Into his own pouches, too, dug Raelef, eventually bringing forth a small token, made of brass, and gone to verdigris, its green tint recognizable instantly. Less recognizable, perhaps, would be the sigil carven into the token, the smallest mark of favor of the Lady of Pain. Redeemable, perhaps, with only his own Cult, that small favor could none the less be valuable at the right time...A favor to be accepted with some measure of fear.