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<blockquote data-quote="Rune" data-source="post: 400635" data-attributes="member: 67"><p><em>Iunimonius 30, Continued</em></p><p></p><p>The army stretches across the horizon. They are headed due south. We <em>were</em> headed north. There will certainly be trouble if these clergy see me in my priestly robes--burned and bereft of their holy symbols. More to the point, some of my traveling companions would raise eyebrows, at the very least, and I am in no condition to answer questions. The grasses around us come halfway to our knees, but no cover can otherwise be found.</p><p></p><p>We are not far north of the Goblin Border. Undoubtedly, this army is a crusade against those barbaric folk. Perhaps we should run. Our only real chance of escape is across the border and, truthfully, I am not likely to make it very far--and I would no doubt be ill treated upon my reception in Goblin Territory. The others, however, may stand a better chance.</p><p></p><p>As it happens, the cave elf-witch has magicked herself to look like a fat, peasant, human woman. My companions tie a rope loosely around the neck of the orc-kin fellow and, when a contingent of a couple dozen crusaders approach, claim that he is a captured slave. The crusaders demand its immediate confiscation by the army of the Church--a confiscation that would lead to a speedy execution.</p><p></p><p>The sorceress balks, and the half-orc breaks free, heading at an unnatural speed toward the south--the border. Some of the soldiers give chase, but clearly will never catch him. The rest advance upon us. My companions step forward to do battle, but are in no condition to last long.</p><p></p><p>The farmboy takes a solid blow and returns another with his sturdy staff. His brashness will surely see him dead. The crusaders are all armored to some extent; he is not. He is outnumbered and in great peril. My vision clouds and last night's dream comes back to me, superimposing illusion with reality. I should have found some way to warn the farmboy. He will die, I fear.</p><p></p><p>The cave elf lets her illusion fade, and attracts the attention of a few of the soldiers. She is nimble and quick on her feet, however, and manages, throughout the battle, to drop a few of the warriors with searing streams of light that emanate from her outstretched finger. Near her, the Sword-Warrior is severely outnumbered and can do little but hold her ground. Soon, she is also flanked.</p><p></p><p>My fear gives way to resolution and I drop to my knees in prayer to my LORD for aid in the upcoming melee. My request is granted and we receive an ally in the form of a large dog, eyes glowing with the light of divinity. Before the dog can be of any real help, however, something pulls it away, back to its celestial home. Perhaps we were just not worthy of divine intervention.</p><p></p><p>When the farmboy goes down, unconscious and bleeding, I pray for protection against the blows that I am about to invite and advance to do what I could to save him. Alas, I am not quick enough--before I can act, a crusader stands over the fallen form of the poor boy and drives a cruel sword through his chest. I watch the light of life fade from his face and will ever be haunted by the last question in his young, innocent eyes: <em>"Why?"</em>.</p><p></p><p><em>Why?</em></p><p></p><p>The farm boy is dead. Why did I not warn him of my vision? Surely, I could have found a way. Am I to be the unwitting judge of my companions--my decisions, their sentences? This is a burden I cannot--<em>will</em> not--bear.</p><p></p><p></p><p>The remaining companions are fleeing to the South. Some of the clergy-warriors are pursuing, but it looks to me as if the outlaws will make it to the border. As heavily armored as I am, on the other hand, fleeing is no option.</p><p></p><p>I kneel in surrender.</p><p></p><p></p><p>...And, as I am being disarmed and beaten, I can hear a mighty shout rise from the south, which, to my ears, sounds like a hundred thousand voices raised in celebration. Whatever cause for celebration that my traveling companions have met, I will never know, for I now am a prisoner of the Church I once served.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Rune, post: 400635, member: 67"] [I]Iunimonius 30, Continued[/I] The army stretches across the horizon. They are headed due south. We [i]were[/i] headed north. There will certainly be trouble if these clergy see me in my priestly robes--burned and bereft of their holy symbols. More to the point, some of my traveling companions would raise eyebrows, at the very least, and I am in no condition to answer questions. The grasses around us come halfway to our knees, but no cover can otherwise be found. We are not far north of the Goblin Border. Undoubtedly, this army is a crusade against those barbaric folk. Perhaps we should run. Our only real chance of escape is across the border and, truthfully, I am not likely to make it very far--and I would no doubt be ill treated upon my reception in Goblin Territory. The others, however, may stand a better chance. As it happens, the cave elf-witch has magicked herself to look like a fat, peasant, human woman. My companions tie a rope loosely around the neck of the orc-kin fellow and, when a contingent of a couple dozen crusaders approach, claim that he is a captured slave. The crusaders demand its immediate confiscation by the army of the Church--a confiscation that would lead to a speedy execution. The sorceress balks, and the half-orc breaks free, heading at an unnatural speed toward the south--the border. Some of the soldiers give chase, but clearly will never catch him. The rest advance upon us. My companions step forward to do battle, but are in no condition to last long. The farmboy takes a solid blow and returns another with his sturdy staff. His brashness will surely see him dead. The crusaders are all armored to some extent; he is not. He is outnumbered and in great peril. My vision clouds and last night's dream comes back to me, superimposing illusion with reality. I should have found some way to warn the farmboy. He will die, I fear. The cave elf lets her illusion fade, and attracts the attention of a few of the soldiers. She is nimble and quick on her feet, however, and manages, throughout the battle, to drop a few of the warriors with searing streams of light that emanate from her outstretched finger. Near her, the Sword-Warrior is severely outnumbered and can do little but hold her ground. Soon, she is also flanked. My fear gives way to resolution and I drop to my knees in prayer to my LORD for aid in the upcoming melee. My request is granted and we receive an ally in the form of a large dog, eyes glowing with the light of divinity. Before the dog can be of any real help, however, something pulls it away, back to its celestial home. Perhaps we were just not worthy of divine intervention. When the farmboy goes down, unconscious and bleeding, I pray for protection against the blows that I am about to invite and advance to do what I could to save him. Alas, I am not quick enough--before I can act, a crusader stands over the fallen form of the poor boy and drives a cruel sword through his chest. I watch the light of life fade from his face and will ever be haunted by the last question in his young, innocent eyes: [I]"Why?"[/I]. [I]Why?[/I] The farm boy is dead. Why did I not warn him of my vision? Surely, I could have found a way. Am I to be the unwitting judge of my companions--my decisions, their sentences? This is a burden I cannot--[i]will[/i] not--bear. The remaining companions are fleeing to the South. Some of the clergy-warriors are pursuing, but it looks to me as if the outlaws will make it to the border. As heavily armored as I am, on the other hand, fleeing is no option. I kneel in surrender. ...And, as I am being disarmed and beaten, I can hear a mighty shout rise from the south, which, to my ears, sounds like a hundred thousand voices raised in celebration. Whatever cause for celebration that my traveling companions have met, I will never know, for I now am a prisoner of the Church I once served. [/QUOTE]
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