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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Carnifex" data-source="post: 290892" data-attributes="member: 227">Within the temple, it was silent too, except for the occasional sound of nervous movement as a militiaman or peasant shifted uneasily. When one warrior fumbled with his spear and clumsily dropped it, the resulting clang as the silvered weapon hit the stone floor made everyone jump visibly. Wolf leant against the wall by one of the windows, impassive featured as he gazed out intently over the area in front of the temple. Evant sat in his gleaming armour on a pew, head bowed in silent prayer, while Latorath sat with a sheath of papers on one armoured knee, one bladed gauntlet removed so he could write on the scrolls; numbers, details, supplies - all plans and organisation from the orderly Inquisitor. * * *"Thank you," Cord said, clenching his fist to relieve some of the pain as the werewolf slumped to the ground. "I have not encountered such a being before; I do not know what the outcome of such a meeting might have been. Your weapon seems to have saved both of our lives, this hour." Cord sighed, rubbing the leathery skin of his wounded arm, instinctively recoiling from the wrongness emanating from the bite. It burned, and the pain of corrupted nature hurt far more than that of broken skin. Note: At this point several players began to get worried about the possibility of acquiring lycanthropy; luckily for them, it works slightly differently in my campaign world.Cord turned to face the man, cradling his arm, but still on the defensive. He had no reason to trust such a stranger that smelled of fire and acid, at a time when his worst fears had been realized. "I am Cord," he said, scarred irises suprisingly focused and penetrating. "What has happened to this peaceful village?" Grip tightened on his blade, Kale was unsure what to think, and so wounded and threatened, he was almost to the point of, when in doubt, kill it. Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, his hand relaxed, and he tipped an invisible nod of respect to the mystical dwarf. Who was this man? Where did he come from... how does he do it? Self conscious for a moment, shadows menacingly cloaking his bleeding form, Kale remembered the dwarf couldn't see a thing. Yet, blind he fared as well as Kale could against the wolf... the mercenary remained wary and pragmatic. It was poor thanks for the dwarf's help, but the man now could be nothing but a liability. Long odds on the man making it to the temple intact. Kale had done his foolish deed for the day, and as he steadied his weight and recovered from the quick battle, he planned to leave the simply clothed man behind. But even then, the set of the dwarf's jaw, and long lengths of grey hair testified that he had defied the odds in the past- and survived. He regarded Kale knowingly, and his nostrils flared as the telling wind wafted. The dead wolf at their feet was foolish to dismiss this one. That determination and grace, Kale just couldn't leave the dwarf for the wolves to destroy. Feeling sick as he spoke, Kale whispered, "Head for the temple if you want to live. I'm going, you can follow at a distance. Walk where I walk, hold when I hold." Gods, what am I doing? Turning abruptly, he curled to the balls of his feet and listened carefully. Making for the shadows, his chain-clad form faded from sight and sound. Absorbed in his task, Kale couldn't help but wonder from time to time how the dwarf could do what he did: to see without eyes. He's just a liability he told himself harshly, desperate to forget the distractions and haul his battered body to safety. Not sparing any loud footfalls to help the dwarf along, Kale used the man nonetheless as a rearguard, whether the dwarf knew it or not. Knowing the wolves would likely see the dwarf before him, Kale focused more of his attention forward. The sound of the dwarf falling to fang and claw would alert him to trouble from behind. Breathing in slow, pained tugs, the lone mercenary moved smoothly and slowly, mind and body screaming to just cut and run the rest of the way. Move, listen, move, listen. From house to house, Kale found himself occasionally dragging a fingernail along the boards, or rubbing his smoking scabbard. Far from the sounds of chain or footfall that were the first to be muffled, the extra movements were out of place for one who practiced every deliberate movement while prowling. Focusing on controlling his throbbing pain and insuring his safe return, Kale intentionally ignored his departures from proper practice. If the dwarf survived... that would really be something to see. The socky old guy could probably track the bleeding, smoking mercenary by scent alone. Shut up! Focus. Cord had easily fallen into step behind him. The measured beat of the man’s footfalls and the slightest tremble in the ground provided a guidepost for him. He walked normally, however, and did not try to silence his own steps with as much effort as the stranger. His fluid grace had served him well in the past, and Cord allowed his body to flow from corner to corner in silence. The occasional scrape and dragging of feet were magnified in Cord's ears. He appreciated the thought, but had little need for the type of help this man seemed willing to offer. He sighed inwardly, accepting the situation and willing to follow for as long as needed to discover what had destroyed the village, and why werewolves infested the streets. The stranger stopped momentarily. A short whiff of the evening air pinpointed his location; the tapping on rock confirmed his location. He smiled grimly, rubbed at his still-bleeding arm, and continued following the stranger to whatever safe haven the local temple had to offer. * * *They made it back. It was almost to Kale's amazement, but they did make it back. It had been agonisingly slow and paranoid progress for Kale, ever fearful that a shadow might contain a werewolf - a lycanthrope might pick up his scent on the wind - that wierd dwarf might draw attention and get them both killed. Amazingly, half the time he had to remind himself the elderly fellow was actually there, for the dwarf walked with quiet step and seemed amazingly alert to a world around him that he couldn't actually be seeing. Kale had honed senses but Cord's were even better, and more than once he picked up the very scent of a werewolf lurking nearby, pausing at just the right moments to avoid being sensed, the human could only watch in surprise as, by watching the dwarf's movements, he worked out where such a lycanthrope was hiding nearby. Never had he seen someone both so old and blind demonstrate qualities like this. Despite his earlier apprehensions, the dwarf was more of a boon in making it back than he had expected. * * *Burl was sitting quietly, when the first surge of electricity racing through the room. Voices began to raise, people turned toward the door and others began to move toward it. Burl jumped, half expecting that the werewolves had begun their assault on the temple, but there were smiles sweeping across the faces of those closest to the door.Slowly the door inched open and the welcome face of Kale slid through. He looked as though he had been to a barbecue and not as a guest, his clothes and body singed. Burl began making his way toward him, when the door again popped open and an odd looking stranger entered. Remembering Wyshira’s experience with the wounded villager, Burl stopped, waiting for some kind of explanation, his relief to see his companion overshadowed by the newcomer, as the two were ushered to Latorath and his greeting.Within the main chamber of the temple, where the peasants clustered fearfully, the militia watched vigilantly and the mercenaries scattered with their own thoughts, Cord and Kale were brought before Latorath, the armoured Inquisitor nodding respectfully to Kale as Wolf languidly pulled himself away from his viewpoint by a window and strolled over. Latorath was of course interested in the details of Kale’s venture - how many werewolves had been slain, and who was this dwarf? The monk introduced himself as "… Cord. A teacher, a student, a traveler. I happened upon this village late last night; a kind peasantman, by the name of Fredrik, took me into his home. I accepted his offer, but awoke to an empty night. Obviously, I missed the call to your temple, Inquisitor." The dwarf himself was curious as to what had befallen the town, and eagerly questioned those around him to garner more knowledge. What Burl had noticed was certainly true; the return of Kale had brought a certain uplifting to those cowering within the temple. Smiles spread across the faces of many, some very faint but even so they were there at the return of the brave (or perhaps stupid? some thought...) young mercenary. A minor victory, but another victory nonetheless. Militiamen, looking at their now burdgeoning stock of silvered weapons, felt they might stand a chance; the mercenary had gone out there and spat in the eye of the lycanthropes, as it were; he had challenged them, taunted them, and lived to tell the tale. The elderly dwarf was drawing some attention too, many of the peasants watching the conversation attentively to see what was going on. Some had known of the old travellers arrival last night - they muttered quietly to their friends and family - there was that old dwarf, the Grumandic nomad, possessed of wisdom, they said. Some mutterings were darker - could they trust him? His arrival had, after all, coincided with that of the werewolves. Yet Evant the Solar Templar, and the Inquisitor too, would surely have noticed any taint upon the fellow the moment he entered the temple, would they not? Surely then, he could not be in league with the lycanthropes? Yet, uncertain of anything any more after recent events, the commoners were wary. Latorath nodded respectfully to Kale as the debriefing ended and he prepared to dismiss the two. "Well done, well done indeed. Certainly this should come as a setback for our canine foes out there... and you've brought yourself back to us in one piece. Well, more or less one piece anyway. Hold still." The Inquisitor held up the holy symbol, the golden emblem of a blazing sun, that hung round his neck, and chantd quietly in prayer to the Sun Lord, one hand outstretched to a few inches from Kale's chest. Golden energy glimmered at his fingertips and gently wafted out to Kale, where he felt a surge of positive energy that knitted wounds back together and salved much of the pain he felt from the fall in the barn. Whole once again, Kale felt right back in full fighting condition, pulsing with the holy energy of Solanthar.The Inquisitor’s questions finished at last, the mercenary returned to the others of his band, eagerly trading tales of the decoy run and the expedition to the smithy. There were many hours yet before sundown, and the time when the werewolf attack was estimated to happen, but already the tension was tangible in the air. Kale happily took the silvered arrows that the smithy run had procured for him, bantering with the others to ease some of the tension he felt. One comment he made, about the divine healing he had received, gave him a sudden thought. He looked to Wyshira, worried that he grouped 'god-folk' a little too broadly. "Solanthar and Ishrak... get along, don't they? I mean, you guys don't do more than bicker about the weather, right?"\ Kale asked, looking around to the body of believers around him... thinking it would be great fun if a storm heralded their survival to the next sunrise. Sadly, Wyshira likely wasn't powerful enough yet to make that dream a reality... “You really ARE all right, aren't you?" Wyshira peered skeptically at Kale. "I mean, did he do enough to heal you just now?" She indicated with a slight tilt of her head the Inquisitor of Solanthar. "It looked so..... bright; the spell he cast, I mean. Do you want some cool water?" She found herself babbling on for a bit, as she pondered Kale's question about Solanthar and Ishrak. She remembered quite clearly the shock she had felt as a little girl when she came to the realization that her goddess wasn't alone in the pantheon. Other people, in other places, worship other gods? Sacrilege! Then as she'd gotten older, she'd found that many of those foreign gods weren't so bad. Some of course were truly at odds with Ishrak, and Wyshira would name their priests as her enemies. But most were innocuous and well-meaning; while she didn't necessarily see them as a force for good, she also had come to admit over time that they had their place in the scheme of things, especially Lliras, the goddess of healing. So then, did Ishrak and Solanthar get along? Wyshira wondered what a meeting of the two deities would be like. They seemed to be opposites in many respects. The sun: bright, burning rays; constant; unreachable. The sea: cool, dark waves; capricious; encompassing. She wanted to ask Kale, What was it like, his healing touch? But the question was too much like, Who do you like better, him or me? and so she didn't ask. Suddenly her feelings about Solanthar were all mixed up with her feelings of acceptance and competency. She wasn't sure she could separate them properly just now, and so she simply said, "I like the sunshine as much as anyone, and so does Ishrak, I'm sure. Well, maybe not quite as much..." she added with a glance at the pale, scaly skin of her arms peeking out from the sleeves of her robes. Perhaps it was time to change the subject. She turned to the necromancer resting beside her. "Burl, tell him about the trip to the smithy." Before Burl could begin the tale, Wyshira jumped in again. "He was great, Kale. He saved me from one of those vile creatures out there in the street. And I think he was ready to fight Wolf all by himself when we saw the flames in the distance and wanted to go out looking for you. Go on Burl, tell him!"* * *And so they talked for a while, letting time drift past as they relished safety for what short period they would have it. Talking about his argument with Wolf, Burl spoke frankly; “I didn’t understand the reasoning behind us bringing the weapons back. I thought they were to be used to drive the creatures out of the village, not to be used for defense only. I believed the time was right and Wolf, being more knowledgeable, didn’t. End of subject.” Kale listened to this with interest. Willingness to follow the group's expertise, this was an important step in building a team. As unlikely as it may seem, the four of them could make an effective mercenary crew. Of course, that meant eventually trusting Burl in the affairs of magic and such... at least they had an experienced leader, anyway. Of course, much interest was directed towards Cord, the newcomer, who had positioned to sit himself with the mercenaries. He had offered his aid in fighting the lycanthropes when they came, and they could not help but notice his grace and skill despite the apparent disability of being blind. Some friendly introductions were made, and before long the band were comfortable with the monk’s presence, Wyshira healing him and the others incorporating him into their tactical discussions.“Grab yourself a silver dagger and cover aflank the spearmen. The beasts are likely to get close, and when it happens we need as much flashing silver as we can muster. If you want to provide close guard for the casters, all the better." Kale concluded. Latorath, the most powerful caster, would take care of himself. The only other casters, then, were Burl and Wyshira, for whom the young mercenary certainly wouldn't mind the extra protection. That did leave one other caster, Kale rememebered. Thinking back to Wolf and Evant's escapade, he thought it wierd, as the elder mercenary called upon divine powers. But no surprise, it would seem, as Wolf was always full of the unexpected. Suddenly, Kale was left with a desire to reconnect with the man. They had often fought together, and now with so many more companions and allies, things seemed to change so quickly. Yet, Kale future seemed sure to be as rich as Wolf's unknown past- 'the way it used to be' never was. Kale just didn't know anything about himself, about the world, or about his mentor. The mercenary's eyes drew over the crowded masses in the temple, yearning a bit for simpler times. Eyes settling on Wolf, things seemed a bit different. Different, and more difficult, perhaps. The gods only knew where paths could lead him, but sitting there, among his companions, recovering from a victorious battle with a vile foe... it felt gooood. "I am assuming you are not expecting a siege from these creatures," Cord replied, addressing Kale. "The strategy appears sound, and I have handled a dagger a few times in my life. I believe I can provide some safety for spellcasters, if the werewolves grant me the chance to reveal a trick or two hidden within my sleeves." Cord reached out and patted a hand near his side, though he was not entirely sure to whom it belonged. The three sitting near him were rather close and only their voices and faintest of mingling scents separated them. In reality, it did not matter. The brief contact revealed his true feelings for the small company, whether a congratulations for the bravery of Burl, gratitude for the healing arts of Wyshira, or agreement and kinship with Kale. The time was coming when they would have to fight, but if anything, the mercenaries were eager to see how well they could fight together. Perhaps if they had known the full horrors the night had yet to bring, they might have been more apprehensive.</blockquote>

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