Evening came without either party coming out as the victor. They only created more friction during the ongoing debate, worsening their relationships.
As things stood now, the unicellular stick-swinger and his political adversary, Paladin Xerzer seemed to have found out just how dangerous it was to destroy their unity at such times.
Yet an exorbitant amount of undue pride didn't allow them to reconcile. Their insulting language only worsened instead.
Whoever first reduced the other's influence and honour until nothing noteworthy remained was the winner, or such was my opinion as I tiptoed around the angry mob, serving dinner.
Few of the paladins were used to camping out, fewer still with eating what was at hand and nobody had any clue of the dos and don'ts.
While each stupid action and reaction made my pounding heart feel even heavier, I couldn't allow myself to get this stone off my chest.
How they could be so blind to everything happening around them, losing themselves in power plays and childish insult contests was not a question I had an answer for.
Maybe their privileged lives where everyone else was either their servants, their supporters or their enemies contributed to such simplistic idiocy? I didn't know.
What I did, however, was that the disabled cook's eyes never left my side even for a moment. When I served the paladins, they were there.
When I got told off rudely because of this and that they were dearly missing in the soup, I felt them on my back.
When the duocellular harbinger of bad mood joined on the sidelines and I had to serve the disgruntled ignoramus her supper they accompanied me all the way.
I didn't dare go back to the cook's side, opting to stand by in case somebody needed an attendant. That kind of work was far below an inspector's notice.
But while I might have burned in righteous anger at the insulting treatment some weeks ago, now I was only concerned with my survival.
The swelling on my face still burned, and other more recent bruises made themselves known too. I learned my lesson...
It was so bad, there was this uncanny thought I couldn't shake off at all. A thought so scandalous were the others to know of it, I might end up at the stake, burning.
"Deserving, are they not?" My muscles tightened in an iffy, my head slowly turning sideways regardless of how much I wanted it to stop.
There stood the cook, walking stick in his only remaining hand a bunch of leaves in his mouth, studying my expression.
I didn't answer. Regardless, he seemed to have found his answer, for he grinned, asking, "Evelynn, that's your name isn't it?"
Hard to miss when I was the most insulted member of this stupid group of misfits. The name was flying around everywhere, accompanied by foul language. I nodded.
"Evelynn..." The cook repeated, grumbling something in his beard. Once again, there was this expression on his face that I couldn't interpret at all.
"Evelynn," he repeated, his eyes taking on a warmer hue all of a sudden, "Rossweed. Take some. It's... yummy."
Leaning with his elbow onto the walking stick, his hand rummaged through his uniform and then extended in my field of vision.
In his hand he held a couple of rosy leaves, the very same he was munching on. "For you," I hesitated for a moment, inwardly screaming what the fuck that cuckoo cook wanted of me.
Yet I wasn't really given a chance, was I? So my trembling hands met his rough palm filled with calluses for exactly as long as I needed to take the leaves.
Whether they were poison or not, it didn't matter. I opened my mouth, put them in and tentatively chewed.
All the while the cook was watching. "Nice, no?" Followed by another question. "Very sweet, right?" Without waiting for my answer, he wobbled back to his tent, his back straight and step poised.
Rather than sweet... it was bitter first than sour and only after chewing long did it become slightly sweet. I also returned to my tent.
Later in the night, I was torn from my sleep, hearing hellish shrieks and curses all over the place. But then the noise relented even before I could put on my coat and shoes.
Granted, some long minutes of me lying there frozen had passed already. Opening my tent I was greeted with a bloodbath and a certain paladin promising sweet revenge with words that made little sense.
"Knew it. Non-humans besting... an insult to us glorious folk! How else could it be? The one responsible... I shall kill your damn backer... that cursed daemon."
Breaking the effigy he held dear always, a radiant wave of pure light washed over him before he was gone.
"Is that her?" I heard a voice asking from behind me. I shuddered. "Yes. She's... Evelynn. Take care of her."
Turning around I was just on time espying the cook mounting something that looked very much like a belt of the kind the black market sold on rare occasions.
The form and patterns seared on it made me realise that this was the real deal, not some poor imitation I'd encountered often.
The cook glanced one last time in my direction, smiled and walked to the chart filled with various bodies and a bunch of beastmen. Then he left with them. Just like that.
"Why?" I asked nobody in particular. "Simple," came the response from the imposing beastman standing beside me, "you have the name of his late daughter."
Perceiving the evident lack of understanding that was cruising through my mind, he then added an in-depth explanation.
"Noble raped his daughter in front of his eyes. A kick to the head and she was dead. The cook attacked with his cleaver in rage but got his arm hacked off by a certain paladin."
He gestured to my left. After staring hard for a moment I discovered the mangled remains of Paladin Xerzer. No inch of his skin was left untouched, no limb unbroken.
The source of what I've heard back in the tent. I threw up. The beastmen didn't seem to care, for he continued nonchalantly, "landed in prison and was put on show trial.
On the day of his execution, the gaolers only found a bent shiv and a severed leg still bound to the chain but not the man himself.
And now... now the warrior is about to embark on his last journey." The beastman bowed in his direction, the respect he showed mirrored by the others stopping in their busy search to do the same.
"Why?" I couldn't help but repeat myself. "Why choose death?" "Because nothing's left to live for, human. Everything is gone, is water under the bridge."
Said his piece, the beastman left me alone, instructing his men instead and organising things. I stood in front of my tent unbothered by them, feeling nothing except emptiness in my chest.