Toraim stays nearby for as long as it takes, to be certain that the girl does not turn against her benefactors upon waking.
”Will you keep vigil with me until we know if the girl is friend or foe — a boon or a curse?” he asks Akula.
The sister frowns at Ysildaë, "Yes, it is how she is... now, but not how she was at her birth. I know not the word to suggest what caused her to become this way..." She sighs deeply as tears roll down her pale cheeks. "Our order has sworn off magic that does not come from the Sacred Mother's essence of life, even if such spells would heal this girl's wounds. Perhaps..."
"Enough Sister Eimile," an impish little Sister says without lifting her head from tending to a nearby soldier. "Tend to the girl the best you can, and let these ruffians find some solace tonight. They've suffered enough without listening to you bauble on about things you don't fully know or understand."
"Yes, Sister," she says and turns her attention to the dhampir, stroking her hair and keeping a moist cloth to her mouth.
"Not that I would suggest such a thing, but surely the vassals of Valthyra would freely wield the power of death," the old Sister says spiritedly glancing up from her work. Akula perks up at the mention of her faith-filled god. Casting a glance at the half-orc, Toraim lowers and cocks his head, peering at the hospitaler and catching a glimpse of her blue hair. "Yes, yes... the overwhelming stench of sandalwood incense gives you away, master dwarf,"
Ysildaë nods to both priestesses. "Glory and honor to the Sacred Mother from whom sprung her daughters Miravynn and Valthyra. Blessings be upon her priestesses."
Glory and honor to all my divine ancestors. From Kolshot to Valthyra and Miravynn to Teysura. In this endless night, prayers of thanksgiving have their place. Her blood, though diluted with two mortal generations, mingles with divine ichor. The spark of her own life can be traced to the Sacred Mother. Family is a great blessing.
"The constable I will inform of who we have found."
She looks at her companions, though her glance is a bit sharper at Toriam. "We vowed to clear the prison for the constable. We should tell him our tidings and then return to our labors. It is not ours to tell him how to do his job. It is the duty of his men to protect the priestesses and to assess the threat of this child. It is our duty to keep our promises. Promises are sacred to Valthyra. Words should not be broken. What we say, we should do."
The dwarven priest shrugs off both the priestess’s veiled insult and the elven lady’s misstep, ”We are bound to fulfill our promise to cleanse the quarter, but we cannot pretend that bringing the girl here is not also our — your — responsibility. If she proves a threat, then we must be prepared to deal with her as necessary. Would you place a sleeping wolf in the care of an unarmed shepherd?”
The elven woman points to the guards who protect the healers. "Do you believe them so incapable? Do you think the constable is so foolish that if he assesses a greater threat that he cannot send more? Do you imagine the priestesses so helpless against a child who their healing prayers could destroy? A thing can be done well even if you are not the one to do it. A single metal is not suited to every task. It is in the community coming together that true strength is found."
Not for the first time, Ysildaë questions how well Valthyra is served by this priest. But she calms herself, by reminding herself that he clearly still carries her ancestress' blessings. As much as she wants the dwarf to respect those in authority and to respect the strength of this community, she would be committing the same sin to question that the goddess favors him.
Communities are only as strong as the bonds between them. For their team to be strong, they would need to find away to work together.
Her voices softens and she smooths her brow. A glare will not convince him, but reason might. "Agree do you that the constable has the authority to direct the defense of the district? Then why do we not present what we have found and and our concerns to him? If he determines that we are the best resources to guard from this potential threat, then I agree that our other duties can wait. What say you? I will even stay here on guard while you present your case to him for you are correct that I bear responsibility to and for this child."
"Sapient beings are not wolves, nor is anyone here truely unarmed. And regardless, if one found a dying wolf full of sickness, they ought to heal it. And if they did, the wolf would know, as most creatures would. Wolfs are not some innately vicious monsters, nor is this girl. You fear her because undeath as grazed her life and made it different than yours, but I would fear you because paranoia has compromised your moral integrity, Toraim."
Maria looks at Ysildaë, her face crossed with lines of frustration. She enjoyed discussing these moral matters, but it was clear the dwarf did not, and she didnt wish to antagonize him, but convince him. She turns to him and begins speaking in dwarven.
"Let me make myself clear, Toraim. It is not wrong for you to be concerned, but I worry you are concerned for the wrong reasons. This is a time of crisis, no? And that entails risk. If we are to treat every person saved from death with supreme suspicion, we would be responsible for a hundred deaths or more. We cannot afford to gamble with the lives of those in danger any more than we can gamble with our safety; Dampir are incredibly vulnurable to healing energies, Toraim. Those people are more equipped to deal with them than any blade is, and for that matter, are in a better position to judge this persons character. They have the wisdom, I hope, to judge this stranger as they must have done for others found among the rubble. Let us have the wisdom to go on and not obsess over this issue. If it becomes an issue, we can solve this. Otherwise, we will have done more good than standing here arguing will ever do."
Maria looked at the ground after speaking, a neutral expression on her face. She had reservations about strangers, of course, and could not blame Toraim for that, but she also realized that the scrutiny this woman would face would be great regardless of their actions. It would be better to give the benefit of the doubt while the girl was weak, to minimise the risk of fatality.
"Besides, I am more concerned with the necrotic energies that erupted from the slain undead and the disease that came with it, and what that might entail for our health, even with the antiplague we were given. I doubt that all of us made it unscathed, and I believe we should strategize given what we've learned and share any useful information with others. We have far more to concern us than an individual who has not shown any substantial ability aside from being near death in more ways than one."
Not understand dwarven, Ysildaë lets Maria's words wash over her. Ysildaë is grateful that Maria has her back. Despite being a near stranger, she felt a connection to the other woman.
Come from paths diverse and winding, but upon the cliff we see the same view.
”Your words sound fair and true, but they are mere rhetoric,” he calmly accuses his elven ally. ”You did not care for common accord when you decided without council or consent to bring the girl here. We could have tended to her at the prison where we found her! Or we could at least have come to an agreement before deciding on a course of action! And now, you dare accuse me of thinking my allies incapable, foolish, and helpless when your contempt for your own allies is plainly obvious?”
He calms his rising fury.
”Do not presume to preach to me the teachings of Valthyra through plain metaphors. My duty is to serve and stand by these people against all the odds. I am honoured to fight alongside them. And it is my responsibility now to see this to the end —not because I deem anyone incapable, but because I wish to stand by them come what may.”
He turns to Maria, ”You claim that my paranoia has compromised my moral integrity? I will forgive the slight and argue that you are blind to the real danger this girl represents. You are moved by her sorry state —by her innocent appearance. We are facing a plague of undeath. Let us not pretend that this girl is no more than a simple refugee! Among the dwarves, Dhampyrs have been known to be both a curse and a blessing. Perhaps she is, indeed, just another victim. But should we not ascertain if this girl is friend or foe before assuming the former?”
He turns his attention to Ysildaë once more, “I have no case to present. You may say what you wish to the constable. I will stand vigil until he determines that my presence is no longer required.”
”Then, we can continue the task of cleansing the prison, understanding its mysteries, and finding a cure to your illness.
Ysildaë laughs in disbelief. "Toriam, you give me few options. Wicked or foolish you must be. Said you that she must be not alive, though her heart clearly beats. Stood you in the door with your many weapons of war. Did you plan to strike us down? Is this how you stand with us? For I had to elude you like I would an enemy. Was this foolishness or wickedness? You stand with no one. Say you that we could have tended her in the prison, but we have not the arts nor knowledge nor the resources to do it there. She would have died. Then her heart would truly not beat."
She shakes her head with great sadness. "You speak of real danger, but the only danger is your fears. Your implicit threats of violence when we do not obey you. You act as if accident or ancestors choose our paths in life. That would be like saying that all dwarves worship the Eater of the Dead because it was in dwarven halls where the Sons of the Flesh began. Recall I do not, demanding proof that you do not serve the Eater of the Dead. Any man or woman can turn to wickedness just as any can choose hope and the common weal."
She looks him full in the face. "By your actions and your own words you not seek accord. You seek dominance. When next we are injured should I expect to see you in the door way with your weapons of war? No longer do I trust you to venture into dark places and do battle there."
The elven noble woman looks to the other two members of their fellowship. "What say you Akula? What say you Maria?"
"Toraim, you speak of common accord; it is clear that at least two of us favored bringing the girl to safety hastily. Some of us have duties and beliefs to uphold that forbid such a callous act; tell me, would you be willing to gamble with another's life? I for one would not; each mortal life is as sacred as any other. If you were right, we'd have made a mistake. Otherwise, we will have committed a grave sin. Your judgement is not any more valuable than the lives of others, nor is it valued above that of the others in this group. If you wish to hold a vote on this matter, we will do so latter. I believe the results will tell you to hold your tongue until your moral cowardice is forgiven, or you come to realize that lives are not subservient to your narrow view."
A cold sweat traces the creases in Maria's brow, her face pale and eyes filled with worry, frustration, and tiredness. Her eyes turn to the feet of Ysildaë; an agreeable person, a kind one. Were they not in an argument with this paragon of stubbornness, Maria would smile, discuss the day and thank her for her swift action with the near-dead woman they had found. Instead, her body feels prepared to expel bile of a verbal and literal kind at this dwarf.
"But I want us to get along. We cannot afford to antagonize each other further; lest we lose the dwarf, who is a skilled fighter at the least."
Maria looks upwards, as if trying to find some pattern in the air above her that would reveal some hidden solution, and almost looks dissapointed to before closing her eyes.
"I pray we cease our arguing here. We have no more to gain. Unless both Toraim and Akula object, we go to constable as Ysildaë has made good case for."
"I thank the winds that we are in agreement, even if opposition stands; it is good to listen to the joy of morality in stead of dwelling in the pits of paranoia. But let us be silent as the path stretches ahead, such that the dams of disharmony do not break, such that Amus' mercy might heal the wounds of pride."
Ysildaë gives Maria a sad smile.
”You imagined that because I stood in your way, that I would strike against you despite our having fought side by side for days? It is preposterous! Clearly, you believe that I have no honour; and, if indeed it so, I cannot imagine why you would wish to continue our alliance.”
He shakes his head, confounded, ”In any case, if you found me menacing, I apologize.”
He continues calmly, ”You have called me wicked and foolish, fearful, domineering, unworthy of trust, callous, and a coward without morals. And then, in the same breath, you speak of peace. It is beyond the pale.”
”Nevertheless, we have a common cause and we must fight together. I will not soon forget your words, but I will agree to set aside our differences. Go then. Speak to the constable and say what you will. When he has taken the matter in hand, we will strike the disk of Valthyra, and continue to the prison as we must.”
Ysildaë turns back from Maria towards the dwarf. A faint tremor passes through her. "I believe that you have as much honor as the next man who would let a child die for fear or convenience. Because she might -- might -- be a danger. Who knows what else such a man might do for his convenience? Such a man I would remind of his goddess' teachings in plain metaphor. If night still turned to day, I would not abide such a man. Yet in this endless night, I see no other men. Speak you of your honor? Act honorably; a change of behavior is the best apology."
She takes a deep breath. To any observer of this conflict it is clear, as much as the dwarf may feel his honor offended, the elf believes he has crossed moral lines that should not be crossed.
Another breath, "Go I to the constable."
In a blur of silks, she is gone from the bridge. She heads to the once tavern where constable has made his headquarters. Once he can take her report, she speaks, "Clearing the prison goes apace. In the basement, we found tunnels hidden in devices of torture. These tunnels extend far past the boundaries of the building. On the second floor, we found a girl child, weak with hunger and thirst. She was on death's door in more ways than one. Though she lives, she has not gone unscathed. Touched by the powers of death, she is. Some dispute there was on what should be done. Took her we to the Sisters of Teysura, who know of her condition. As constable it is your choice what next we do: return to the prison or keep watch over the girl-child?"
Snickering to herself, the gnome continues to examine the young, unconscious girl. Finally, after the elf stomps off. She raises her head and speaks to Toraim. "I appreciate the concern Master Dwarf, but if this girl were to awaken and threaten us, my touch would lay her to rest. And even if she doesn't prove a treat, you have my word that I'll summon you as soon as the girl is fit to speak."
She smiles at the dwarf, then turns her attention to the investigator. "Seek consensus and build friendships. Walking the lands without family is a lonely and dangerous path, Maria."
Mehinsni caresses her patient's faces with the back of her hand. "So powerful, yet her life is fleeting, like all of ours."
Marcusic looks down at Ysildaë from the steps of the inn. "No, you were correct to bring her to the infirmary, right away. I'll send a few guards to watch over her until she awakens. The Sisters and those at the infirmary are too weak to be left with a killer, even if she's knocked out." He scratches his beard a minute, "Touch by death, eh?!' He thinks for a moment, then clears his throat. "I need the Constable’s Príosún cleared as soon as possible. Make your way back there and finish the job if you can."
"As you say, we will do."
Just as quickly as she came, she goes.
Back at the bridge, she reports to her fellow warriors for they were that if nothing else, even the dwarf.
"Commends us the constable does for swiftly bringing the child to where she could be cared. More guards he sends to the Sisters in case of danger. Urges us to return to the prison and complete our duty there."
Ysildaë brushes lank hair from the child's face, silently commending her recovery to Dasyra.
As they return to the prison, she offers, "We should finishing clearing the cells on the first floor and then return to the tower."
"We cannot be as one if we do not stand together," the dwarven priest answers the Sister of Teysura's assurance. "I do not doubt that you could handle the girl, but I am duty-bound nonetheless."
He sighs, "Still, while my resolve remains like the mountain, it saddens me that it has come to this."
As the priestesses tend to the girl, Toraim lays his sword on the ground and kneels. With both hands, he holds to his heart the disk of Valthyra that hangs from a heavy chain around his neck. He prays.
When Ysildaë returns with instructions, he simply nods, rises, and takes his position in the marching order.
The group works their way through the dark streets of The Point back to the old prison house. Entering the building, they head to the eastern portion of the bottom floor. There, they find a small armory with several arming swords and two longspears. Along the south wall, a pair of leather tunics are hung on hooks. The door to this area is not unlocked with the key they earlier found.
The southern door unlocks easily with the key and leads to a stairwell heading up.
"To where do these stairs lead?"
The sturdy dwarf takes the lead up the stairs, also curious to discover where the surprising staircase could lead...
8th of Selefis, 7995 E.C., early evening
Toraim leads the group up the stairs followed closely by Ysildaë, Maria and Akula. He climbs the rounding steps to a second floor, somewhere between ground floor and the high, upper floor where they last explored. He comes to another door of iron bars. With a quick test, he discovers the door to be unlocked. Looking out into an empty room, he sees a single, closed door along the north wall and a pair of double doors to the south partially open.
The dwarf takes a long look and doesn't see or hear any movement in the common room before him.
Toraim quickly moves to stand before the open door for fear that, despite the deathly silence, something lurks in the shadows. He peeks inside the room...
The elven noble woman follows the dwarf like his shadow, prepared to skewer any threatening undead. While she is furious with the dwarf, she isn't getting-him-killed-furious. If he isn't alive, he will have no opportunity to learn compassion.
The pair approach the open door with Maria not far behind. The stale smell of charred embers fills the dwarf's nose as he looks inside. Before a cold, dark fireplace upon the eastern wall rests a plush rub and a dusty couch. A pair of chairs surround a old, round table sits idle to the south. Nothing else can be heard or seen beyond.
Shield high, the dwarf moves in quickly, crossing the doorway and staying close to the wall...
Ysildaë continues to impale any who menace the dwarf.
Toraim steps into the room to find a closed cupboard on the north wall by the fireplace and a table set with 4 chairs to the west. Along the northern wall near the table is a small desk with several books. Otherwise, the place is empty.
Before venturing into the room to investigate further, Toraim crosses the corridor and prepares himself to enter the room to the North...
Maria follows behind the others, weary and uncertian; on high alert, to say the least. It has been quite a long day already.
Toraim listens intently at the door. The slow, plodding sound of heavy footfalls comes from beyond the door. As he turns to inform his companions, the dwarf's nostrils flair. A terrible smell comes from within.
Ysildaë moves to back the dwarf with a her spear.
"Kick the door open and be ready with your shield?" she whispers.
The dwarf nods, incants a prayer, readies his shield, and opens the door...
Toraim opens the door and a loud shriek bellows out. Looking around his shield, the dwarf sees a zombie looking over its shoulder at the dwarf.
Ysildaë will brace her spear.
The dwarven priest incants a spell and places his hand on Ysildaë's spear. "Strike true with the flame of the forge", he urges the elven warrior as her weapon ignites into flame!
Then, Toraim sets his shield against the zombie, blocking the doorway while allowing Ysildaë to strike with her spear.
.
Maria attempts to identify if this undead is the same as the others they've encountered as it approaches them, or if its simply a standard zombie.
As Ysildaë braces her spear to take a charge, Toraim places a fiery hand upon it. The spear ignites illuminating the both rooms. The zombie shrieks at the cleric as bile drips from its maw. Maria glances beyond the two, and while she can't get the best look at the undead creature, she is positive it resembles the same zombies that the party has fought before.
The zombie rushes forward and impales itself upon Ysildaë's weapon. Yet, its power is unyielding and it continues forward, the spear sliding entirely through its rotting flesh. When it finally strikes the shield it pushes the elf and dwarf back into the chamber. Only Ysildaë striking the far south wall prevents an even further bull rush by the zombie. Black fluid splatters across the shield and continues to flow from the creature's body where the spear entered and exited.
A second creature comes out of the door past the zombie. The creature has long flowing white hair and a beard to match. A tarnished breastplate hangs on its thin, decaying torso. It drags a two-handed sword behind it. A cloud of stench follows it. Toraim takes a deep inhale of the putrid odor and laughs. The creatures aura won't affect the dwarf today. Ysildaë shakes her head aat the stench but remains unaffected as well.
Stepping past the zombie, the creature raises its sword and swings at the dwarf, but the weapon only finds the massive shield wielded by Toraim.
Ysildaë pulls out the spear with a sickening Schlurchhhh. She jabs at the zombie again, but it goes wide.
She turns and faces the new undead. "Know not what you are, but by Dasyra's grace and Valthrya's fire release comes."
Maria moves forward, drawing her rapier to strike the hopefully slow to react zombie that Ysildaë had impaled moments before.
She misses, alarm crossing her face as the zombie evades her attack; her aim was failing her.
Ysildaë's thrust of her longspear misses the creature as it easily avoids the blow. Similarly, Maria's wild slash with her rapier misses the horribly injjured zombie.
Toraim prays for some guidance and inspiration about the undead they are facing before calling upon the blessing of Valthyra and the secrets of the Forgemasters to enchant Maria's rapier...
Toraims prayers of enlightenment are met with stunned silence as he peers around the shield to see the wretched walking dead that has emerged before him. He calls on Valthyra's power and feels his weapons groan as their density grows.
The zombie slams itself against Toraim's shield, dislodging its own head. It stumbles back a step and explodes.
The white haired zombie steps to its left, circling the dwarf trying to get a better angle around Toraim's shield. It raises the claymore and slams it down on the cleric. Once again the make-shift tower shield does its job as the sword carves into the oaken door but comes well short of striking Toraim.