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As the zombies make their shambling way to him, Janus feels the righteous drive to purge the undead, shambling creatures from Toril. The fire of righteous rage quickly explodes into a roaring flame that fills his breast. The image of a hilt rises in his mind, emerging from the sea of retribution...

Janus' arm pauses in its rise, a final pang of mercy echoing in his breast. With a single, fluid motion borne of years of practice he shifts his stance, bringing the sword level just above the hag's shoulders. Releasing the coiled tension in his frame, striking right for her neck. His headman's...

Despite himself, the old woman's pleas register something in Janus. A forgotten memory, something behind the pain stirs, but unreachable through the angry red veil, reaching out with promising spikes of agony. For a moment, hesitation grips the warrior, fighting confused feelings further...

Janus allows the righteous flame that had been holding restrained to break free of his self-discipline. Baldur's Gate. The Sword Coast. Even if it's wrong it's enough, time to end this charade. The crusader's hand comes to his sword's hilt, metal creaking as his grip ratchets ever tighter...

Janus' armor rattles slightly as he recoils from within his second skin. Several retorts bubble up from the sea of his muddled thoughts, ranging from curses to threats to invocations. In the end, after a few moments, he settles for: "No, thank you." Janus forces his tone level, knowing he would...

"I can't say," Janus says tersely, sheathing his sword with reluctance as he sits. He places his shield at his foot, ready to be snatched up at a moment's notice. "The last thing I remember was pain and then I awoke in this graveyard. I can't remember anything else." He glances around the room...

Janus forcibly stops himself from recoiling at the sights within the chamber, sweeping his gaze evenly over everything within easy sight. He takes a moment within the anonymity of his helmet, attempting to identify the creature and some semblance of the danger she poses. Regardless of what she...

Janus' grip tightens even further on his sword, coming around the bend in the corridor to the stem of the T. Without speaking, he proceeds towards-- presumably -- the origin of the voice, silently preparing himself for battle. Allowing his weapon arm-- his left -- to swing freely now, he...

Janus stands, armor clattering against itself as he rises. This creature raided this ossuary... or perhaps catacomb from the teeth marks, some time ago. Time to proceed. Janus turns, descending further past the door, down the stairs to what remains of the passage. You glance into the room...

Janus peers into the room ahead, frowning within his metal second skin. He approaches the footprints, kneeling for a better look. He checks the footprints for anything else that might give him a clue as to the cackling occupant, before peering into the vault ahead. the foot-prints are vaguely...

His grip firming around his shield, Janus turns, following the right hallway. Rolled Religion for check, 1d20+11, result 12. Crit fail. no such thing as a crit fail on skill checks. A DC 12 you can recall that weak mindless undead, or weak outer planar beings, don't generally leave ichor...

Janus pauses only for a moment as the mad rhyming begins. Once it ceases, he presses on down he hallway, lowering slightly into a battle ready stance. Janus thinks, trying to establish a correlation between the bite marks, the tracks, and the semi-intelligent cackling to ascertain what might...

A spark of righteous anger flares in Janus' breast. The remains of these highborn have been desecrated, their sacred rest disturbed. Janus forces himself to calm. The eerie silence has deepened to where even the clatter of his armor from the tiniest movements echoes around the room. No natural...

Feeling the wash of the goddess' power, Janus stands straighter, the weight of his armor now more of a suggestion of gravity than a pressing threat of toppling. For a moment, surprise washes over him. The prayer to Siamorphe came almost instantly, without the blinding pain before his awakening...

Janus sighs, realizing he is still as lost as he was before. The sound echoes slightly in his helmet. The crusader of Siamorphe steps away from the body, making a note of it in his mind, in the hopes that he may rebury the occupant when his strength is recovered. He still has not forgotten the...

Janus stands, the weight of the armor -- normally like a second skin -- threatening to push him back to a knee. Slowly, one foot after the other, Janus makes his way up the path to the intact mausoleum, spiked shield raised before him, broadsword clasped in hand loosely at his side. His eyes...

Janus stops, contemplating the scene. This place feels...wrong. The silence is wrong, my inability to sense the connection to Siamorphe is wrong. There is danger here. Thinking better of it, Janus drops the satchel, wearily pulling out the heavy slabs of ornamented metal, gambeson undercoats...

Janus rises to his feet shakily, forcing his uncooperative body back up to stand. Knees wobbling, slowly he works himself to his maximum height, long strands of straight black hair matted to his face from the ice and melting frost. His stoic gaze settles across the static landscape, taking in...