"Begone, you greasy, silk-wearing demons! Out! Out, I say!"
Cherion swung the censer with a bit too much enthusiasm, nearly hitting Reiner in the face with a stray puff of smoke.
"I command you, bad vibes of the Crown Prince, to evacuate these premises immediately."
The smell hit the back of his throat first, sharp, almost like pine, but with something older underneath. Cherion moved through the corridors with the focused intensity of a man on a mission, clutching a small, blackened iron censer that puffed out thick, grey-white clouds of "Silver Sage." Behind him, Reiner and Ezek followed in a loose, somewhat confused formation, holding their own smoke-makers like they were carrying sacred relics rather than bundles of dried weeds they'd spent the last hour frantically gathering from the frost-bitten gardens.
The smoke swirled in the air. It was sweet, yet bitter, a smell that felt like it was scrubbing the very atmosphere clean.
