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<blockquote data-quote="Rune" data-source="post: 394490" data-attributes="member: 67"><p><em>Iunimonius 30</em></p><p></p><p>This night, as I slumbered, I have been visited by another vision. I was on the road with the renegades, just outside of town. As we topped a ridge, I saw an army of spectral clergymen, mounted on horseback, and saw righteous wrath in their stride. Clearly, they were headed to battle with the forces of evil, but a small detachment of five broke off and approached.</p><p></p><p>I stood in their path. Only when they had advanced had it become clear that I was no obstacle in their way, but the reason for their arrival. They meant to strike me down. These were my brothers in the Church (ghostly, though they were). They charged me with calls of "treachery" and "villainy." I stood dumbfounded. I prayed that they would break stride and flee, but THE LORD’s blessing was not upon me.</p><p></p><p>I could see out of the corner of my eyes that the renegades were rising to join battle with the figures. I backed away from the ghostly clergy and in anger tore my robes from my body. They were no longer the robes of the Church, but I could not continue to wear them, just the same. The dull glitter of scaled metal shone on my chest. I would not go down easily. I hefted a heavy mace and shifted my arm in its large, wooden shield. No. I would not go down easily.</p><p></p><p>The farmboy did go down. He was dealt a shattering blow that sundered his gangly frame. The life was gone from his eyes before his body had completed its descent to the dusty road.</p><p></p><p>I would not go down easily, but my mace could not connect with the apparitions. The follower of the Way was nowhere to be seen. The half-orc was met with some success, as was the cave elf--who clearly was a witch, as I suspected. Together, they slew two of the ghostly clergy before I was dealt a mighty blow.</p><p></p><p>I could barely move. I was barely clinging to consciousness. I conserved my strength, waiting for a chance to strike one last blow. The chance came as a ghostly warrior passed before me, ignoring my helpless form. I struck out. . .</p><p></p><p>And that was the end.</p><p></p><p>I lie awake in the crisp early hours of the morning, enshrouded in a slick coating of sweat. I am clammy and cold; I feel that I have aged five years.</p><p></p><p>Today, my life as a renegade begins.</p><p></p><p>As the sun rises, I find myself on the road with the four criminals of my visions, walking away from this burned and hollow town--my home.</p><p></p><p>We top a ridge to find a mass of humanity in the distance. It is clearly an army. The early sunlight catches on the spear-tips and the armor. It dances on cloth as a breeze carries the standards of the wounded sparrow--the standard of the Church.</p><p></p><p>They have come, I am certain, for me.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Rune, post: 394490, member: 67"] [I]Iunimonius 30[/I] This night, as I slumbered, I have been visited by another vision. I was on the road with the renegades, just outside of town. As we topped a ridge, I saw an army of spectral clergymen, mounted on horseback, and saw righteous wrath in their stride. Clearly, they were headed to battle with the forces of evil, but a small detachment of five broke off and approached. I stood in their path. Only when they had advanced had it become clear that I was no obstacle in their way, but the reason for their arrival. They meant to strike me down. These were my brothers in the Church (ghostly, though they were). They charged me with calls of "treachery" and "villainy." I stood dumbfounded. I prayed that they would break stride and flee, but THE LORD’s blessing was not upon me. I could see out of the corner of my eyes that the renegades were rising to join battle with the figures. I backed away from the ghostly clergy and in anger tore my robes from my body. They were no longer the robes of the Church, but I could not continue to wear them, just the same. The dull glitter of scaled metal shone on my chest. I would not go down easily. I hefted a heavy mace and shifted my arm in its large, wooden shield. No. I would not go down easily. The farmboy did go down. He was dealt a shattering blow that sundered his gangly frame. The life was gone from his eyes before his body had completed its descent to the dusty road. I would not go down easily, but my mace could not connect with the apparitions. The follower of the Way was nowhere to be seen. The half-orc was met with some success, as was the cave elf--who clearly was a witch, as I suspected. Together, they slew two of the ghostly clergy before I was dealt a mighty blow. I could barely move. I was barely clinging to consciousness. I conserved my strength, waiting for a chance to strike one last blow. The chance came as a ghostly warrior passed before me, ignoring my helpless form. I struck out. . . And that was the end. I lie awake in the crisp early hours of the morning, enshrouded in a slick coating of sweat. I am clammy and cold; I feel that I have aged five years. Today, my life as a renegade begins. As the sun rises, I find myself on the road with the four criminals of my visions, walking away from this burned and hollow town--my home. We top a ridge to find a mass of humanity in the distance. It is clearly an army. The early sunlight catches on the spear-tips and the armor. It dances on cloth as a breeze carries the standards of the wounded sparrow--the standard of the Church. They have come, I am certain, for me. [/QUOTE]
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