Location: The Stables
Vik's approach was not in any way stealthy, being garbed, as de Lebeda knew, in metal armour and leather. However, she hung back as Andalon spoke with the bandits, if only to allow her companion the privacy to do what he did best. When the bandits left, she approached
"Brother Andalon, a moment of your time, if I may?"
She walked over to the cleric. They'd not seen eye to eye on the road, but Vik's respect for a well trained spellcaster and the wisdom of his line of thinking (even if she disagreed) was all Vik needed to know this man was a strong ally.
"I wanted to discuss a sensitive matter with you. As you know, our gods are not . . . we don't serve the same ends. The opposite in fact, battle and blood is oft times the end of good stable civilization. Be that as it may, my time on boats taught me a good many lessons, and Gorum gives room for interpretation to all his followers in how best to serve the cause of battle."
Vik produced a belt pouch (a spare taken from the hoard they'd divided), with fifty golden coins within, and handed it to Andalon, with a small half-kneel
"Respect must be paid, for a warrior to prosper. Your god heals my wounds, and so a tithe must be offered. I have not the patience or the inclination to tithe to your god as his followers must though, so a year's worth of wages from my work on the ships is what I offer. Can you ensure it is put to the proper use?"
She was, of course, unaware her allies had paid for her healing before she'd joined their band . . .