Egil grunted. “So it seems.”

“I’m thinking it comes from being the priest of a god no one else worships,” Nix said.

“Bah,” Egil answered.

“Could also be because you’re generally abrasive and mostly unlikable. In truth, I don’t think people find “bah” to be endearing.”

Egil glared at him. “Likewise with wise-assery.”

“He retorts!” Nix said, grinning. “And thus we learn the priest’s spirit remains unbroken.”

Egil ran his hand over the eye of Ebenor tattooed on his pate.

“Unbroken indeed. But at least you voted for me, yeah?”

Nix opened his mouth to speak, closed it, opened it again, closed it again. The angry furrows in Egil’s brow deepened as the silence stretched.

“Should i ask again or just punch you now?”

Nix threw up his hands. “Look, how do you reckon I’d vote for you? For that, you need something called a PeeCee. I don’t even know what the fak that is!”

Egil sighed and nodded. “Fair point. Bit of a problem, it is. Maybe we should’ve found that out beforehand?”

“Yeah, well, planning is not our strongest skill.”

Egil nodded. “Truth. Well, things are what they are. I’ve taken beatings before.”

“Aye that,” Nix said, brightening. He thumped his friend on the shoulder. “We’ve had more than our share of beatings and come out the better in the end. This’ll be no different. Drink?”

“Aye,” Egil said.

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