Brother Cassiel contemplated, yet again, what spelunking through this
orifice actually did to further the cause of Order. And, yet again, he could not come to a satisfactory conclusion. The nearest he could manage was that wiser men than he had saw fit to send him here, so now he had only their wisdom to rely on. The denial of artifacts of power was one of the few weapons in the arsenal of Order against Anarchy, so perhaps this was the task set before him now.
He could rely little on his travelling companions, or at least some of them. The halfling in particular seemed to secrete chaos from his very skin. Everything he touched lost its order and sank into Anarchy.
And now here they sat, up to their knees in filth and muck, one fewer than moments before, and with an unnamed horror barely held behind a doorway.
Brother Cassiel concentrated on slowing his breathing. Focus, he told himself. Calm yourself. He brought a hand to his face to wipe away sweat and muck, and became suddenly conscious of the crimson river poring from his shoulder and upper arm, leaving a great bloody stain on his skin. He winced as he inspected the wound, flexing his arm through the pain. He close his eyes and concentrated on his breathing. Calm. Panic is irrational.
Through sheer concentration the monk willed his wounds closed, maintaining his body's wholeness. Discipline in defiance yields victories, however small. In this case, victory over pain and injury.
The Vigilant Mountain ran a hand up the previously bleeding arm, scraping the blood from his skin and pooling it in his palm. With a grunt he swept it away, adding his spilled lifeblood to the muck about him. The disciplined must be willing to bleed.
*******
Wholeness of Body used for 24 hitpoints. Now at 60 of 76 HP, and itching to Choke Hold someone.
