: Keildrithe grips his grandfather's longsword with both hands and raises at high, preparing to swing at the abomination with both hands when it reaches him.
Kajetan curses as Abel resists his touch and swishes his hand directing its spectral counter part to attack once more. Smiling in grim satisfaction as the spectral hand makes perfect contact.
Touch Attack (STR -1, BA +2, Spectral Hand +2, +1 Inspire Courage)
dot
Alton cautiously moves forward, waiting for his companions to engage Abel once more before attacking once more.
As Abel moves away from them, Alton and Laithe both strike at him. The sorely wounded Laithe is easily sidestepped by the dead man, but Alton strikes true and deeply, the Longtooth dagger cutting deeply into the dead flesh.
Nicolai stands and fires a scorching ray at Abel, which engulfs him in flame, burning away part of his stained monk robes and charring the dry skin of his back and legs. But still the dead man keeps going, heading towards where Keildrithe stands, sword in hand.
Keildrithe slashes desperately at Abel as the badly damaged and smouldering walking corpse attempts to push past him, but his swing is clumsy and the blade is turned away harmlessly by Abel’s tough skin.
However, before Abel can strike the bard down, Kajetan moves his floating spectral hand to his back, and it glows coldly as it makes contact. Abel looks about, his eyes wide, and the distraction is all that Alton needs. The hlafling rushes forward and plunges the Longtooth dagger deep into Abel’s chest, where the heart of a living man would beat.
Abel throws back his head and shrieks, an ear piercing howl that echoes around the church and causes most of the remaining monks to fall to their knees. His clawed hands scrabble futilely at the blade for a moment, then he collapses, the hateful light fading from his dead eyes, and charred flesh flaking from his brittle bones. Abel is at last truly dead.
Laithe-wolf tries to pursue Abel, but his multiple wounds slow him down. As Alton jumps in and delivers a fatal blow to the abomination, Laithe-wolf allows himself to slump to the ground, panting heavily.
He transforms back into human form and calls out wearily to Keildrithe, "Brother, grab Bernadino. I think we are owed some answers."
Nicholai slumps as well, leaning against the altar to support himself. He still radiates authority, but he looks tired.
Nicholai looks at his bloody, damaged hands in amazement.
"I've never done that before. I wonder,..." he murmurs.
Laithe-wolf tries to pursue Abel, but his multiple wounds slow him down. As Alton jumps in and delivers a fatal blow to the abomination, Laithe-wolf allows himself to slump to the ground, panting heavily.
He transforms back into human form and calls out wearily to Keildrithe, "Brother, grab Bernadino. I think we are owed some answers."
Keildrithe exhales profoundly as the burnt, walking corpse of Abel collapses at his feet under the melee and arcane onslaughts of his companions. Had either of those attacks failed, it is likely that Abel would have torn him to pieces. "Thank you," he murmurs feebly to his wounded companions, the murmur amplified by the cavernous walls of the church. The close encounter with the undead has left the Karand shaken -- as the adrenaline rush subsides, he struggles to maintain a grip on his sword and starts to tremble like a leaf.
The bard nods as Laithe instructs him to bring back Bernardino. He steps into the antechamber and gazes coldly at the older monk, the point of his longsword resting on the ground. "Abel is gone for good now, Bernardino, we have destroyed him... But I believe that your penance has just begun... You owe us, and your order, more answers... Make it easy on yourself, and answer the summons willingly... or else..."
:)
Tired and shaking slightly as the adrenaline leaves him, Nicholai stares at his hands for a moment. "I wonder,..." He repeats softly.
The dandy shakes himself out of his reverie at Keildrithe's words. He also steps forward to join his companions surrounding Bernadino.
"Come Bernadino." Nicholai says to the monk, not unkindly, but firmly. He concentrates his gaze on the monk, and the weight of his authority falls upon him with it's full force.
"Do not compound your confessed sins with further lies. Tell us again what happened. From the beginning. And leave nothing out." Nicholai says calmly.
It is not a request.
Alton stands over the corpse for several long moments, heart hammering, dagger clenched tightly in his hand. Finally he shakes his head slightly, snapping himself of his momentary trance, and walks over to the nearest pew to slump into. Before he quite reaches a seat, he stops and sighs, then turns instead for the nearest monk who was struck by Abel, and heads over to see if they still live.
Brother Anselm hobbles over to Abel’s ruined corpse and begins sprinkling it with holy oil, speaking the words of a prayer. “I am sorry Brother Abel,” he concludes quietly. “I failed you, I should never have let myself believe you might take your own life.”
Bernadino re-enters the main body of the church, looking down at the floor. After a moment he begins to speak.
“Brother Abel came to me a week or so ago, saying that an angel had appeared to him, sent directly by Father Arton with a message for him. I ... I did not believe him – such visitations have not occurred for over a century! And if it were true ... why would an angel come to Abel, who has served the church for only a few short years, and not to me, I who have served the church faithfully my whole life, crusader, monk and scribe. I put my life at risk to defend our believes against the infidels, I suffered injury that has never truly healed! I have prayed every day and every night, have whipped myself raw to show my devotion – but neither Arton nor his angels have ever spoken to me.
“I told Abel to give up such foolish thoughts and concentrate on his work – that any further lies from his mouth would be severely punished.
“Days later I asked Abel whether he still believed he had had a visitation, he said he had. I whipped him for his lies ... or for my jealousy, but still he would not recant. I could not bear that he would not recant his words, and resolved to teach him a lesson. I ordered Brothers Gugliemo and Edmund to help me ... we took Abel from his room at night, and took him to the slaughterhouse where his screams would not be heard, where I intended to whip him until he recanted. But ... but, he would not. I did not mean to kill him, but ... he was dead. There was nothing I could do. Gugliemo and Edmund were panicked, scared for their own skin. We ... I ... decided to throw him from the roof of the scriptorium, over the wall into the gully, to make it look like he killed himself ... I never meant it, it was not ...”
Alton stands over the corpse for several long moments, heart hammering, dagger clenched tightly in his hand. Finally he shakes his head slightly, snapping himself of his momentary trance, and walks over to the nearest pew to slump into. Before he quite reaches a seat, he stops and sighs, then turns instead for the nearest monk who was struck by Abel, and heads over to see if they still live.
I think it was just one ... he is dead.
Brother Anselm hobbles over to Abel’s ruined corpse and begins sprinkling it with holy oil, speaking the words of a prayer. “I am sorry Brother Abel,” he concludes quietly. “I failed you, I should never have let myself believe you might take your own life.”
Bernadino re-enters the main body of the church, looking down at the floor. After a moment he begins to speak.
“Brother Abel came to me a week or so ago, saying that an angel had appeared to him, sent directly by Father Arton with a message for him. I ... I did not believe him – such visitations have not occurred for over a century! And if it were true ... why would an angel come to Abel, who has served the church for only a few short years, and not to me, I who have served the church faithfully my whole life, crusader, monk and scribe. I put my life at risk to defend our believes against the infidels, I suffered injury that has never truly healed! I have prayed every day and every night, have whipped myself raw to show my devotion – but neither Arton nor his angels have ever spoken to me.
“I told Abel to give up such foolish thoughts and concentrate on his work – that any further lies from his mouth would be severely punished.
“Days later I asked Abel whether he still believed he had had a visitation, he said he had. I whipped him for his lies ... or for my jealousy, but still he would not recant. I could not bear that he would not recant his words, and resolved to teach him a lesson. I ordered Brothers Gugliemo and Edmund to help me ... we took Abel from his room at night, and took him to the slaughterhouse where his screams would not be heard, where I intended to whip him until he recanted. But ... but, he would not. I did not mean to kill him, but ... he was dead. There was nothing I could do. Gugliemo and Edmund were panicked, scared for their own skin. We ... I ... decided to throw him from the roof of the scriptorium, over the wall into the gully, to make it look like he killed himself ... I never meant it, it was not ...”
"What form of penance do you now deserve, Brother Bernardino?" asks Keildrithe coldly. "What punishment does Arton reserve for monks who murder their brethren out of jealousy?"
Nicholai's usually pleasant face is a stony mask of forced calm. The grinding of his teeth is audible. The utter void of visible emotion on the normally animated dandy is almost frightening.
"He had a gift. Real or imagined. He had a gift. And you, in your selfishness and jealously, stole not only that gift, but his life as well." Nicholai says in a low, deceptively calm voice.
"He. Had. A. Gift. He didn't earn it. It. was. a. GIFT. It might have been a prayer of great healing. OR a message to stop the inquisition. Or simply a beautiful hymn. But know we'll never know. Because of YOU and your jealousy!" His voice finally rises as he jabs a blood-covered arm at Brother Bernadino. Tears stream down his face, and his hand erupts once again into golden flames.
For a long, tense, moment he stands frozen. Then there is the bright screech of a hunting bird from the open doorway. Nicholai takes a surprised half step back, his arm dropping and the golden flames flickering out.
Nicholai stands back up, gathering his dignity back around him like a suit of armor. He still radiates authority to everyone who looks at him. He continues to look at brother Bernadino with a flat stare.
"Abbott. We have found your killers. All but one are now dead. This man has confessed to his crime. As Abbott, I bow to you and your authority as to the disposition of his punishment. I, at least, find that I am taking this far too personally." He seems about to say more, but presses his lips together in a thin line, and slowly turns and moves to Laithe, quietly asking the druid if he is alright.
Alton sighs, leaving the body where it lays, knowing that someone else would soon see that the monks corpse be taken care of in a matter fitting his religion. He walks back to where the others question Bernadino.
'What penance indeed, for someone who has killed his own Gods messenger?' Alton shakes his head at the stupidity of the whole situation.
'What did Abel tell you? What message did he receive from this angel?'
Kajetan stands around looking equal parts shell shocked and embarrassed, glad that both the menace is dead and the poor lighting hides his damp robes. He watches the events unfold before him with morbid curiosity and waits for an out come.
By now some of the monks have emerged from their hiding places around the church, and others from outside have begun to congregate at the doors as the word passes that the danger has passed.
Bernadino stands stiffly, listening to his admonishment, eyes downcast. “Abel said the angel told him to dig a well at a certain spot, that the well would provide healing waters,” he says quietly. “I do not know the spot.”
The assembled monks gasp and mutter and in some cases wail at the situation and Bernadino’s words, but one slight monk steps forward – Brother Malich, who spoke to Alton and Laithe only a few hours earlier. “Sirs, it occurs to me,” he says, “that if Brother Abel had such a wondrous vision, he would likely have made some record of it ... wouldn’t he? He was after all a scribe and an illuminator – one of the best –always writing and drawing.”
Brother Anselm, having finished anointing Abel’s body, nods at Nicolai’s words. “Bernadino,” he says sternly, stepping forward. “You have committed grave crimes, against your brothers, against these innocent travellers and against Father Arton himself. You have confessed, but what penance fits the crime? The doors of our order and our monastery are open to all who call upon them, but from this day forward, they are closed to you Bernadino. But expulsion will not absolve you of your sins ... if you ever wish to find the gates of Heaven open for you, you must find some way to begin to make amends. I suggest you begin by finding the families of each of the people who have died due to your actions, your lack of faith – Brother Abel, Gugliemo, Edmund, poor Brother Paulo over there, the woman Anastasia – and tell them what happened here. Tell them that their loved ones deaths were your fault, and take what punishment or atonement they ask of you.”
By now some of the monks have emerged from their hiding places around the church, and others from outside have begun to congregate at the doors as the word passes that the danger has passed.
Bernadino stands stiffly, listening to his admonishment, eyes downcast. “Abel said the angel told him to dig a well at a certain spot, that the well would provide healing waters,” he says quietly. “I do not know the spot.”
The assembled monks gasp and mutter and in some cases wail at the situation and Bernadino’s words, but one slight monk steps forward – Brother Malich, who spoke to Alton and Laithe only a few hours earlier. “Sirs, it occurs to me,” he says, “that if Brother Abel had such a wondrous vision, he would likely have made some record of it ... wouldn’t he? He was after all a scribe and an illuminator – one of the best –always writing and drawing.”
Keildrithe nods in satisfaction as Brother Anselm utters the penance that Bernardino shall serve, then casts a look of utter disgust at the latter.
After a moment, the bard responds to Brother Malich. "Would he have made and kept such records in the scriptorium? Or would he have hidden them in his cell? Kajetan and I investigated the scriptorium, but we did not search specifically for something that might have been written by Abel's hand (nor would we necessarily have recognized a piece of writing as his, had we seen one). And some of our companions took a look around Abel's cell... but unless I'm mistaken, I don't think they found anything, either... Perhaps we need to take a fresh look in both places?"
“Brother Abel was always working,” answers Malich. “I would think it more likely that any notes or journal he may have kept would be in his desk in the scriptorium than in his room.”
NIcholai nods as he listens to the pronouncement of the Abbott. He still doesn't bring himself to look back yet though, busying himself with making rough bandages for his arms and Laithe's wounds. Finally he turns.
"Thank you brother, Malich, isn't it? Would you be so kind as to take Keildrithe and Kajetan and show them Abel's old desk? Help them, see if you can find any recent notes he made of these visions. Thank you."
Nicholai speaks softly and politely, but still the insistent sense of authority rolls from him. His request is only logical and right, and even his companions find their feet twitching and wanting to move at his words. He smiles faintly at his friends.
"Abbott. I find that your punishment is most fitting. If not immediately satisfactory to our baser instincts. Thank you." He half-bows to the abbott, then turns to finally face Bernadino once more. HE stares for a moment, as if deciding whether or not to speak.
"Bernadino. Thanks to the Abbott's wisdom and generosity, you have been given something your actions have denied so many others. A second chance. I don't know if Arton can, or will, forgive you. But I suggest if you want to find out, that you try very hard. Because you already know what awaits you if you fail." He says the last so softly that only Bernadino, his companions, and the Abbott can barely hear him. But his gesture towards the now-blessed body of Abel is unmistakable.
"I suggest that you get started immediately. Before your brethern recover from there shock and decide that the Abbott is far to generous."
NIchoali indicates the open doorway in the back of the church.
"And if you see a hawk with golden feathers, I would move faster, or seek cover. He doesn't like you very much." He adds, his head tilted slightly as if listening to something.
Laithe thanks Nicolai for his assistance and in turn carefully helps bandage the Dandy's own wounds, listening on the discussion all the while. "We could use some healing waters right about now," he whispers weakly as Bernadino confirms the message sent to Abel.
"I would propose an additional penance for Bernadino," Laithe speaks as the jealous monk's sentence is declared. "His actions have potentially denied the followers of Arton a great healing magic. And as I see it, Arton's name is in desperate need of healing, given all the horrific actions that have been performed under his banner. Bernadino should dedicate his life to healing and tending to others, giving them the care his jealousy has potentially denied them."
He then turns to the Abbott. "And I beseech you, Abbott; find the location of this well and build it. Many people have performed a multitude of terrible acts in the name of your god. Men such as Keildrithe and I have come to see him mostly as one who represents evil. If you can find this well, spread word of it's existence and dedicate it to Arton, perhaps you will go some way to repairing his name, and undoing some of the damage done by these evil men who hide behind their image of the god."
Keildrithe does not wait for the discussions regarding Bernardino's fate to conclude before he rushes to the scriptorium in search of Brother Abel's desk... and its contents. How could we not have asked if Brother Abel had worked on any written documents in the scriptorium before his untimely death? Then again, why did Brother Anselm not think to look there? Too many mistakes had been made and overlooked, and he was especially disappointed with himself.
Brother Malich leads Keildrithe outside – the snow has stopped falling at last, and a shaft of bright midday sun pierces the grey clouds – and to the scriptorium.
The cavernous building is cold inside – no open fires can be risked in the vicinity of the manuscripts – and a group of scared monks still huddle within, frightened by all the commotion.
Malich leads Keildrithe to one desk amongst the many that lie in rows in the room, pointing it out as Brother Abel’s. The manuscript that the young monk was working on at the time of his death still rests, unfinished, on the desk. The desk top is hinged, and within are quills, parchment, different coloured inks, various straight edges and a special pair of spectacles for detail work. Under a stack of parchment at the bottom of the deep storage space, Keildrithe discovers a small book that appears to be Abel’s diary, written in a neat but flowery script.
“We are not really supposed to keep private records,” says Malich quietly. “Brother Bernadino says they are non-essential possessions, and therefore against our vow of poverty. But many of us who work here keep books to practice and record our work, and I think some – like Abel – make them a sort of diary.”
A quick perusal of the book indicates that most of the entries are quite mundane, even boring – lists of prayers, and works completed or underway, notes of daily interactions and observations, sketches of small illuminations, but the last entry – dated not long before Abel’s death – is of far more interest.
“Today I was privileged beyond all hope, to view a vision of incomparable splendour. An angel of Arton appeared to me while I was walking outside the monastery walls. I trembled in fear, but the angel’s words soothed me. He said that Arton was well pleased with me, and that He held me in high favour. Then he told me to build a well on the spot where he stood. “The water drawn from the well will heal the sick of their ailments and will be a symbol of my overlasting love. People will come from far and wide to drink from it, and prosperity shall return to Movelton. Go now, and tell your brothers.”
“Words cannot possibly describe the elation I felt at the sight of this vision. I ran straight to the scriptorium and told Brother Bernadino of what I had seen. Alas, Brother Bernadino would not believe me. He claimed I was lying. Despite my pleas he remained unconvinced and warmed me that to say such things constitutes heresy and could warrant expulsion from the order. He told me not to speak of the vision again, lest he tell the abbot of my heresy.
“I confess I do not know what to do. I shall pray for guidance on this matter. I will return to the place where I saw the angel when I may and hope that he returns to advise me.
“Alas! The dinner bell has rung a second time. I dare not let Brother Bernadino wait any longer, lest I should further test his patience. I could not end the day, however, without first committing the events of this blessed day to the page.”
“We are not really supposed to keep private records,” says Malich quietly. “Brother Bernadino says they are non-essential possessions, and therefore against our vow of poverty. But many of us who work here keep books to practice and record our work, and I think some – like Abel – make them a sort of diary.”
"Thank you, brother," says Keildrithe. "And we now know how faithfully Brother Bernardino interpreted Arton's will, don't we?"
As Keildrithe skims the diary, he shakes his head. "Yes, it's all in here. The answers were all in here, had we thought to look..."
The bard thanks Brother Malich again, then promptly returns to the church with the diary. He confirms to Brother Anselm and his companions that Brother Abel had kept a diary in the scriptorium, which corroborated Brother Bernardino's confession, but did not specify the site where the angel had allegedly stood and where the well should be built.
Keildrithe reads the relevant passage of the diary to the others .
[ooc]Oops ... I forgot to add, on the next page. Is a rough sketched map of the monastery environs, showing the location nearby where Abel encountered the angel.[ooc]
"Ah! I missed a page!" calls out Keildrithe. "I think I know where Brother Abel had his celestial encounter!"
Keildrithe hands the diary to Brother Anselm. "Perhaps you, Brother, should lead us to the site, and be the first of your order since Abel's passing to gaze upon it?"
“I’m not sure I am deserving,” answers Brother Anselm sadly. “I have made too many mistakes; I should have realised that Brother Abel would not take his own life; I should have not relied so much on Bernadino to supervise the younger monks; I should have listened to my heart and banned outright the practice of flagellation as punishment – self or otherwise – to rot with tradition! But I erred, and several people have paid for my errors with their lives.” He sighs, then looks up at Keildrithe.
“It is you and your companions that have worked so hard to right the wrongs set in motion here. The snow has stopped; you should take some of the younger monks and find this wondrous spot. I will try to find some way to thank you upon your return.”
"I think you may be too hard on yourself Brother." Nicholai's voice cuts in. He sounds strong and confident, despite the mess his arms are in. (Or is that still the magic? It's hard to tell where the dandy's natural charisma ends and his magic begins.)
"It is all very well to say in hindsight that it should have been clear, or obvious now that all is revealed. And quite another to notice small things as they happen." Nicholai looks with warmth at the Abbott.
"After all, we are only human." He says with a very slight smile hiding on his face.
"Our greatest strength, and weakness, I think."
He nods his agreement with the Abbott's proposal that they take some younger monks and search out the location noted by Abel in his diary. He bends down, takes off the unusual star of Arton that he is wearing, and places it on Abel's chest.
"I meant what I said, when I was trying to talk to him." He says to the Abbott.
"He must be buried in sacred ground this time. As terrible as his actions were, THIS was not Abel." He pats the Star into place, leaving a bloody finger print on the medallion, and gets back up.
Relief floods through Laithe when Keildrithe returns with a diary that marks the spot. At least something may be salvaged from this tragedy.
He peruses the map Keildrithe uncovers, and once the group are ready to go, he leads them off through the snow, through one of the numerous gaps in the wall towards the spot indicated.
“I’m not sure I am deserving,” answers Brother Anselm sadly. “I have made too many mistakes; I should have realised that Brother Abel would not take his own life; I should have not relied so much on Bernadino to supervise the younger monks; I should have listened to my heart and banned outright the practice of flagellation as punishment – self or otherwise – to rot with tradition! But I erred, and several people have paid for my errors with their lives.” He sighs, then looks up at Keildrithe.
“It is you and your companions that have worked so hard to right the wrongs set in motion here. The snow has stopped; you should take some of the younger monks and find this wondrous spot. I will try to find some way to thank you upon your return.”
"We need no thanks, Brother, other than the promise that you will act on the lessons you have learned here, and that you will ensure that the other monks take those lessons to heart as well... for the good of all people, those who follow Arton and those who do not. A small but important step to foster spiritual healing in the world. I think we all agree with Nicolai that Abel has earned his resting place in sacred ground... would you not agree? The only other gesture of appreciation we might welcome would be information about Padre Stefan's recent activities, whereabouts, and where we might go seeking for him next...
"But for now, come with us to lay eyes on this well site. I believe it will mean more to you than to most of us, and you really should be among the first to see it. Let it symbolize a new beginning, brought about by the wisdom derived from painful experiences..."
Keildrithe follows Laithe in search of the well.
“Brother Abel will certainly be interred in consecrated ground,” nods the abbot, “and you have truly proved that you can be trusted with what I know of Padre Stefan. I must attend to things here, but when you return I will meet with you in my office and tell you what I know.”
Laithe leads the way out of the monastery, Abel’s map in hand, the druid’s sharp eyes picking out landmarks and the best path through the fallen snow. The snow lies thick on the ground, but the clouds are beginning to clear and wan sunlight warms you as you go.
Abel’s map leads to a narrow cleft in a cliff face about a quarter of a mile distant (by the path) of the monastery. The cleft opens out into a small grotto, sheltered by the cliffs from the worst of the weather, but open to the sky, and with a view over a low rock wall to the low lands to the west.
There is only a light dusting of snow on the ground here, and moss and lichen sprawls over the rocks. In the centre of the small grotto some hardy winter plants grow in an area of soft, damp earth.
Keildrithe takes in the view and breathes in deeply the fresh outside air. "A beautiful place for a scared well, with a grande view. Quite appropriate. Our Lady Ehlonna would approve... We should bring Pharris here -- I'm sure it would lift her spirits, too." The bard looks more at peace than he has in a long time, but worry creeps into his voice and eyes when he mentions the elf maid.
Laithe crouches by the area of damp earth, closes his eyes and says a prayer to his Lady Ehlonna. When he opens his eyes, he scans the area closely, hoping she has granted him the sight to confirm that this is indeed the place Abel was directed to.
You detect a faint aura of conjuration and abjuration magic.
Kajetan heads off to change his damp robe before anyone notices and almost misses the revelation of the location of the healing waters. He hurries after the others, a nagging doubt in his mind that their actions at the monastery are going to put the inquisition back on their trail and give them more ammunition for their crusade.
Alton walks along with the others, lost in his own thoughts and silent contemplations. He sits on the low wall looking to the west, and seems content for the others to investigate the site further.
Nicholai looks around the little hidden grotto. He is unusually speechless. Wij'kan swoops in from circling above to land on his outstretched arm. The dandy winces at the pain as the golden-feathered avian claws his way up Nicholai's wounded arm to his shoulder. He leans his head as if listening, in strange mirror image of Wij'kan doing the same thing.
Nicholai kneels down on one knee, lightly brushing the damp area with his bandaged fingertips. On impulse, he slowly shoves his fingers into the soft, moist earth. He picks up a handful, and lets it trickle messily back through his fingers.
The earth is cool and damp, the feel of it soothes Nicolai's injured hand.
"The angel instructed Brother Abel to build a well on this site. That would suggest that if we dig, we should find a spring or other water source beneath the ground, likely with healing properties. The question, of course, is how deep do we have to dig... and do we have the time to do so?"
Alton turns to his friends. 'Our enemies maybe here any day, and despite our actions here, or I suppose because of them, there will be some monks who will draw attention to us at the first possible chance. We may even be putting the abbott in a dangerous position by being here. I think it is time we leave. The monks can build the well.'
Having said his piece, Alton turns back to the view over the low wall, and continues to stare into the distance.
Alton turns to his friends. 'Our enemies maybe here any day, and despite our actions here, or I suppose because of them, there will be some monks who will draw attention to us at the first possible chance. We may even be putting the abbott in a dangerous position by being here. I think it is time we leave. The monks can build the well.'
Having said his piece, Alton turns back to the view over the low wall, and continues to stare into the distance.
"I agree we should not dally here much longer. But I am keen to test the waters, as I can detect some magic in the area. Stand back."
Still kneeling by the damp area, he wills a trandformation into wolf form once again and begins digging in the area; just enough to dig down around 6 inches to a foot, to see if water starts pooling.
Once done, he tranforms back into his human form and fishes a pottery bowl from his pack (possibly taken from the gnolls?) and scoops what water he can from the hole. He offers it to Nicolai.
"You are a follower or Arton, and you have suffered some grevious wounds. Drink and we shall see if Abel's sacrifice be in vain or not."
As Laithe digs down a little way, cold, fresh water begins to well up in the hole. He is able to collect some in the bowl he has carried with him for some time.
Kajetan murmurs, "Perhaps the brother should be interred near to this well, if it has the powers he was told of, then he was visited by an angle and should have all the honor your religion can bestow upon him."
He watches with interest as the waters are offered to Nicolai.
I have to agree with Alton I'm afraid. As much as most of the monks here would probably welcome us thanks to dealing with the return of Abel, the rest will either hate us, or at least fear us enough to turn us in the first time anyone of authority comes around asking questions. As to whether or not Abel should be buried here,... I'll leave that up to the Abbott. Abel must be buried in holy ground. I promised him that,..."
Nicholai takes the proffered bowl of water gingerly, makes a brief sign of blessing over himself, and takes a sip from the bowl. He waits a moment, then takes a larger drink. ,...
As the cool water passes Nicolai’s throat, he feels a rush of invigorating energy pass through him. The wounds inflicted by Abel knit together and heal in the blink of an eye, leaving new pink shiny skin behind, as do all the other small cuts and bruises that Nicolai has suffered in recent weeks. The tiredness borne of days of too-little sleep is washed away, and the mage feels like he could take on the Empire by himself.
Nicholai stands up straight, the wear and tear of the past few weeks washed away in an instant. Between the sudden invigoration of the healing waters, and his own spell, for a moment he looks (and feels) like a demigod.
"Now THAT is good stuff!" He declares grinning, the original jesting dandy they met on the road (what seems so very long ago now) is back in all his original glory. With interest.
Still grinning, Nicholai turns and takes the bowl to Laithe. He nods at the druid's doubtful look.
"Go ahead. What Abel became was of his own anger, not of Arton. And you helped to defend the monastery and the monks as much as any follower. I seriously doubt he will begrudge you a drink." Nicholai indicates the druid's poorly bandaged wounds. (Hey, Nicholai never claimed he was a medic!)
"And if he does, well shame on him then!" He adds with a wry grin.