Snippet #1580195

The soldier looked down at the dwarf with something akin to disdain.
"I will need to see proof that our Captain has given you leave to pass," he told the dwarf, as though speaking to a child.

Now, Dessana did not get along particularly well with anyone. There was not a soul in the world that she would really say that she 'liked'. Even her parents had been endless annoyances. But the dwarf was a significant member of her party, and it was her duty to, alongside her party, rescue her kinsmen from whatever had taken him.
Thus, this mistreatment of Izhak rubbed her in very much the wrong way. She crossed the space between herself and the human guards in two strides, pulling out her amulet of Misara. She practically forced it into his face.

“I am the cleric, Dessana,” she told him, without the slightest quiver of emotion in her voice. “If you deny me passage, Misara will strike you down and bring you into the next life without a second thought.”
Power sparked in Dessana’s throat when she spoke the name of her goddess, as though simply whispering the word ‘Misara’ could cast a spell strong enough to destroy them all, if she wished to release it.

But the human guard was ignorant of such powers. He was the sort of warrior that Dessana hated; brainlessly following orders, happy as long as he got to bas a few heads together, and had enough coins at the end of the day to get himself good and drunk at the Black Hat Inn. She had seen them there every night, drinking and laughing together. Disgraces to their races, she called them; a name which sounded much smoother in elvish than in common.

“Zerval—” he started, and she knew the protest he was about to make. He would say that he worshipped Zerval, and that no other god held sway over him. It was an argument she had heard many, many times before, from humans as ignorant as this way. Not only humans, but mostly, for they were the youngest and most ignorant of the races.

“I care not which god you serve,” she cut him off coldly. “All the gods command you. All the gods could erase your existence with an errant thought. Now let me through.”

The guard hesitated, unnerved by the look in the woman’s eyes. It was one of the powers common to cleric; persuasion. Usually it took the form of compassion; for Dessana, persuasion came in the form of fear.

“I… need… identification…” he stammered.

Dessana hissed at that; like an angry cat, ready to pounce on her prey. Only a fool needed identification beyond the pendant of a God.

"Let. Me. Through." she commanded, her hand resting on the hilt of the blade Loto had given to her.
Shivering slightly, the guard turned and gave the signal to open the gates.