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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Lazybones" data-source="post: 1658555" data-attributes="member: 143">Chapter 180“GET OFF!” Arun grappled Morgan’s arms and heaved, trying to break the cleric’s grip on Zenna, but the man’s hands were knotted around the unconscious woman’s neck, and his arms were like iron bars, rigid and unyielding.  The dwarf didn’t hesitate, bringing his sword up and slamming the hilt into the cleric’s face, shattering his jaw.  Morgan went limp, flying backward to land semi-conscious on the hard stone tiles of the floor.  The paladin knelt by the unmoving woman, and found that she was not breathing.  He powers of healing were somewhat depleted from their earlier encounters, but he drew deeply upon his reservoir and channeled positive energy, the gift of his god, into her.She did not stir. “Zenna!”Dannel staggered forward, all but falling at her side.  He had his healing wand out, but ignored it as he drew upon a pure song of grief and love that poured out of him, into her.  Sparkles of blue light formed in the air between them, borne on the notes of the song, vanishing into her body.  Her body arched as she drew in a sudden, desperate gasp of air, then she started choking, feeling at the tender flesh of her throat that was already beginning to bruise.  “Hold still,” Dannel said.  “Let the magic do its work.” She nodded, forcing herself to breathe calmly through her nose until the urge to gasp faded and she could breathe normally.  An ugly necklace of purple welts remained where Morgan’s fingers had pressed, however.  She rose, the elf helping her stand.  The room was quiet again, with the massive bodies of the giants flanking them in the center of the room. The companions gathered around the figure lying on the floor.  Morgan, still groggy, pulled himself up until he knelt there in their midst, his eyes lowered, blood still oozing from the cracked and burned flesh tight across his chest where Zenna had hit him with her spell.  He reached up and tore the hood from his head, revealing a face that was a mask of blood and suffering. “Kill me cleanly,” he said, his words slurred due to his damaged jaw.  “I do not deserve mercy, but still I ask it, a clean, quick death.”“I think we’ve had enough killing here,” Arun said, softly. “You were under the control of the hags’ magic,” Dannel added.  “There is no fault, no shame in it.”  He shuddered at the remembered power of the eyebite to which he had succumbed. Morgan’s gaze did not waver, fixed upon Zenna.  “I have failed,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.  His body shook, and they could see the despair flowing out from him like waves of heat from a roaring fire. Dannel’s voice was soothing, although Zenna could see that it struck the man like a spearpoint.  “Morgan, you are still needed...”His stare remained fixed on Zenna.  “Tell them!” he commanded.  “Tell them, that they may hold their false pity!”Zenna stepped forward.  She did not have the quiet nobility of Arun, or the smooth presence of Dannel, but there was still something that shone in her eyes when she took them all in with her gaze, before focusing back on the fallen cleric. “Yes, you have failed,” Zenna said.  “You have failed us, and we have failed you.”  Morgan opened his mouth to speak, but Zenna kept on talking over him.  “And perhaps you have failed in your compact to your god and your church; that is a matter for you and your oaths to resolve.  But mark this, priest.  This is not a game, here.  We are in a struggle for our lives, and the defeat of one foe does not necessarily mean that the danger is past.  We are a team, here—“ she indicated her companions with a wide sweep of her hand—“and we have to rely upon each other, if we hope to complete our mission here.  Remember the paladin, and the lives that will be lost in Cauldron and Redgorge if we do not return with him, or at least word of his fate.”Her gaze intensified, and for a moment it was as if the two of them, wizard and cleric, were the only people in the room.  “I offer you no forgiveness, nor do I proffer pity, Morgan of Helm.  But nor do I release you from the oaths you swore to us, when you became a member of this company.  Oaths perhaps not in the language of ritual and tradition, sworn on an altar in a church, but oaths nonetheless.  You are not finished here, Morgan Ahlendraal, and I do not release you.”  The last words were almost a whisper, but she could see the force with which they struck him. The cleric rose.  His face was an iron mask, but Zenna knew him well enough to see the storm of turmoil that lay behind that barrier.  He could barely stand.  Zenna knew that there was one thing more that needed to be done.  She stepped forward.  “You must ask,” she said, and she saw that he flinched.  Would her words be enough?“The elf...” he rasped. “No.  From me.  You must ask, cleric of Helm, if your honor is truly more than just words and inflated pride.”Morgan sagged, and for a moment Zenna thought that he would collapse.  But then his eyes came back up to meet hers, and while there was no peace there—there would not be, not for some time, if ever, she knew—there was at least a return of the old determination that she’d come to know there. “Heal me... please...” he said.</blockquote>

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