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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Carnifex" data-source="post: 289020" data-attributes="member: 227">Return to the Smithy:Burl watched as his frozen shard of ice flew toward the werewolf, striking it in the chest. But his actions had not been quick enough to save Wyshira the pain of having the creature rip a chunk out of her. The werewolf had paid with it’s life, the blood freezing in the wound.“Quick, help me get the door open for her.” yelled Burl as he began to open the door, letting Wyshira inside the blacksmith’s shop. Helping her to lie down on a pile of straw, Burl reached over, pulling a jar of salve from his pack. Gouging his fingers into the jar, he drew out the healing salve contained, smoothing it over Wyshira’s wound. “Lie still Wyshira. Let the salve do it’s job. You will need all your strength when we make the trip back to the temple soon.” There was nothing more he could do for her other than let the salve work on her. He could only hope that the silvering could begin soon so they could make the journey back to the temple and that she would be healthy enough to return without help."I'm all right," Wyshira said, wincing as Burl rubbed the bitter smelling ointment into her wound. Though she wasn't all right, not really. It had been such a shock to see what she thought was a helpless villager in need of her healing touch, change in the blink of an eye into a rampaging monster hell-bent on savagely ending her life. And the fiery pain in her shoulder.... Don't look, she thought. That's my blood spattered all over the place! The thought made her dizzy. Burl's salve was beginning to have an affect however. At first it burned, so much so that she had to set her jaw hard and concentrate to keep from crying out; but finally a sort of numbness set in, and she was able to relax a bit and rest. She looked up at the necromancer as he continued to tend to her, his face full of concern, and gave him a small, grateful smile. "Thank you, Burl."As Burl rubbed the glutinous salve into the wound, the flow of blood dripped to a halt and the cooling balm took away much of the pain. The wound itself was still there but already the alchemical substances in Burl's application were acting to ensure fast and clean healing. Over by the forge, the smith took out his first silvered item; the wood-chopping axe. The head gleamed with its silvered plating, and the burly man grinned. It wasn't all that long later when they finally finished, batches of arrows, bolts and weapons all silvered and ready for use. The smith sent a gout of smoke up the chimney, the signal to the temple. "Everyone prepare to move," he said, bag of bolts on his back and silvered greataxe clenched tightly. * * *They'd been sitting around in more or less silence for a few hours in the temple, not a werewolf in sight, when the calm was broken by one of the militia entering from the back rooms. "The signal's up - they're finished in the smithy!" Latorath turned to gaze calmly at Kale. "Looks like it's your time for glory, young man. The blessings of Solantha protect you from fire," and with a muttered prayer and bowed head he wove a holy pattern with his hands. For a moment, divine energy suffused the air around the young mercenary with a white glow. * * *Burl gathered up his equipment, making sure Spike was secure in his bag. Turning to Wyshira, he asked, "Are you going to be okay to make the return trip to the temple by yourself, or will you need my assistance?" He paused."And Wyshira, when we get close to the temple, if Kale is in need of any help, I plan on being there for him. Don't wait for me, but continue on to the temple." Wyshira gathered up her newly silvered shark-fang javelins, admiring the way they glinted in the light, and made ready for the return trip to the temple. Now is when the werewolves are sure to attack in numbers, she reminded herself. She tested her arm and shoulder, and found that the wound was only slightly tender still; she could use her arm almost normally, and hadn't needed to call on the healing power of the goddess at all. Burl continued to hover round her, helping her with this or that, and she was touched by his concern. "I'm fine," she told him, and this time she meant it. "The wound is practically healed. Is that salve your own concoction? I'd love to know how you made it! I'm sure I'll make it back to the temple without any trouble. But if you think I'm going to run like a hare, and leave you and Kale to deal with those creatures alone, you're daft!" She folded her arms across her chest and glared at the necromancer with mock fierceness. "I might be of some use out there, especially if either of you are in need of healing." She tried not to think of Kale carrying out his crazy diversion, engulfed in flame, charring himself to a crisp. And yet she knew that she needed to be prepared for such an eventuality. She had her vials of healing waters close to hand. "Burl, don't do anything foolish out there. At least, not without me. Promise?"Burl was glad to see the feisty priestess was okay and ready to go or so it seemed to him watching her handle her shark-fang javelins. “No, Wyshira I am not planning on running out and going toe to toe with the werewolves. Don’t worry, I won’t do anything anymore foolish than our friend Kale.” With that said and done, Burl waited with the rest for some sign that the rabbit had left the hole.* * *Making quick fists with his hands, the damp cold sweat was his body's next protest. But as the last colored rays of sun had leapt from temple floor to simple worked walls, softly lit clusters of displaced peoples laid the proof that there was no turning back. All was ready, Kale needn't check his gear for the tenth time. Weapons ready, and seven strange flasks fixed, poised for the last hour and tensely awaiting their time for use. Anything that could be done, was done... it was time. Latorath stood, plate-armored sentinel, patron of holy powers, sending the divine blessing that glowed briefly in soft aura. To his right, Evant was resplendant in his shining mail, its spotless face so many times past a ready canvas for his enemy's blood. Beside and hardly noticed remained Wolf, leather-clad and travel-worn. Next to the metal so bold, it was as though he were invisible. But a second look, then a third- sharp gaze and sharper blade revealed the mysterious ranger in proper company. Of the three, bards could sing of glory while they still lived. "Gentlemen," Kale said simply, before turning quickly to go. It was a relief to be going, after feeling so out of place. Maybe things will better fit when I return, Kale thought optimistically, nodding from a distance for the guard to open the heavy door. Yeah, right. Gritting his teeth, he burst through the threshold at a full sprint, teeth gritted, eyes slitted- looking for trouble that was sure to come. Focusing as he could, his breath came easily and quickly, in gulps he could only hope would not be his last. The orange evening sun silently touched the horizon as road gravel ground and chain flashed the village's only sign of life...</blockquote>

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