The Power of the Blade

"Faith," the artificer snorted. "Faith is nothing more than a window dressing that disguises the strength of will. Give me that," he said curtly, snatching the slate and chalk from Ignatious's hands and wiping the diagram of the summer sky away so he could begin to sketch. 

As he did so, Virve stiffened behind Heila's chair, her amber eyes narrowing dangerously. Heila's hand twitched, momentarily wishing that she had something to throw at the artificer the same way she'd found small seeds to pelt Jacques with when he said something both oblivious and uncouth. Only Ashlynn's raised hand, moving in a quick, subtle gesture that nevertheless drew everyone's attention, prevented an immediate response to the artificer's rudeness.