As his companion from the fight looked at him with a bit of hesitancy Ray realized how unnatural his reaction to wounds and combat had really become. Of course the young man would be a bit panicked still, he'd just seen people die for The Wanderer's sake. After being impaled and killing two men Ray's mind felt as clear as day, adrenaline lingered but he'd grown used to that feeling over a decade ago. The part that always scared him after fights was that it felt right, providing a sick satisfaction, to have killed them...

The thought put a decidedly morbid look onto his face as he was again reminded how far he still needed to go to truly redeem his past. As Kvasir finished his introduction Ray felt a sense of duty to reassure the younger healer, an instinct that had only grown stronger in his years as a priest. 

"Don't down yourself, being acquainted with divinity isn't all it appears to be. Besides, flowers and herbs save far more lives." He forced a smile despite his broiling thoughts.

"Hmm, I feel it now. A bond akin to two mosaics thrown together. Each struggling to show itself through the intermingled pieces..." Qil spoke in vagaries, yet Ray could feel his focus on Kvasir clearly.

The strange words echoed in his mind just as a red headed guard approached. Her baring suggested rank and her words confirmed it. After hearing her request Ray was conflicted. It was of no mistake of fate that he'd been in the temple today. Not only did the thieves make off with something, likely an important artifact, but Qil seemed to hold a special interest in this Kvasir... His hesitancy arose from the fear he felt that more killing would only increase his guilt and pain as he slipped further towards his past self.

Even as K'vasir seemed to support the idea, asking once more for Ray's support in ending the affair, his fear almost won out.

"I, I'm sorry...I-" He trailed off as Qil interrupted him internally.

"Seeker! Do not let guilt drive you from your duty nor overwrite the good you achieve." He spoke quickly, a stern reprimand to his struggling ward. He was right, it was selfish and shortsighted to run away from this.

"I see no other choice... Can't let a bunch like this run free. Best gather any information we can and get a move on." He steeled himself, putting on a face of courage and trying to ignore the anxious feeling at the back of his mind.

It's strange-- sobering, really-- to see a man like Ray so clearly burdened by unease.

The other healer clearly has a good two decades over him, at least; he wears his age well, handsomely, even, but there's that sense of wisdom, of knowing in his eyes that Kvasir has always wondered over, the kind of gleam in the eyes that his own father has always had. It calls to mind those distant, hazy memories of being a clumsy little child who still tripped over his own tail, perched on the stairs, watching his dad mix medicines and talk with the patients who'd visit their cottage out in the woods, that same, knowing look in his eyes as he'd manage cheerful, easy conversation even amidst the most dire of situations.

It's moments like these, seeing vulnerability flash across Ray's face, that make Kvasir remember that wisdom is no shield-- wisdom and experience are merely the gauntlets you wear, components of your armor, but no more protective than the entire suit.

His tail flicks the air as he studies Ray's face, unable to help wondering what kind of storm is stirring in his companion's mind as the guard speaks up again.

"Thank you both," the woman says easily, though her voiced is dyed by no inflection, gratitude hardly edging her naturally sharp tone. "Your agreement to provide further aid is greatly appreciated. We are trying to get what remaining information we may, and then we will give you all of the details you need."

She doesn't wait for any questions, simply turning on her heel at a perfect, practiced angle and walking back over to her fellow guards, toward the bandit her allies are clearly still interrogating. Kvasir watches for a moment longer, curious to glean what he can from this distance, before turning to Ray with a concerned look undercutting his expression.

"...are you doing quite alright, friend?"

Kvasir's question brought on the realization that it had been quite obvious how distressed he'd been. It surprised Ray that the guard had not mentioned it. She'd likely imagined him to simply be shocked and distressed from either bloodless or battle fatigue. The truth would have worried her more.

"No reason to worry. I've just... never quite gotten used to... killing folk." It was a half truth, delivered in a slightly awkward tone. He'd never been a good liar.

He looked down at the giant hole in his robe and the blood stains that covered the rest of it, only mostly his own. Taking a bunch of the robe in his hand he pulled it tighter, covering the hole in the process. He tightened his belt, tucking the fabric in to hold it in place, before taking out his sword and wiping the blade clean. 

"There's also, well... It makes fighting bandits and the like a bit more difficult when you understand their plight." He looked at Kvasir with a grave expression, still cleaning the blade. 

An attempt to change the subject now mixed in with genuine curiosity. What Qil had said earlier stuck in his mind, a bond was mentioned, perhaps Kvasir knew something of them. 

"I hope I didn't scare you too much with the whole prayer and divinity stuff, back there. I doubt you've seen anything like that before?" It was a bit heavy handed and he expected either defensiveness or an admittance of ignorance on the subject. He himself would answer little, and this one had given no indication of having such a bond. 

Perhaps Qil had meant someone else... The guard? One of the bandits? 

For a man who'd taken to battle as effortlessly and willingly as Ray had, it's almost surprising to hear him admit that the weight of a life still feels heavy in his hands.

It's a sentiment Kvasir knows well, of course; he's no stranger to that heavy burden, whether on the battlefield or at the side of a patient, whether he's delivering a final judgement through the tip of an arrow or weighing the risks of a procedure that magic cannot influence. It never sits any easier, never feels any lighter, always a boulder amidst the stones; even for someone with the power to challenge Death, the power to stave it off and press the pulse back into someone's veins, holding the weight of someone else's life in your hands is a dreadful, uncomfortable feeling. It makes sense that, no matter how naturally a blade fits in Ray's hand, he'd still feel sin crawl against his spine after putting it to use.

"I understand that, friend," he says with a nod, his expression softening just so as he looks Ray over, thinking back to his father's eyes, to the wisdom that merely begets sorrow, begets a lifetime of witnessing loss and death and failure. "I've never been fond of it, myself. Self-defense is one thing, combat is another. I tend to favor putting Solaria's gifts to... softer uses, I suppose."

Kvasir manages an easy, fragile smile-- one that frays ever so slightly at the edges as Ray shifts the subject to divinity, to prayer, to the connection forged between mortal and immortal. Oh, he is far from unfamiliar; he knows well of the way divine bodies interconnect with those of mere mortals, knows of the invasive nature of the omniscient, knows of stolen time and memories that are not his burning in his brain--

He winces, even if only slightly, and prays it is imperceptible.

"...Oh, not at all," Kvasir says, forcing another feeble smile. "I'm... a bit familiar with it, truth be told. I lived alongside one of the nomadic tribes of the White Sand Sea for a long time. Their... patron of choice was rather closely intertwined with them, in fact. So it's not unfamiliar to me in the slightest."

It's not fully a lie, but it stings on his tongue all the same.

The way Kvasir responded had some slight hesitation, almost an uncomfortableness to it. He was likely not telling all that he knew, but he didn't seem to be lying that Ray could tell. Whatever this tribe was he'd need to head their way in the future. Any group that has familiarity with his plight would be invaluable to understanding the nature of it more. Qil himself was only ever good vague monologues that confused Ray more than if he'd never spoken at all...

"Ah, as I expected..." That Ray was thinking over the answer was clear as he answered, letting silence linger.

"I would love if you'd tell me more about the tribe and their deity... after we're through this mess fully. Over drinks maybe?" He didn't want to push any further now, perhaps he could further earn the youngster's trust as they pursued the bandits.

As he finished the guard walked back over in her authoritative strut. 

"We've finished gathering what information we need. Hopefully you two are ready to begin the search, one of their ilk escaped and is headed to the base. It is most likely they'll be relocating before long. We'll set up watches at the gates and ports, you two will be heading to the location we've been given." She took a moment, letting her orders sink in as a few attending guards rushed off to perform the requested tasks. 

"The group is known as The Clasp. They've been operating discreetly in the area and have grown more bold, as you can tell. An artifact of some sort was stolen from the temple, its recovery is paramount. According to your friend there they've got a hideout in an old tunnel near the docks. I've had my lieutenant sketch up directions and a quick image of the location. Your approach is up to you." With that she turned sharply and walked out of the church, giving orders all the while. 

A soldier quickly jogged over, handing them a sketch of the location and orderly directions on reaching it. The area appeared to be mostly underwater, a large tunnel half filled with water that ran below the city. Perhaps it had been a part of a sewer system at one point...

"Well... she's certainly a whirlwind, though I appreciate the efficiency of it all." He placed a hand on his hip as he watched her walk away, turning to Kvasir with a sigh after she had left.

"Sounds like time is short, we'd best get a move on." He nodded his head, motioning towards the exit.

It's fairly easy to see that the fragility of his statement wasn't lost on Ray; though he's grasped onto the bits and pieces of truth there, the way an ever-so-slightly uneasy silence hangs in the air between them for just a moment too long speaks volumes on its own. It isn't as if Kvasir was lying at all-- his time with the Tribe of the Lotus truly did get him quite acquainted with what it was like to wander so closely beside divinity, all those hazy days spent in close contact with a goddess who loved her people enough to appear beside them teaching him so much about the mundanity found within the cracks of divinity, and yet...

...and yet the harsher type he knows burns so much brighter in his ailing mind, casting shadows over those days with the smiling goddess of the lotuses, burying her stalwart kindness in the sand of Kasra's desperation. That alone is sometimes enough to make him forget, even without divine hands plucking at the strings of a threadbare tapestry.

"...I would be all too happy to discuss it over drinks, Ray," Kvasir says all the same, managing another smile. This one is a bit more sincere, a bit more honest, less frayed around the edges; he savors any chance he can get to speak of those bygone days, to ensure the time he spent there is not lost forever. "I'm sure you'd find it all quite interesting. Just make sure you remind me to speak of it-- their goddess's name... it was Niloufar."

Any chance he gets at wistfulness is quickly intercepted by the guard's approach, by the information she quickly tosses their way, short and sweet and to the point. Kvasir watches her return to her men with a quirked eyebrow, ears twitching just so as she walks away, though he snorts a bit inelegantly at Ray's comment on the matter.

"Indeed-- sometimes the fewer words, the better," he shrugs, nodding as he starts walking toward the entrance to the temple, glancing back to ensure Ray is following along. "Off we go, then."

As Ray and Kvasir left the temple he had a strange feeling, an itching at his side where he'd been stabbed, something he'd never felt after healing wounds. He brushed it off as a random sensation, even as it returned during their walk a few times more. 

"Seeker, where we go is not our destination..." It was spoken as a warning, as if to soften a coming surprise.

Ray took it as an indicator that the tunnel would lead somewhere strange or end up being a fake entrance...

"From... a hunch I have... this sounds too obvious to be a base of operations. They seemed too organized to live in some simple tunnel..." He meant to indicate Qil's influence in his thoughts to Kvasir as they already knew of the bond.

"I imagine we'll be able to at least find our way from some hints contained there though." He spoke from knowledge gained during his own bandit days, even a trick left behind information on its makers.

They traveled a ways further through the streets, the town was large and sprawling with a steady throng of activity pulsing through its streets. They passed with little attention paid to them at first. As they closed on the docks district a strange visage seemed to follow them in Ray's periphery. His eyes jerked to a cloaked figure. It appeared standing amid crowds, in dark alleys, in shop windows, and at one point even seemed to be only a step behind them. At no point could Ray do more than shift his gaze towards it before it was gone, like some hallucination plaguing his mind...

"Have you seen anyone following us?" Ray asked Kvasir, trying to keep his calm. 

Throughout the whole trip he appeared to grow more jumpy and paranoid, staring around them with widening eyes and flinching at loud noises. As his paranoia grew so did his scratching of his side. It was subtle at first, yet as they reach the docks it had grown frequent and intense as Ray's mind wandered from hiding it. 

Every time Ray opens his mouth to speak, Kvasir cannot help but get the feeling that there's something he is and is not saying-- he lays the words forth with particular emphasis, as if he is hinting at something Kvasir should know, but it is hard to place precisely what he might be referring to. A "hunch" can encapsulate a lot of things-- forbidden knowledge, divine answers, some other strange and nebulous means of knowing... it's hard to say what, precisely, Ray might be referring to when he speaks, but Kvasir's fairly confident it's no mere theory.

"Hm," he hums to himself, giving a short nod. "That... isn't entirely surprising. A tunnel does seem a bit too prominent a place for a bandits' hideout... If I were a bandit, I'd want to be a bit more well-hidden than that."

He folds his arms, drumming gloved fingertips idly across his forearm as Ray continues to speak, giving a short nod as he raises the point that they'll at least be able to find some hints there. It's true; if any activity has been traced down that way at all, then it's inevitable that they'll have left traces behind, and hopefully some of them can lead them to a true hideout, assuming there is one... also assuming that there is no trap set in the shadows of that tunnel.

"Well, we'll just have to be careful," Kvasir says simply. "Best to keep on going, then."

The journey ahead, though, however brief, is... hardly smooth.

The unease that had wormed its way beneath Ray's skin so readily before is apparent, now, evident in every twitch and sideways glance, in every way he jumps as they turn corners, as if expecting Death to lurk in the shadows of the buildings they pass. Calling it worrying doesn't seem like the proper word-- he seems downright paralyzed by some nebulous, unknown threat, and Kvasir only grows more concerned when Ray asks about a figure following them through the city.

"...I... don't think so?" he says, though doubt nestles in his voice. Had someone been following them and he just hadn't seen...? "Ray, friend, are you feeling quite alright?"

The docks were mostly empty, few ships or workers milled about and the figures that still wandered about here gave off an air of unsavoriness. To Ray, who was most definitely not feeling okay, it felt as if he was a lamb amid a pack of wolves. Each stranger appeared as a demon, eyes aglow in red bloodlust, thirsting for his blood. The figure he'd been seeing before moved among them, appearing here then there in their shadows. It spoke to them, plotted alongside them...

"I-I... I need to get out of here..." Ray said it slowly at first, under his breath at a whisper. He looked towards Kvasir with an expression of terror, blinking wildly as his eyes darted back and forth.

"I need to!..." His voice rose in intensity then fell away in an instant.

Unbeknownst to Kvasir, a voice came from the darkness behind Ray. "You'll die here." It spoke with sinister intent, as if someone had leaned directly into his ear before speaking.

Without saying a thing more he broke into a dead sprint towards the first shelter he saw. An old warehouse with a decrepit door and a single lantern lit in its window. The light to Ray seemed a beacon of safety in the darkness overtaking his mind and he ran to it with all he could manage. Bursting into the door without regard to his surroundings he ran towards the lantern where it sat, atop a crate in the center of the warehouse. A tinge of pain struck him in the neck as he entered. Beholding the lantern's glow he felt safe for the first moment since they'd left the temple. A moment later, he fell to the floor, unconscious.

Spending nearly a lifetime-- as much of one as he can remember, at least-- pursuing medicine has made Kvasir extraordinarily well-acquainted with myriad different responses.

He knows the hardy resilience several patients feign even in the wake of devastating injuries, desperate to hold themselves together no matter how brutal their circumstances are-- he knows the kind of sorrow that festers so deep it cannot be soothed by anything but time, the sort that wells up when he has to be the bearer of the worst kinds of news. And, naturally, considering he's administered all manner of medications and seen all manner of conditions, he knows the cold, irrational panic that twists at the hearts of those who've wrenched themselves from terrible circumstances, who have yet to mentally leave the battlefields their bodies have stumbled from.

And as he studies Ray's face, age and scars warped by quiet terror, hears the breath-cleaved words he whispers, desperation rooted so deeply in his voice, Kvasir very quickly recognizes that that very same irrepressible, irrational panic has found its way into him, making a home in his bone and blood.

"...Ray," he begins, his voice soft, adopting the same tone he's used for so many inconsolable patients in the past. "Ray, I need you to take a moment and breathe-- it'll be alright, just tell me--"

And yet, as soon as the words leave his lips, Ray's face twists with abject horror all over again, and he breaks into a thunderous sprint, running and running and running until he reaches the door of a distant warehouse, as though it is some distant sanctuary he's been seeking for so long. Kvasir's quick to follow, rushing after him as quickly as he can, concern flashing across his face as he reaches the door and--

...watches Ray crumple to the ground, unconscious.

"Ray?!"

He hesitates for a moment as he nears the doorway, hesitant to step into what could very well be danger-- but he is a doctor before he is anything, and there is a man unconscious on the ground before him, clearly a victim of some meddling in the mind. Hesitation is logical, but it is not kind, and... and Kvasir cannot help that his heart wins over, as it always seems to do.

He takes a step forward past the doorway, gold beginning to surge at his fingertips as he prepares a spell--

And the light is just enough to illuminate the shadow-cast faces of figures in the dark, the last thing he gets to see before lightning splits his skull and darkness takes him, too.

---

"What do we do with them...?"

"Anything to keep 'em from gettin' too close to the rest."

A hulking figure leaning against the now barred door lets out a long sigh as he tosses a mace up, catching it and tossing again, repeatedly. 

"What do you mean 'what should we do with them?' We should kill them and dump em off the coast." His voice is deep and confident, overconfident even.

"Yes, obvious choice. Killing two powerful adventurers, one a priest at that, won't cause any extra attention to come our way. These are the sort of folks that people get retribution for...No, we should send them out with one of our smugglers, can't hurt the mission if they find themselves in a port near Dragon's Cradle." A slimmer figure, pacing with their arms crossed about the back of the room responds in obvious frustration. 

A third figure lounged in a chair near the window. A few streaks of lantern light spilling into the room from outside cast deep shadows across his deformed face. He slammed a dagger in his hand down into the table, deep enough that the wood screeches and a crack forms around the entry point. 

"How in the hells did you two manage to join us? Of course we can't kill them. And no! We can't just ship em off, they'll come back. I know this sort..." He looked at Ray with a spark of genius in his piercing eyes.

"We'll frame them. Tie themm up, we'll take them right to the center of it all." He gives the command in a relaxed voice underlying decades of criminal experience. 

The hulking figure grumbled in anger as it rose to its feet and stomped to the center of the room. There, after a few floorboards and rugs had been moved, steps leading down to a tunnel were revealed. The trio tied and carried Ray and Kvasir into the depths of the city, trudging through ankle deep water on their way to whatever 'the center of it all' meant.

Kvasir is very accustomed to headaches.

A part of him would deem it a chronic condition at this point; one not caused by any natural ailments, not by anything in his bones or blood, nothing passed down by either side of his family, but rather a brutal side effect of the bastard king that’s made a home in his skull, spending his time unraveling the threads of whatever memories he can get his wretched fingers into. Either way, it’s brutal, and either way, he’s used to pushing through the pain to get work done, to get to his next destination, to get things settled.

The pain in his skull right now is awfully different from what he’s used to, though– this is a deep ache, one that resonates through his bones, through the base of his neck, down his spine, the kind of all-consuming pain that makes it difficult to think about much else. It certainly makes him awfully unwilling to open his eye, let alone give in to any other part of the wretchedness of consciousness.

But then he processes movement– processes the gruff, unfamiliar voices overhead, the tension at his wrists, and regrettably, the memories of the past day flood back over him all at once.

It’s a mercy that he manages to remain still.

He can still hear the voices– not all of the words, but the general outline of them, whispers of some big plan, whispers of whether this will work, if this is worth it, if anyone will believe a priest and a doctor were really at the heart of whatever “this” is. Kvasir does not have the whole puzzle, but he can grasp the pieces, and it fills him with the confidence that they’re going to need to get out of here– and quickly.

Still– last he’d seen Ray, he was injured, and Kvasir himself is sporting a pretty nasty headache at this moment. Some good old fashioned blunt force trauma– nothing he can’t handle later, but he can’t exactly fix it up now. The odds of the two of them managing in a fight right now are fairly slim, but…

If he’s careful, he can manage a little something.

He quickly clasps his hands together as subtly as possible– not difficult, seeing as they’re bound at the wrist, and calls upon the quietest surge of Solaria’s magic that he can, calling upon the sun and the strength of its rays, the power of daylight, asking that it imbues itself within both himself and Ray [1]. It isn’t a healing spell, no, but it’s an offer of power, of strength.

Maybe that will be enough to get them out of this.

---

[1] Inspiring Presence