouldn't she remember that she was actually a Goddess or a representative of the Goddess?

The only other possibility that a priest had related to her was that she had already been blessed overmuch, having been born with such stunning beauty, beauty that could even return after the most disfiguring of scarring, that perhaps she was a heroine in her youth who had been touched by the blinding light of the Gods, or that she could be the subject of some obscure prophecy - for her circumstances were strange indeed.

Settionne seemed to consider this for a time, before the serious discussions on the dragon took his attention. They were done with her armour, at least. Jezebeth thanked him for his audience and help, adjusted her gorget slightly, and started gathering the rest of her things. Putting on her shawl. Putting on her standard loincloth. Strapping on her weapons belt. She hung her sheathes, and with still-shaky hands, picked up Kasdeya's Deathstroke. The blade was visibly shivering from her still-recovering strength, so she had trouble replacing it in the sheathe. It took three tries before she could get it right, all the while feeling ashamed and wretched ([color=Silver][i]how far must I fall?[/i][/color]). She sheathed her dagger on her left, which was easier. Next, entered her quiver of bolts and crossbow hook for reloading.

Wrapping her cloak around her, she fastened it, feeling a little awkward in it, as if she could no longer bear it, after what happened to her army. But it was a necessity, for she was cold. She picked up her shield, still splattered with demon blood, and wore it on her back. Looking into the reflection provided by a still-water puddle nearby, she saw that her cloak was also splattered in some places, her armour as well. The elves had cleaned much of it off, not for her sake, but theirs. She was only glad that they had courtesy enough not to burn her belongings and throw the ash and metal in a river.

Walking over to her backpack, she started rifling through her own things to check if anything had been stolen - but everything was as it should be. The bags of over 200 gold pieces were still there. Her fallen friends' pipe and wine were still there. Her flute, her rations, her dress and slippers, sewing kit, personals were all accounted for. There was one thing she could give the elves - at least they were not thieves or looters.

Picking up her bag on her right and her sallet helmet and crossbow on her left, she looked over to her whinnying horse and then to her new companions and former captors. She paid heed to the discussions on dealing with the dragon all the while, wondering if she should lend them the tactical edge of the Guardian Order. The answer was quick to reveal itself in her mind: No. Jezebeth just did not feel confident in that arena, for she was unreasonably afraid that she might doom them all just as she might have doomed her friends and peers.

Walking over to her horse, she secured her backpack on its back, untied it and lead it close to her friends.

She listened.

[@POOHEAD189][@Fetzen][@BCTheEntity][@Banana][@The Fated Fallen]