He watched the peculiar young nobleman stride to the door of the Guildhouse, collecting a more shabbily-dressed man loitering nearby whom Rhydion took for a servant. Shifting his concentration, he let the almost blindingly intense blaze of magic illuminating Lord Seiji give way in his sight to the more restrained (in this case) view of mundane auras, otherwise inscrutable details of thought, feelings and personality writ visibly to him in the form of shifting patterns of color.

Aster and the servant showed him little of interest, save that the connections between the three of them were still quite tenuous. Reasonable, for people who had met only the day before under violent circumstances; the meager threads of light which shifted between them suggested a bond which had had little time to develop, though it seemed to Rhydion’s admittedly uncertain interpretation that it was tinged by more wariness all around than he would have expected, based upon their story.

This was far from the first time he wished the so-called Helm of Truth revealed more than shifting displays of colored light, or at least had come with some manner of instructions. He saw no reason to disbelieve Aster’s account, exactly, but Rhydion didn’t need to wear an oracular artifact on his head to tell him there was more to their story than she’d told. Well, it was probably down to the sorts of secrets nobles and their staff always kept, especially as Lord Seiji had hinted he was some kind of refugee, or at least had left his home in a hurry and arrived in Fflyr Dlemathlys with little to his name.

What a curious individual.

Seiji paused at the door, turning to glance back into the Guildhouse and meeting Rhydion’s eyes. Not that he could tell, of course; he’d be staring at the closed visor of the Helm. Rhydion made no attempt to disguise the direction of his attention, though, just watching to see what the man would do.

He frowned in open annoyance, an expression Rhydion was not accustomed to having directed at him, but it was nothing compared to the crimson flash of anger that spiked through his aura momentarily before giving way to is apparently normal seething orange. He had been like that throughout the entire conversation, despite his apparent composure: constant, simmering frustration and annoyance, punctuated by miniature surges of open fury whenever literally anyone spoke to him. Not anger at anything, no tendrils of light connecting his aura to other sources. No, he was just mad. Generally. Rhydion had never encountered someone so fundamentally irritated by his own existence. It must be an exhausting way to live.

Then Lord Seiji turned and strode through the door, gathering his followers with a curt gesture. In a second, they were gone, leaving Rhydion to his thoughts.

Their short encounter had given him reason beyond the simple peculiarity of the man to dig into his story, but there would be precious few avenues to pursue. He couldn’t even place his nationality by his features or accent. Usually the Helm of Truth’s vision would reveal some hint upon which he could follow up; he was sufficiently experienced at interpreting its cryptic visions at this point. Lord Seiji was not the first person to thwart its power, and he was just like the rare others in that it wasn’t anything he was doing on purpose. To Rhydion’s knowledge there was no defense against the Helm’s sight, it was just that some people had something so single-mindedly consuming their personality that it obscured all other traces. Seiji was the first he’d encountered who was just congenitally pissed off about everything, but it did the trick. He had seen nothing of particular use in the man’s aura, save the incredible intensity of his magic. Nothing that offered him details upon which he could follow up.

Well, there was one. It was a tenuous thread to be sure, but it was what he had, and so he did not waste time. Rhydion turned and strode toward the keyboard, as always moving quietly for an armored man thanks to the Boots of Grace. The inanimate object had no aura and would reveal nothing to the Helm’s sight, but the woman with whom Seiji had briefly conversed was still over there, watching.

She straightened up in alarm upon realizing he was approaching her, self-consciously smoothing her robe and absently touching her hair. That was nothing compared to the roil of emotions which blazed through her aura, so many overlapping and shifting in such rapid succession that he could barely pick any out.

Rhydion did not grimace, even knowing his face was fully hidden behind the visor. He did not plan to wear this armor forever; sooner or later another would come along who would be a worthy bearer, and it was his intent to pass it on well before age or injury forced him to. When that day came, it would not find his social skills atrophied, and so he moderated his expression behind the Helm just as any well-bred person would do, anywhere. But by Her light, the hero-worship was exhausting to deal with. Particularly when it came from an individual with whom he needed to have an actual conversation.

In the last steps before reaching her he altered his focus, changing the glow of her aura from the basic emotional state to the glow of a Blessing. She was a sorceress, and decently powerful for someone in this little frontier branch of the King’s Guild. It was like a mental version of adjusting the focus of his eyes, something he had stumbled upon by pure accident a few years after first donning the armor, and which still left him wondering what other features the Helm might have that he hadn’t discovered.

“Good morning,” he said, nodding to the woman upon stopping before her and politely ignoring her star-struck expression. “My name is Rhydion.”

“Of course!” she blurted. “I mean, everyone knows—that is, it’s an honor, my lord—I mean, your—”

“Please.” He held up one hand, deliberately making his tone gentle even as he cut her off, a fine balance at which he had an unfortunately substantial amount of practice. “I have forsworn all titles so long as I wear this armor. We are merely fellow adventurers and members of the Guild.”

“Oh! I, uh…of course, I’m sorry. I knew that, I just…”

Confusion and embarrassment flashed through her aura; Rhydion hated to make it worse, but he couldn’t see any way around the inevitable next question.

“And might I have your name?”

Naturally, her face was so stricken with mortification that he didn’t need to see the surge of deep purple and gray that suffused her entire aura.

“Oh! By Her grace, I am so sorry. I have no idea where my manners are today… I’m Dhinell. Ah, Ezoreda Dhinell, Lesser Sister of the Convocation.” She made an abortive jerk with both hands as she fumbled to decide which heirat to use, then just folded them down. Rhydion politely ignored this, well aware that his unusual position threw a lot of social calculations into disorder.

“Ah! May She light your path, Sister. It is always a pleasure to meet a priestess in the Goddess’s service.”

“Perhaps She guided us together,” Dhinell replied, recovering her outward composure. Her aura, though, flared with a combination of religious fervor, eagerness, and sheer avaricious ambition that Rhydion had come to associate with the most annoying and dangerous members of the clergy.

“It may be so,” he said neutrally. “Please forgive me for so abruptly approaching you without an introduction, Sister Dhinell. I noticed you speaking with that foreign lord a few minutes ago. I wonder if you would deign to recount your conversation, and share your thoughts about him?”

“What, him?” Her expression crumpled, its disgruntlement reflected in the darkening of the invisible lights around her. “Well, he plays the keyboard beautifully, even if the music he knows is strange. To be expected from a foreigner, I suppose. But that is the rudest man I have ever had the misfortune to meet. We exchanged all of three sentences, and he managed to insult me in every one.”

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“I see.” That was not totally dissimilar to his own encounter with Lord Seiji, though he had been more restrained when dealing with his bodyguard. “Did you discuss anything of import? Anything which might reveal the reason for his presence here?”

She shook her head. “Just music. I didn’t care for his first composition, and he did not take criticism gracefully. Though he did go on to play something more suitable without hesitation,” she acknowledged, scowling. “If I may ask, your—that is, Rhydion, why the interest? One annoying foreigner is pretty much like the next, even if he does have nimble fingers.”

Rhydion was instinctively wary of her barely-contained hunger for connections and advancement; the patterns in her aura matched eerily with the career politicians he had known within the Convocation and the Radiant Temple. She was young, though, and not adept at such maneuvering, to judge by how closely her expression matched her true feelings. Besides, it would be terribly high-handed to demand information from her and offer nothing in kind. There was nothing in the minor mystery of Lord Seiji which suggested to him that he should keep the man’s secrets.

“He is Blessed with Magic,” Rhydion explained, “and more importantly, a healer. He said he had…‘minor spells of a medical nature,’ but he was dissembling. Perhaps with no deceptive intent; I do not know the customs in his homeland, or even where it is, but it’s common enough for noblemen in every country I have visited to understate their accomplishments out of socially acceptable modesty. The man possesses powerful magic—to an extent that I have rarely seen in someone his age. Either those medical spells are immensely potent or he has a huge catalog of them.”

“Then it’s true?” Dhinell burst out eagerly. “Your Armor of the Goddess does give you the power to see the truth of men’s hearts? I’ve heard the rumors, of course, but…” A moment later, though she controlled her expression this time, muted colors of unease and worry flushed through her aura. He could see the moment when it occurred to her that standing in front of someone with such rumored abilities might have its drawbacks, and it reaffirmed that Ezoreda Dhinell was unlikely to pose a threat to his plans. That would have been the first thought of a sharper or more experienced operator.

“Any artifact’s gifts of perception are quite limited. I have simply learned through experience to interpret people’s words and actions with nuance.” Now he was dissembling, but it wasn’t strictly incorrect: getting a handle on the Helm of Truth’s powers had required a lot of trial and error, and Rhydion did not expect he would truly master it before the time came to give it up. Regardless, he had never needed to be warned it was unwise to reveal the true scope of the Armor’s powers to anyone. “As it happens, I am interested in acquiring the services of a healer while pursuing my mission on Dount, but there are few registered to the local Guild, and all of those fully committed.”

“It is the rarest path a Blessed can take,” she acknowledged, “and even those who start out as adventurers usually graduate to a cushy job as a Highlord’s personal physician as soon as they can. Ah…sorry, of course you understand all that, I don’t mean to babble. It’s just…that guy?” She wrinkled her nose, expressing a sentiment very honestly reflected in her aura. “Forgive me if I am prying, Rhydion, but what task on Dount would require you, of all people, to need a Blessed healer? I thought you were practically indestructible to begin with.”

She was prying, even if it was a reasonable question; the emotions flaring around her were threaded with ambition and base cunning. Still, his mission here was far from secret, and in fact spreading the word to someone who sought out connections so eagerly might bring more talent to his side.

“I assume you have kept up to date with the posted notices.” He nodded toward the message board on the other side of the chamber. “The pattern of undead incidents have not become a major concern yet, but they are isolated on the border of Fflyr territory. It suggests the true source is deep within the khora forest, either some Void witch hiding in neutral ground or perhaps even a scheme of the dark elves beyond. I mean to find the truth of this, and destroy the threat at its source. Painful experience has taught me never to lead gallant adventurers against undead, devils, or any craft of the Void unless we have the skills of a healer beside us.”

He had an inkling what was coming purely based on the growing eagerness blazing around Dhinell even before she finally burst out, barely waiting for him to stop speaking:

“But that’s perfect! I mean, not the…zombies and Void witches aren’t perfect, or a good thing at all, I didn’t mean to imply that, but I can help you with that, Lo—yo—Rhydion! I am Blessed with Magic at the behest of the Convocation’s Inquisition, trained to seek out and destroy the taint of the Void wherever it rears its head! By Her grace, I have Consecrate, Sanctify, Burn Abomination, Divine Aura and Holy Light among my spells.”

“Is that so? Then perhaps it is indeed the Goddess’s will that we should meet.” Not that he particularly cared for this woman; even now, he could see her hunger for opportunity and career advancement overtaking the religious fervor in her aura. Still, the Goddess made good use of imperfect tools, and Rhydion did not delude himself that he was any less flawed a vessel. An Inquisitor was exactly what he needed for a mission like this, even a very junior and personally avaricious one. “What brings a Lesser Sister of the Inquisition to Dount, if I may ask? Are you perhaps here to investigate the same cause as I?”

“Ah…I’m afraid not,” she admitted. “I didn’t even know there was a zombie problem on Dount until I checked in with the local Guild and read the notice board. Actually, I was born and raised here in Gwyllthean. The Convocation gave me leave from my training to visit home and try my hand at Soulfire. I’ve already failed at that,” she added, not without bitterness.

“Pray do not be discouraged, Sister Dhinell. Soulfire has refused to select a bearer in her last three appearances. I suspect that in her old age she has grown…I believe persnickety is the term I heard used. If you are at liberty and willing to aid my cause, I should be glad if your presence at my side. Surely our meeting was serendipitous.”

“Nothing would give me greater honor, Rhydion!” she swore. He nodded gravely, examining her aura and withholding his opinions. Well, there was no harm per se in her using his mission and reputation to advance her own career, so long as she did her job well. The Inquisition did not tend to produce half-hearted agents, after all.

“This will not be a short mission, I fear,” he cautioned. “The need to investigate, especially in dangerous territory like the khora forest, makes everything more complicated by far than simply slaying a Void witch or errant devil. The mixed blessing of that is the time it grants us to recruit more companions, for I would not take on such a foe with only two. At minimum we will need a skilled healer. Perhaps another will come along, but unless that occurs, I would like to continue investigating this Lord Seiji as time permits.”

“Seiji? Is that his name?” Dhinell wrinkled her nose again. “Do you really think he is a good choice for this kind of work?”

“I believe that the Goddess sends me the tools I need to carry out Her will.” Rhydion shifted to glance at the door through which the lord in question had departed moments ago. “If a powerful healer is placed incidentally in my path just when I need one, experience has taught me to see Her hand at work. Besides… It is only a hunch, of course, but I think there is more to that man than we have seen.”

“He’s a—” She caught herself short of what was probably an expletive, to judge by the darkening of her cheeks an aura.

“No doubt,” Rhydion agreed, then went on more softly. “But…he was kind to his subordinate. And that says a great deal.”

“Anyone can put on a pleasant face when it advantages them,” Dhinell said skeptically. He suspected she would know.

“Indeed, context and agenda matter a great deal. It is precisely that which inclines me to seek out his aid. While in an emotional state in which most noblemen I have met would be either throwing a stomping tantrum or calmly murdering someone, while his new bodyguard was having an emotional crisis which unequivocally was wasting his time, he stopped to show her consideration. And not simply from bare politeness—he made the effort to think of a solution to her problem, one which will cause him further inconvenience later. I would much rather work alongside a man who is aggressive toward his equals and compassionate to his subordinates than the reverse. Obviously, one prefers comrades who are simply kind and well-mannered without qualifiers, but is it reasonable to ask that the Goddess send us perfect companions when we cannot claim to be perfect ourselves? She is adept at producing divine results from base components.”

He paused, noting her still-skeptical expression and thoroughly disgruntled aura, and added more pensively.

“I think…this Lord Seiji is a deeply unpleasant person who will try to do the right thing if he can. For the sake of the latter, I can endure the former. Can you?”

“As She wills it,” Dhinell intoned, sidestepping the question. “I…suppose it would be hard to call in aid from the Convocation, if they did not send you any to begin with?”

“I am here as a free agent,” he agreed. “The tension between the Convocation and Clan Aelthwyn will create complications that slow us considerably if we begin to import powerful Blessed from the capital with high rank among the King’s Guild or Convocation itself. I only hope your status as a Dountol native and relative novice will avoid such nuisances.”

“Oh, you needn’t worry about that. I have it on excellent authority that I am no one of political interest even to the Clans on Dount.” Her tone and face managed to mask the bitterness behind that statement, but it flowed through her aura like black poison.

Rhydion controlled his own instinctive reaction. This, too, made her a useful addition to his quest, even if it would make her rather a trial to deal with. A difficult person who did not bring political entanglements along with their skills was precisely what was called for here. Lord Seiji would be more of the same, if he could be persuaded to lend his power. But perhaps the mission would be to their benefit, too; after all, Rhydion had seen how the right quest and companions could bring out the best in the most obstinate people, and change them for the better. Sanora rarely acted with only a single purpose in mind.

“Then let us embark,” he said aloud, offering his hand encased by the Glove of Precision, “and execute the Goddess’s duty.”

“May Her grace guide our path,” Dhinell agreed fervently, placing her smaller hand in his armored grasp.

And so the quest began in earnest. Her will be done.