Demons have ruled the Worldwound for over 100 years, since the death of Aroden and the opening of the Worldwound in 4606 AR. Fearsome fiends of every stripe—their mottled skin harder than iron, teeth like serrated blades, and eyes burning with Abyssal flames— roam the ruined lands that were once known as Sarkoris, leaving their mark wherever they go. Four Mendevian crusades have attempted to cleanse the land, but each seems to meet a worse fate than the last. Were it not for the line of magical wardstones along the eastern and southern borders, the demons would have long ago overrun northcentral Avistan and beyond.
The Fourth Crusade didn't really end six years ago as much as it petered out, yet some refuse to accept that. Though the demonic occupation of the Worldwound is growing, as is corruption among the crusaders, a dwindling minority of paladins and priests maintain that the Fifth Crusade, whenever it starts, will be a game-changer.
Some excitement has been begun to build in Kenabres, however — Armasse is only a month away! Traditionally an opportunity for scholars and priests to come together to study the lessons of history from wars past, since Aroden’s death, this holy day has become more about training commoners in weaponry, choosing squires, and ordaining new priests. Over time, Armasse has grown to encompass jousting competitions, mock duels, battle reenactments, and other festival events. In Kenabres, the festival (which takes place on 16th day of Arodus) is eagerly anticipated, for it provides distractions from the horrors of being on the front line of this apparently losing war effort.
You make your way through the streets of Kenabres, the fortified crusader city bordering the Worldwound, during this warm summer day. Vendors hawk textiles, jewelry, housewares, art objects, fresh produce, and handmade furniture to their customers, including you all, even if they are wary of your strange appearances.
You pass through the Gate District into the Ring District, leaving the vendors and marketplace behind, and finally reach Old Kenabres. This district is the remainder of the original town of Kenabres before crusaders and refugees turned the small town into a city of slums and crusader camps. Old Kenabres is the residence of the oldest lineages in the city as well as the administrative buildings. The contrast between the rich and poor is shockingly apparent, as you move from the peripheries to the center of the city.
You show the guards at the gate the seal on the letter you received and you are allowed to enter, despite snickers from the guards regarding your appearance. You decide that you would rather not arrive late to the meeting than throttle the guard for his ignorance.
You pass the Temple of Iomedae and reach Clydwell Plaza, the site of the Armasse festival in a month. A few hundred feet away is your destination, the Cathedral of Saint Clydwell. Also called the Grand Temple, the cathedral honors Saint Clydwell, a champion of Iomedae who sacrificed himself to seal a horde of demons within an inescapable prison or so the story goes. The cathedral is a great stone building with a green copper steeple and stained-glass windows portraying the imprisonment of various horrific demons. The priests are busy this morning, as wounded warriors are taken to the cathedral to be healed by acolytes, while the priests of the cathedral perform blessings on crusaders about to venture forth into the Worldwound.
You approach the Cathedral, show the seal on your letter, and are allowed inside without issue. The Cathedral is very beautiful on the inside and quite impressive as an architectural feat with its flying buttresses. A couple of soldiers inside escort you to a room on the eastern side of the cathedral. Other than a banner of Iomedae hanging on the wall and a table with 5 chairs around it, the room is quite bare and sterile. Snacks and water and wine have been lain out on the table, apparently for your enjoyment. You sit or stand, awaiting your host. You pull out the letter again, addressed to you, that you received yesterday, which prompted today's appearance.
"Your presence is required at the Cathedral of St. Clydwell tomorrow before the bell tolls nine times for a matter of great importance. Please be punctual and there is no time to lose. The 5th Crusade awaits."
Prelate Hulrun
[seal of the Prelate]
Trok pushes his way through the crowded streets, astonished at the variety of goods on display, and the prices being paid. He doesn't touch his purse, nor look at it, but he finds himself wondering How long do I have to find an expedition? I won't be able to buy any food in as little as a day with these prices . . ..
As the guards snicker at the standing, walking cat, Trok simply stands there, not even frowning, just waiting. All they see is different, just like everyone else. Do not let their ignorance win. Do not let their disbelief convince you to be the beast they are afraid you might be. He repeats one of this mother's lessons to himself, trying to be the better man she always told him he could be.
Moving through the much less crowded, but still very busy, plaza, Trok sees the wounded and finds something familiar at last. The merchants wouldn't fight. The people scrambling to do business with them did not seem the sort to fight. Maybe I WILL find an expedition before I go hungry. Maybe this summons isn't about a circus.
He enters the Cathedral and looks every bit the tourist as he tries to take it all in, tilting his head to see the ceilings, and twisting one way and then the other to see the sculptures and glass artwork. As he is escorted into the small, far more plain room, he frowns. Not as much to . . .. Hey, FOOD!
He is at the table reaching for whatever is closest before he realizes it, then forces himself to retreat back to one of the walls before allowing himself to start nibbling at the unexpected treat. I might be able to make a meal from this, but I must be polite about how I eat.
Alessandro stepped out of his father's respectable home in Old Kenabres. He looked over his city and smiled. He silently thanked Iomedae for all of her blessings on him and he promised her he would strive to be a better warrior today than he was yesterday. He checked the sword and javelin on his back. His years of training had lessened the strain on his muscles.
He made his way through the streets, his emerald metallic skin drawing looks from the persons on the street, despite the fact that he had lived in Kenabres all of his life. He had learned to ignore them in his 20 years of life. He picked up his pace to the Cathedral.
Odd to have received the message from the Prelate. How the world changes from one minute to another? 3 years ago, the Prelate wanted him to swing from the galley and now he was summoning him to an important meeting. 5th Crusade? What was the mission? What role would he play in it? He had been too young to participate in the prior crusades. Now it would be his time to shine and learn from his mistakes.
Alessandro said a few prayers as he passed the Temple to Iomedae, greeted a few of the priests in front of the Cathedral, some of whom had taught his religion during his paladin studies. He entered the Cathedral and was escorted to the room. He was taken aback a little when he saw the big lion-headed humanoid. But a lion was a noble creature after all. The 6'4 warrior garbed in his shining breastplate and emerald metallic skin approached with his hand stretched out. "I am Alessandro, fellow warrior. I assume you've been summoned by the Prelate also."
The cat nods, swallowing what he had in his mouth before reaching out with his empty left hand to take the emerald-skinned giant's offered hand. "I am Trok, of the Ildfugl-Quah. Yes, the Prelate summoned me. I had hoped it would be a chance to fight for the lands of my people, but seeing you, and knowing how I appear, I'm afraid this will end up an effort for him to entertain himself instead." The voice is human enough, but the tone is disappointed at best.
The cat moves back to the table and grabs three of the small snacks, throwing them back quickly. "If he intends to use us so, I have no reason to be polite, do I? Want one?" He indicates the foodstuff.
As is her custom, Ayaal keeps the visor of her helm down when travelling around town. The hooked-beak bird-of-prey mask kept most people at arm’s length – as was intended. As the gate guards snicker, the mask served another purpose, hiding the contempt that crosses Ayaal’s face. She glanced at the guards’ shiny cuirasses and noted the unstained leather on their swords’ hilts. She knew – and agreed with – what the old lady would say: toy soldiers pretending to be men
Once clear of the checkpoint, the warrior-priestess moves quickly to the Cathedral, propelled by her long legs and some concern over why the Prelate would summon her. She pays little attention to the guards escorting her to the eastern room. The occupants of the room however, bring her up short. She was used to standing out… but these people would challenge her in that regard. The bird-head mask cocks sideways, curious at this new piece to the puzzle. Ayaal carefully leans her glaive against a wall then pushes the visor of her mask up – to reveal a pale face punctuated by inhumanly sharp features and disconcertingly intense green eyes. She takes her helmet off and a mane of curly black hair tumbles free. Ayaal sets the helmet on a chair, being careful to smooth the feathers that cover the skull of it.
Despite her height, both men tower over her. She gives each of them a polite, almost military, bow. ”Ayaal.” She regards the table briefly, Five seats, three people. We’re waiting for the Prelate and who else?
The cat nods, swallowing what he had in his mouth before reaching out with his empty left hand to take the emerald-skinned giant's offered hand. "I am Trok, of the Ildfugl-Quah. Yes, the Prelate summoned me. I had hoped it would be a chance to fight for the lands of my people, but seeing you, and knowing how I appear, I'm afraid this will end up an effort for him to entertain himself instead." The voice is human enough, but the tone is disappointed at best.
The cat moves back to the table and grabs three of the small snacks, throwing them back quickly. "If he intends to use us so, I have no reason to be polite, do I? Want one?" He indicates the foodstuff.
"Entertain himself?" Alessandro stands there with a puzzled look. He tales out the letter and reads it again. "The Prelate says this is about the 5th Crusade. I do not think we would be summoned as entertainment for the masses. Then again, who knows? I hear morale is pretty low among the soldiers." Alessandro cuts himself short. While he respected the Prelate and his position, he could not defend a man who almost ended his life. "Patience, Trok, is a virtue we will have all have to learn." Alessandro takes a chair and sits down. He refuses the food from the lion figure. "Just had breakfast."
As is her custom, Ayaal keeps the visor of her helm down when travelling around town. The hooked-beak bird-of-prey mask kept most people at arm’s length – as was intended. As the gate guards snicker, the mask served another purpose, hiding the contempt that crosses Ayaal’s face. She glanced at the guards’ shiny cuirasses and noted the unstained leather on their swords’ hilts. She knew – and agreed with – what the old lady would say: toy soldiers pretending to be men
Once clear of the checkpoint, the warrior-priestess moves quickly to the Cathedral, propelled by her long legs and some concern over why the Prelate would summon her. She pays little attention to the guards escorting her to the eastern room. The occupants of the room however, bring her up short. She was used to standing out… but these people would challenge her in that regard. The bird-head mask cocks sideways, curious at this new piece to the puzzle. Ayaal carefully leans her glaive against a wall then pushes the visor of her mask up – to reveal a pale face punctuated by inhumanly sharp features and disconcertingly intense green eyes. She takes her helmet off and a mane of curly black hair tumbles free. Ayaal sets the helmet on a chair, being careful to smooth the feathers that cover the skull of it.
Despite her height, both men tower over her. She gives each of them a polite, almost military, bow. ”Ayaal.” She regards the table briefly, Five seats, three people. We’re waiting for the Prelate and who else?
Upon Ayaal's entrance, the paladin quickly stands, remembering his knightly values, fumbling a little with the greatsword on his back and studies her to gauge her reaction to his appearance. "Hello milady, Alessandro and Trok. Beautiful helm." He stands awkwardly for a little while. "Will you sit down with us? Or do you prefer to stand?"
Her green eyes light with amusement at the warrior's discomfort even as she smiles at his deference. It had been a long time since anyone had been so genteel towards her. "I'm not much of a lady, good knight, but thank you for the honor." Ayaal adds candidly, "Frankly, I'm a bit too nervous to sit at the moment." To emphasize her point, she taps on her copy of the Prelate's missive secured by a loop in the worn bandolier slung across her chest. "But please sit. Don't stand on my account." If she is bothered by the appearance of either man, it doesn't register on her curious features.
Thinking better of it, she moves her helm from the chair to the floor by her glaive. If the Prelate sat, she'd have to sit as well. Not wanting to simply hover while the men sat, Ayaal opts to lean against the wall by her gear. "Have... have you been in Kenabres long?" She had no gift for small-talk and that question proved it.
Evelyn comes in wrapped in books, potions, and scrolls, trying to keep it all organized on her backpack as she walks around. She passes through the checkpoint, looking for the place where she was supposed to meet the prelate. She is still on time, but as she arrives, she's surprised to see that some people are already there.
Hi! Hi! - she says, smile on her face - Nice to meet you all. I'm Evelyn... Evelyn Dhorn.
She is beautifully exotic; there's something definitely celestial to her, like the others. Yet, as she approaches the whole room feels warm, as if a moving flame is in their presence. Not a raging, violent fire, but the one expected from a comforting fireplace in a manor during the coldest nights of winter.
May I? - she asks, pointing at a chair - I assume you're all here for the prelate as well?
Alessandro quickly sits upon Ayaal giving him permission to do so. He smiles as he does, thanking her for releasing him from his awkward state. The paladin smiles at the lady's question, feeling more at ease, realizing that she is nervous as well. Proudly, he speaks, "Yes, actually, I've lived here all of my life. The Syvallan family line has participated in all of the Crusades. We were one of the founding families. Guess it's my turn to uphold the family legacy. And yourself, Ayaal? I have not seen you around before, though it's true that I don't get to all parts of the city. Are you relatively new?"
Allesandro quickly stands at Evelyn's entrance and bows. The emerald-skinned warrior smiles at her. "Hello Evelyn, Alessandro at your service. This is Ayaal and Trok. Welcome. Guess we're just waiting on our host now."
She replies lightly, "I'm quite new. I haven't been here even two months and my wanderings around the city have been limited. At some point, I may need your expertise on places to visit and which merchants to trust, if you wouldn't mind?"
Ayaal inwardly deflates - just a bit - when Evelyn arrives. Of course, she's beautiful. She offers the other woman a polite bow and curiously watches Evelyn as she attempts to sort through the contents of her pack. "Do you need help with that? You seem to have too few hands."
Oh, thanks, Ayaal! - Evelyn accepts Ayaal help and sits down, organizing her equipment.
Happy to have your services, priest! - she kids, when Alessandro speaks, then turning to the other party member - And nice to make your acquaintance too, Trok.
For good or ill, Ayaal is in it now. She sits down and starts dexterously snatching up the loose alchemical bottles that threaten to roll off the table. She sniffs at one, sharp nose wrinkling. "Vinegar, I think. You might want to get a bandolier. All the pockets make for easier sorting."
Well, I got the coins, but not the muscle to carry much more than my current possessions! - she says, with a smile - But I’m sure eventually this will be sorted.
"Welcome, fellow oddities! Ayaal and Evelyn, yes? I hope Alessandro is right, and we are here to get a chance to fight the demons. Until we know for certain, though, we should enjoy what the Prelate has offered."
Trok fills his seat, still munching on the provided snacks, but his pace has slowed to something far more appropriate. Allesandro can't be sure if Trok's started to sate his appetite, or if he's trying to behave better in front of the women, though the knight probably has a theory.
Ignoring the general question about how long anyone has been in Kenabres,
"I have to admit to never considering that this would be a gathering of people so far from what everyone else considers normal." He points at the Earth Breaker leaning against one of the walls. "Like Alessandro, here, I've trained in combat for most of my life, though I imagine we fight with very different styles." The smile(?) that crosses his face is absolutely predatory. Whether that is a function of his feline features or a glimpse of his thoughts . . .? "If he's right, and we are to face the demons, what do you ladies bring to the fight?"
Ayaal puts the latest vial down and regards Trok, trying to determine if his question was earnest or a challenge to her skills based on her sex. Reaching no conclusion, she gives him a smile, ”I bring Shelyn’s healing touch as well as compassion for all life and a deep maternal instinct…” her smile turns decidedly feral as her eyes slide to the glaive, ”… along with 3’ of well-used cold-iron steel on 6’ of fire-hardened oak. If you like, after this meeting, we can spar or we can find a practice dummy in the training yard and show what we’re both capable of.”
She adds, ”And I was joking about the compassion and maternal instinct part.”
The cat laughs in response. "Good. The demons will need no compassion, and I think Alessandro here is too old for maternal instincts to be helpful."
Alessandro sits a little taken aback by Ayaal's no-nonsense attitude. He realizes his mouth is open and quickly closes it, trying to regain his composure. "Shelyn's assistance will never be rejected by a devotee of Iomedae. And Evelyn, I am sure, has more than her research skills to offer the group, right?" He turns his attention to the heavenly bookworm, who makes him feel warm just by her presence.
Ayaal chuckles at the big cat's comment and glances at Alessandro quickly enough to see his reaction before composure returns. She shrugs, "Like I said, I'm not much of a lady."
The doors to the room you're in currently suddenly open, as a voice thunders, "Evelyn has many skills that may end up saving all of your lives one day." In walks Prelate Hulrun, a silver-haired human inquisitor, in his 50s, garbed in plate mail, the symbol of Iomedae emblazoned on his shoulder brace. "At ease. You will learn them in due time." He smiles a little, as his eyes fall on the four of you, but you can tell his eyes have seen the greatest of horrors.
The Prelate walks over to your table and sits at the empty chair, putting his helm on the table. A half-orc woman also garbed in plate mail follows behind and moves to the corner of the room and stands at attention. Allessandro instantly recognizes Irabeth Tirablade, a member of the Eagle Watch knightly order, and a fellow paladin of Iomedae. As Hulrun sits at the table, the bells of the Cathedral ring nine times, alerting you to the current time. A smile of satisfaction graces the aged warrior's face. "Shall we begin?"
Alessandro immediately stands upon the Prelate's entrance into the room, keeping his eyes straight ahead, not looking at Hulrun, focusing on keeping his breathing regular and controlled. As he sits after the Prelate sits, he notices Irabeth and gives her a subtle nod, a smile curving at the edges of his lips. Glad to see she's here.
Oblivious to the subtext, Trok settles into his chair, leaning away from the Crusaders and crossing his arms, waiting to hear what he wants to tell the four strangers.
At their entrance, Ayaal also rises in a single fluid motion and acknowledges both the Prelate and his adjutant (she posits) with precise bows. She also notes the undercurrent between the Prelate and the emerald warrior. Curious.
She reseats herself after the Prelate, assuming that had the adjutant been expecting to sit, there would have been six chairs in the room. Relieved of the need for painful pleasantries by Hulrun's direct question, she responds cautiously, "Yes, sir. Please proceed."
The bard gives both the newcomers a smile.
You're very kind. - she limits herself to say - And yes, please, let's begin.
Evelyn, herself, worships Magdh, but doesn't really carry the goddess holy symbols in her. It doesn't mean she isn't religious or that she feels any shame on admitting her faith; it's simply that she finds comfort on different rituals. Regardless, she reckons the many people of faith in her presence, and projects respect.
Hulrun nods, "Good. Thank you each for coming to Kenabres, hopefully with the intent of joining the war effort. But let me be blunt, we are in the midst of crippling shortages and record lows in morale among the crusaders, and to be honest, the Mendevian war effort teeters on the brink of collapse." He pauses and sighs, as if trying to will the current situation away, knowing it is in vain. He looks at Irabeth and continues, "We have heard reports that the demonic occupation of the Worldwound is growing, as is corruption among our ranks. The situation is very dire…but you four may be the spark we need. Your heritages, no secret to anyone with the knowledge of the Blackwing Library so readily accessible, may be the solution."
Hulrun continues with his speech, "Your appearances, as contrasting and exotic as they may be to us normal humans, are exactly what this crusade, the 5th crusade, needs. You are the godtouched.. celestial blood runs through your veins! Imagine if our warriors knew that they fought the evils of the Worldwound with the forces of heaven at their side! They would feel unbeatable! I want you four to spark the war effort, boost morale and recruitment efforts, and drive out the corruption. I want you four to be my special elite military unit, ready to unleash the fury of the heavens on the Worldwound, my God Squad, trained and developed to deliver swift victories and terrible losses on our demonic enemies! With heaven at our side, we cannot fail!” Hulrun's voice rises to a crescendo at the end and he pounds the table with his armored glove for effect.
You feel an urge to leap up and cheer. You can tell why peasants and veteran crusaders alike follow this man into war to the gates of Hell itself. He is quite charismatic, despite his advancing age.
The Prelate pauses for effect, realizing he had been shouting, and his voice returns to its normal tone, ”Apologies. I think you four can do special things. Your presence in Kenabres, all at the same time, is a sign. I plan to announce our new "heavenly efforts" at Armasse, which is fast approaching in a month. Our crusaders need a morale boost and more than anything, they need to win the coming battles. What say ye? Will you join the squad? Look deep inside yourselves. These gifts that you have inherited cannot be wasted.”
He looks at you with a piercing gaze, a gaze you imagine he has used many times to interrogate and demoralize enemy combatants.
With little knowledge of honorifics (and less interest in studying it), Ayaal opts for a lofty title rather than possibly insulting the Prelate.
“My Lord,” she continues thoughtfully, “I believe Shelyn directed me here to aid in this great struggle. And I will do that in any way I can. Hunting demons and their servants as well as healing our troops are tasks I can accomplish. But, when you speak of recruitment and morale, I think of rallying people with speeches and imagery. Those are not my strengths. Unlike most of Shelyn’s clergy, I have no gift for oratory, firey words, or arts that inspire others. My artistry, such as it is, is displayed on the battlefield. With that said – if you will still have my service – I will join this fight and this squad.”
The older man smiles, ”Thank you, Ayaal, for your participation and service to Kenabres. No worries, you do not have to speak at any rallies. We know what your strengths are. We have someone else in mind to recruit and motivate the troops.” He looks over in Evelyn’s direction.
Your trust once again flatters me, prelate! - says the bard, almost as if making the air even warmer - The Blackwing library has an incredible collection of material on demons and outsiders in general! Of course, if this humble scholar can lend her voice to inspire the troops, it would be my pleasure. And I have no battlefield experience, so I trust my companions here can likely keep me safe!
She smiles at Ayaal and the others, landing her hand delicately on the other woman's shoulder.
I fancy the arts too, but not with the talent of a Shelynite. But I still hope my movements can suffice to inspire all your power, and our crusade. Heavens gifted all of us with its heart for a reason, maybe this very same reason! - she's a little louder, but still not as eloquent as the old man, turning to Alessandro and Trok - All of us, in such different, unique ways. I couldn't feel more motivated!
"I can't free our lands without going in and killing demons. It will be easier with enough of you crusaders throwing yourselves into the effort. Sounds like cooperation is in my best interest."
In case anyone missed it, there's not any real signs of deference toward Prelate Hulrun. He is interested and paying attention, though.
Alessandro pauses, as he gather his thoughts. "My devotion to Iomedae and Kenabres and these Crusades could not be stronger. Whatever is needed of me, I will give, and more." The paladin looks at the Prelate and then at Irabeth. "That is my promise to you both. It will be an honor for me to join this squad and my fellow god-touched." His eyes scan those of his new companions and you can see the steely determination in the emerald warrior's eyes.
Elliaria moves with grace in all things. It seems as if rhythm and dance are born into her. But despite this, she is not flighty -- her commitment is absolute. "I have seen the scars that demons wreak on the people and the land. If we fail, the blight spreads. Innocents die."
She will step to the side and draw a blade of dark curved iron. All crusaders would know that the metal burns some demons. She whirls about, dancing a fighting dance as she makes her proclamation.
"But I have a blade and a dance and a little magic. I will use these to fight the demons. I'll stand beside all of you and show people the way to save themselves and those they love. We will mourn those who fall and celebrate our victories. For only by persisting in the face of evil will we win this war."
The tan young woman with a few green feathers on her ears and poking out of her sleeves nods to the prelate with a mournful smile. She temporarily stops writing in her notebook, one of several books she has obviously on her person.
"Of course. I understand the importance of morale. While I am not a warrior, per se, I do hope that I can provide my assistance with these matters. In particular, I would be curious to aid the war effort by learning more about the abilities and social networks of these demons." She taps her chin thoughtfully with her quill. "And I suppose my skills may also be helpful in rooting out corruption."
She glances curiously between the prelate and Alessandro but does not pry, for the moment.
Alessandro smiles as he looks at the 3 females and Trok, "It looks like we're all in agreement. We are at your service, Prelate. What is our directive?"
Prelate Hulrun nods at the group's acceptance to participate in the war effort. He rubs his hands together, "Excellent, excellent. I am sure you will all inspire our troops, which is what we need most at this time. As I said earlier, I will present you all formally to the troops at Armasse." He looks at his second in command. "For now, report to Commander Tirablade. She has my utmost confidence and I defer to her decisions." Again the commander gives a derisive look at Alessandro, this time not trying to be subtle about it, so you all notice it. "She has never let me down before and I am sure you will all prove to be worthy of this great honor bestowed upon you. Commander Tirablade will have missions for you, as needed, to advance the war effort. I leave you all in her good hands. Make us proud." The Prelate stands, grabs his helmet, nods at each of you, and walks out.
The half-orc paladin stands at attention until Hulrun leaves the room. After he leaves, her warmth seeps out as she smiles at the party, "Report to me tomorrow morning at the sounding of the seven bells. I have nothing for you today. Get to know your fellow companions, as you will put your life in their hands and and they will do the same for you. The Unit, Kenabres, and the Queen before all else. Enjoy the refreshments. Unless there's something else, see you tomorrow morning bright and early, and do not be late."
Ayaal gives Tirabade a smile and a polite nod as she leaves, finding something appealing about the paladin. I imagine being a half-orc paladin, she's received the same sort of crap we have. She waits a space of 10 heartbeats before letting her breath out and relaxing into her chair. She pops a grape in her mouth and observes lightly, a tiny smile creeping across her face,"The Prelate seems like he sleeps at attention, possibly fully armored."
Severa laughs lightly. "Indeed he might." She turns to Alessandro. "Sir, it seems there is some tension involving you. I hope I am not prying but is it relevant for us all to be aware of it?"
Ayaal regards the knight from under a single steepled eyebrow, curious to hear his response.
Severa laughs lightly. "Indeed he might." She turns to Alessandro. "Sir, it seems there is some tension involving you. I hope I am not prying but is it relevant for us all to be aware of it?"
Alessandro holds in his anger at the Prelate for making his scorn for the paladin so public. He stands at attention as Hulrun departs, closing his eyes, forcing himself to focus on his values and training to let his anger dissipate. He reluctantly opens them, knowing the uncomfortable situation that exists in the party now.
Alessandro clears his throat, knowing the question was coming. No use trying to deceive them. Have to start off on the right foot and may the chips lie where they may. Alessandro speaks from the heart, "On a prior combat mission, I made a mistake and lives were lost. My life was spared and I have been trying to atone for it ever since. I cannot excuse my past, and I hope in time, you will come to trust my combat abilities and decisions, and you are free to question them until then. I will not make the same mistake again. Obviously, the Prelate doubts my selection for this squad." The paladin stands there, ready to receive any criticism.
Elliaria puts a hand on his arm, looking down from above with soft golden eyes. "Even with some divine blood, we're still mortal. We make mistakes, but we learn from them. We fall, but we get back up. Friends die and we fight harder to honor them. I would rather fight alongside somebody who who has faced failure and chosen to work harder than somebody who doesn't know their weaknesses yet."
She pauses, wondering how to phrase it. "When you feel ready, I think we should know what happened. That way we can learn along with you if we are ever in a similar situation."
To give him space, she stands to her full height, at seven feet her horns and golden hair brush the side of the tent. She pours some water into her tin soldier's cup and takes some of the dried sausage and fruits that they had laid out on a side table. Tastes of a distant land, uncorrupted by the blight facing local forage. Soldier's rations, same as they would eat tomorrow and the day after that. She does at least whisper a few words and gesture with her nut-brown hands. The hard foods soften a bit, restoring a little of the taste lost along their journey.
Sitting with her meal and the companions, she crosses her legs, unashamed of having cloven hooves. Some might have seen how practical they were in the cracked lands of this region.
Trok sighs as the Prelate butters the group's bread. He provides the half-orc more respect than he did the prelate, nodding as she identifies the morning meeting.
In response to the question of Allesandro's judgement, he rolls his shoulders. "You were trying to kill demons and retake our homelands, yes? That effort will continue to cost many lives. If you learned something we should know, please, share."
Ayaal considers what she’s heard and matches Alessandro’s sobriety. ”To Trok’s point… this is war. Four crusades and 100 years of bloodshed. People die, even when all the right decisions are made. I’m in no position to judge your actions. As for trust, it is always and only earned. No offense meant, but I don’t trust anyone yet. And I don’t expect anyone to trust me. We’ll need to see what we each bring to the fight, how we each react in the crucible, and how far we can place our lives in each other's hands. Then trust will come.”
The paladin considers the party's fair words. "I was younger and reckless. We were ambushing a demonic fort. I attacked, failed to kill the guard on duty, and spoiled the troop's ambush. Alarms were sounded and my fellow soldiers paid the consequences for my error. I have learned much since then, both in strategy and demonic anatomy. I am still haunted by the memories of my companions. War, for lack of a better term, is hell. I will do better."
Ayaal offers, ”Luck has always been a factor in any battle though men try to deny it: an arrow-string snaps, an enemy turns at the wrong moment, a soldier trips and his armor rings too loudly. Luck plays no favorites.”
“The first crusade was ended when the Church - and the collective wisdom of that time - decided that the demonic invasion was ‘contained’ and their defenses were adequate to stop any further incursions. That was a mistake, of course. The first crusade was more of a probe to learn how humanity fought and reacted. The second crusade was their real invasion – more organized, more brutal, and far more effective. We lost Drezen because of it, along with the lives of tens of thousands of crusaders and pilgrims. This war has seen many mistakes (and turns of luck) – large and small. It’s commendable to own your mistakes and, more importantly, to learn from them. But I find it helpful to put my mistakes in perspective. Focusing too much on the past is like walking backwards. With your eyes facing in the wrong direction, sooner or later, you are going to trip and break your skull.”
Alessandro smiles at Ayaal, "Thank you for the history lesson, but a wise man once said: Those who cannot learn from history are doomed to repeat it." I will not be one of those." The paladin takes a bit of the snacks and drinks some water, hoping the party moves off topic.
Trying to lighten the mood, the sharp-featured woman continues playfully, "If I'm being honest, I'm a little disappointed in the Prelate. With the black looks he gave you, I was hoping he caught you deflowering his daughter on his war-desk during a staff meeting." Her smile is beatific. She offers the paladin a plate of macarons.
"Heh. The biggest problem with that picture, Ayaal, is the idea that The Prelate's ever had a willing partner. Somehow, I doubt he'd rent a whore, and I think he would see a camp follower as just another type of whore." He drains his current cup of wine punch, and reaches for another piece of meat.
"So, are any of you here for fame and glory, or do you have more personal reasons? I don't care what you told the Prelate, we'll have to depend on each other, and knowing why we fight can help predict actions on the field."
"What I told the Prelate is true. I'm here because combat is my craft... along with cooking. But mostly I'm here because Shelyn or one of her servitors wouldn't give me a night's peace until I came to Kenabres. It appears I have to be surrounded by demons to get any sleep." She shrugs, as if to say who can explain why the gods do what they do?
Severa listens intently to Alessandro's recounting and nods "I agree that it seems your effort was genuine, even if luck turned against you. That is war, or so I've read."
Then she cocks her head at Trok's question and Ayaal's answer. She inclines her head slightly. "A message from Shelyn? Fascinating. Do you know any more of the content or reason?"
"And here's to knowing how to cook. Anybody who can make rations into food is a worthy ally!" She winks, "Being good with a glaive and touched by the goddess helps as well."