Missing party members, loss of life and limb, godly restorations, such strange magics. She had not expected retrieving a Soul to be easy, no easier than her memories for certain. But this, oh yes, this little adventure held more danger and surprises than even that nasty little deck of cards it seemed. Demons and Deities were not to be trifled with, of that she was sure. Immi palmed the locket, taking comfort in its growing warmth.
Ra gained strength as we fought for his cause, pulling her compatriots to his faith like moths to a flame. She felt the pull as well, the tug to be and do his good. Immi was neither good nor bad, at least in her own estimation. But then good vs bad was a matter of perception, was it not. She’d spent many hours pondering these things, faith, her very nature. She did not know the nature of her soul before she woke up in the smoking husk of a wagon. Had she been good, or had she been involved in such evil that her entire caravan, save herself, had perished for their foul deeds? Victim of circumstance or retribution? Had she prayed to some God who did not hear or heed her pleas as the wagons burned? If she was evil before, was her soul damned, no hope of redemption? Perhaps…perhaps not.