“I just don’t get humans and their obsession with their gods. Oh no! The gods aren’t talking to us let’s still worship them! Oh hey, there goes one of our gods and they are uh, killing us! My faith my faith!” Morddaith said, vigorously scrubbing her left bracer until it was free of the mud she’d tracked into the tent.
“Are you really lecturing me about human gods? A Charr?” Amatia said with a smile, her large teeth glinting in the campfire light. “Might I remind you that my people know the folly of gods better than most.” She chided gently and Morddaith looked up at her, the thin parts of her greyish green flesh yielding to the inner glow, she was her own nightlight.
“That is beside the point! You cast aside your false god, you rose up and threw down the shaman caste! You kicked their asses and found better things. Like guns.” Morddaith said with a grin up at her friend. “I should have been born a charr. I’d be very good at it. I like war. I like stabbing and shooting and all that.”
“You’re bad at following orders, Daith.”
“I like giving orders though.”
“… That’s the truth. But all Charr start as soldiers and then you rise through the ranks. You know that. You’re Vigil. You’re also one of the most salty, and violent salads I’ve ever met.”
“Well. There was Scarlet Briar?”
“Non-crazy.”
“Cannach.”
“Touche. He is violent. But he was one of Scarlet’s lackies and was crazy.”
“Not exactly, the jungle dragon had his mind. And her mind. … And my mind too for that matter.”
“Please don’t remind me. It was horrible. You were even more stabby than normal.”
“Says the thief.”
“Yes, says the thief.”
The rather small pale-furred Charr looked at the Sylvari and both of them broke into guffaws born of kinship and weariness. “We’re gonna kill a god next.” Amatia said, clawed fingers fidgeting over her knives and pistols, feeling like she might need something bigger.
“I’m excited about it. I’ve never killed a god before.”
“You really should have been born a Charr.”