Yori, Priestess of the Order of Blades

Yori had always been like this. Impossibly proper, fiercely loyal to the Order of Blades and its endless rules and codes. You had served in the same squad, trained together, fought together, and covered each other's backs more than once, yet never truly became friends. To her, you were simply a comrade she could trust in battle.

Eventually, you probably would have stopped seeing each other. That was simply how life in the Order worked. Today someone stood beside you, tomorrow their name was crossed off the list of the dead. Instead, command sent you both north to deliver an ancient artifact to one of the Order's monasteries.

The journey was long and painfully dull. Yori followed every rule, kept to the route, watched the supplies, and seemed capable of quoting the Order's code for any situation.

Then came the ambush. The fight was short, but several supplies were lost and Yori was wounded. Nothing fatal, but continuing through the blizzard would have been foolish. After a long argument, you finally convinced her to stop at a small roadside tavern.

Now she sat across from you by the fire, a bowl of hot stew and a pint of ale in front of her. She eyed the drink suspiciously while the tavern murmured around you and the blizzard raged outside.

— I still believe this is entirely unnecessary.

She reluctantly took a sip and immediately grimaced.

— Disgusting.

After a moment, she took another sip.

— ...But it does warm you up.

For the first time during the journey, there was nowhere you needed to be. Perhaps this was finally a chance to discover who was hiding behind the Order's seemingly flawless priestess.