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Wicked here. Once you finish building your character, please put your vitals in your tagline (I'm posting this with an alias so you can see what that looks like, though you might decide to format things a little differently, and that's okay). This enables me to quickly review things like your AC and saves and run combats faster. It looks like we're pretty close to getting started! When everyone's able to import full stats into their profile I'll get the first post up.
Brevon pauses and frowns slightly when the man spits on him, but isn't terribly surprised. A man who commands a demonic army couldn't be counted on to act gentlemanly, afterall. Still, he hates that his face gives away his disappointment. He'd have to work on presenting himself as a real commander. He sighs, shaking his head. "I suppose you will die, as all of us will. One day. But not by my hand, sir." He turns to his soldiers surrounding them. "Take him away, but keep him alive. He is a prisoner, and shall be taken to Kenabres to stand trial before those his armies have wounded." He smiles at Sosiel as Berrexi is hauled away. He can't help it. Despite the dead bodies all around, the feeling of victory has seeped into his skin. "Fools, he says, to think we might survive this war. I should take it as a compliment. Without some degree of foolishness, how did anyone ever accomplish anything great?"
I've added an 'Overland Locations' link with the map of your journey (sorry for the delay, I thought I had already linked that). I know this part was pretty railroaded, but it is almost done. Yay! I've seen that sometimes the APs impose mandatory story elements that are hard to smoothly fit into normal play, and just require some kind of narrative. This one was rather long, but it does give us a good snapshot of the way the demons taint the land they inhabit. It also gives the game a unique "military" flair that I wasn't really expecting, so that's worth something, too. Have you heard from Rukzha? I hope everything is alright with him.
Brevon's sword arm had gone numb. At some point, he wasn't sure when for he had lost all concept of time, he felt as though Radiance were guiding him herself, directing her edge against the vital and unprotected segments of the demons. This was for the best, for some of the creatures were so deformed that Brevon would never have known where to strike. But she seemed so sure, slicing this way and that, over and over until both of them were soaked in demon's blood. He had paused, suddenly aware that there were no more enemies to combat. He stood upon a small hill with a view of the surrounding broken valley, and he removed his visor to get a better view of his surroundings and, of course, to allow the sun to strike his brow. There, atop the blighted ridge, the most menacing of the demons had stood. It disappeared as he blinked. He had the feeling they would be seeing that one again. With great relief, he finds his friends and pats each of them on the shoulder, assuring them of a job done well. And then the commander of the demon's army is brought before them and forced to kneel. "Berrexi, is it?" Brevon keeps his blade sheathed as he approaches, gesturing to his men that they should lift Berrexi off of his knees into a standing position. "There we are. On our feet, as all men should be. I see that your weapons have been stripped from you, but you may yet have your dignity--a gesture of good faith. For although we were enemies for a time, that battle is ended. Let us now work toward being allies, yes?"
Brevon extends his hand, a gentlemanly offer to shake. But as he does he casts detect evil, meeting Berrexi's defiant stare directly.
Before the battle, he did not think he could do it. He looked across the canyon, eyeing the multitude of demonspawn. How many were there? Hundreds. He turned back to gaze upon their own battered forces. Brave men and women, yes, but soft, fragile things made of flesh of fear. How could they hope to best an army of hate and wrath, an army who had nothing to lose, while they...they... You have nothing left to lose, Brevon. It was true. The world had taken all that he had loved and cared for, everything that he had lived for, the only things that pulled him from his bed each day. And so what was he doing here, commanding an army? Why was he leading these people into the heart of evil? The answer, he knew, was found in his past. In his dreams in the farmhouse in Karcau. There, in dreaming, he had found something. Something outside himself and his own pain and grief. Something to dig into with his fingers, to grasp and to hang onto, as the world around him collapsed in upon itself. An anchor, a liferaft. The roar of destruction and the burning wind of apocalypse had overwhelmed him, and he shut his eyes and ears against it. The darkness had been his friend, protecting him from the truth. But when he did dare, finally, to open his eyes, to see what was left of the world, he saw only himself. Alone. There was no anchor. At least, no longer. There was only darkness, the man, and, far in the distance, a timid candle flame. There was nothing to save him but himself. His own will to stand up, again. And to walk, again. And to create a world for himself, again. And then, he had willed it so, and he had stepped toward the light. And so he had realized, standing before Keeper's Canyon, that his life was his own creation. His destiny, here before the armies of darkness, was a product of his own desiring. And there was power in that notion, for recognizing that his own life was his, he realized that the same was true of every soldier in their contingent, including Arrika, Hedda, Elriel, and Rukzha. They had all chosen to be here, to offer themselves to the possibility of their own annihilation, embracing the risk of their own demise. And so, it seemed to him, they really had nothing to lose. The thought was profound, and he had offered a whispered prayer upon its inception. As he did so, Radiance began to glow and to hum, igniting herself, seemingly, of her own accord. He did not question this, for he knew that the two of them were joined together in spirit. He drew her from her sheathe, offering her to the sky and sun above, exalting in their newfound freedom from the bonds of fear. It was then he had turned to the crusaders and offered his bold speech.
Brevon sighs in horror and wonder at the devastated landscape, the twisted and corrupt influence of the demons evident even in the blades of grass. "The land itself becomes our enemy," he mutter quietly, not wanting to concern the others. "I suppose you are right," he agrees with Aron. "This is the nature of the war we wage now. I fear the battles will only get darker, so we should become accustomed to fighting in the dark, hmm?" He tries to sound confident, although the prospect terrifies him.
"Well, it is done, mistake or not," Brevon responds seriously to Nurah. "We must pray that the gods favor us, and that Sarenrae's light can reach us even through the umbral shroud of evil that now gathers. I for one have faith that it can."
Brevon lifts his visor. The damned thing had muffled his hearing and so he hadn't heard the beginning of the conversation. It isn't until Arrika is halfway through her recommendation that he's able to decipher the content of the conversation. "Yes, good thinking. Of course there will be distractions. There will continue to be distractions. The demon scourge would love nothing more than for us to chase our tails for all time. And so we must prioritize, and Vilareth must be bypassed for now."
"There is no debt to repay, Commander. This disaster has reset the abacus, it has equalized all men and women, and it has cleared away all sin. What destruction the demons have wrought has left a space for new beginnings, for redemption. It is not repayment of a debt I would ask of you, but your own resolve to reclaim the world that is ours, so that the deaths of all those who have fallen will not be in vain. It cannot be in vain."
Brevon runs to the surviving woman, his feet unable to carry him fast enough. Her many wounds make it painfully clear how much she has suffered. "Brave warrior, mine is the goddess of forgiveness and redemption, but how could I judge you for your anger after such treatment?" He caresses her wounds gently with a rejuvenating touch.
Sarenrae grant you temperance..."
For all the savagery of battle, for all the demon blood spilled, and for all speed She had granted him, Brevon now finds himself in a moment of stillness. He had walked alone across the shattered battlefield, the bodies of dead and dying demons strewn across the ground like pieces of straw. Stepping over several in a pile, a hand had closed around his ankle. Startled, he drew Radiance, her light blazing even in the daylight. The hand was clawed and was attached to a disgustingly ugly tiefling. His face was smashed, nose broken, but he sneered with crooked, bloody teeth and blinked his remaining, fiery eye. "You'll never find her here, you fool," said the tiefling. Brevon should have known better but, curious, he had indulged in his curiosity. "Who?" he asked. "She's gone. She's down...below. With usss..." the demonspawn hissed the last word, the sound breaking off into a bitter chuckle. Trembling, Brevon had fallen to his knees, shaking the demon roughly by his shoulders. "Who? Who?? Tell me, you fiend!" But the body was dead and cold, as though it had been lifeless for hours. He cursed and scream, driving the tip of Radiance through the corpse's skull. And now he sits in the same location, his sword still standing upright, supported by the smashed skull of the nameless tiefling body. He thinks about his newfound speed. Sometimes he imagines that he could run forever, chasing the sun as it slips below the horizon. The night, the dark, the cold, they would all fade into mere memory. But memories can be so haunting, and even the fastest horse in the world could not outrun his past. Sighing, he grabs Radiance by the hilt and pulls her free of the tiefling. Then he walks back the way he came, more careful this time, to find the line of the other demons who have been captured for prisoners. He also sees his friends. He addresses the prisoners. "She has rescued us from the dominion of darkness and brought us into the kingdom of light, wherein we have redemption, the forgiveness of our sins. Confess! Repent! Lend aid to our cause, and we shall show you mercy!"
"I had always heard that witches are clever, but I had no idea..." Brevon says seriously from behind his visor. He lifts it up and appraises Rukzha. "It is only an illusion, you say? It wouldn't harm any innocent survivors, would it? We should try to save as many as we can. In that regard, I would favor the wave or something like it. If they flee quickly, they'll have less inclination to harm their captives." He drops his visor back into place. "It is a good plan."
Tonight, Brevon sits silently, though he still clutches Radiance to his chest. It takes every ounce of his willpower not to ignite her light. The darkness surrounding them is suffocating. Unseen demons and haunts skirt just at the periphery, he knows, waiting to grasp him and pull him into their clutches. It's all he can do to keep himself breathing. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breath in. Out." Swallowing thickly, he tries to distract his mind by singing a marching tune he's picked up from the other soldiers. "R-r-roll out the drums of w-war
He tries to recall what some of those things might be, but it's all he can do to remember the words of the song.
"A tired, broken army is no army at all. We cannot expect our men to force a march through the dark, and we cannot spare our horses. We need every resource available to us. I believe we should camp, but keep a keen watch on the surroundings." He turns to his companions.
Happy holidays folks! Wishing everyone the best, most enjoyable season possible!
Toothy im assuming we were able to give Proper burial to the victims? If so I'm ready to march on.
"Of course it would be, if we haven't already performed such a survey."
"No known survivors. Only traces of existing, additional resources. Meanwhile, our enemy musters its strength in Drezen. I believe it would be prudent to continue marching on without delay. The longer we tarry, the greater the risk our presence should become known."
Brevon sits at the small campfire, Radiance resting gently across his lap. He caresses her hilt, and with each brush of his fingertips a latent memory floats through his consciousness--a soft hazel eye blinking in the morning light, a kettle gently boiling in the fireplace, a stray hair, long and brunette, found among his papers... Anything to take his mind off of the victims in the square. He smiles across the fire at the others, the dancing light casting tenebrous shadows across his tired face. He sips from his waterskin, grateful to have mages among them to cast create water. He still marvels at magic and wonders how the world would ever manage to get by without it. "How are you faring, friends? I am more acclimated to cozy libraries and open-aired stoops, myself. It is a terrible thing, what has happened to the poor souls here, but on the morrow we shall commit their bodies to the grave, with holy rites spoken. It reminds me that we've all lost those we love in this awful, awful war. Do you care to speak of those you have lost, so that we might remember them in spirit?"
...It is already getting dark... The strange but familiar feeling of deja vu passes over Brevon, and he crinkles his brow, frowning in frustration. "Yes...the hunt..." he agrees absently, unsheathing Radiance and whispering a word to her, coaxing her light awake. He holds her before him, like a torch, still marveling at his fortune. "And who knows what horrors the night will bring."
"Sarenrae, does your light reach even the darkness within the souls who crafted such exquisite suffering? Even those who lay their hands upon the children?" Brevon whispers the words into his helmet before lifting the visor to better survey the landscape. "Why are there no vultures? Why does nothing feed on the carrion? It is a trap?"
"Maybe none," Brevon acknowledges, keenly aware of the half-orc's superior intellect. "So of course we'll investigate. But the soldiers...all of us...would probably feel safer tucked within the ruins. And that's just the same, isn't it? The belief in having something can be just as good as actually having it, at least for the night."
Brevon raises his eyebrow slightly at the exchange between Sosiel and Aron. "Are you two...?" he asks when Aron is beyond earshot.
He nods his head in agreement with Arrika. "Yes, you're right my dear. We know nothing of the ruins, but we know less of what hunts the fields. We can scan the town as best we can--for magic, for evil, and for survivors. Place the camp squarely within the ruins, and post our strongest combatants to watch duty. I will stand guard as well." He pats Radiance gently on her hilt, comforted by her reassuring weight.
Brevon was quite surprised as the Knight Lieutenant came to him for advice. He had had no military experience himself, and only basic training with weapons. Why, he had only recently donned plate armor for the first time! He marveled how his life had changed in such a short period of time, and at all the wonders (and horrors) he had experienced. Perhaps She was watching over him, afterall. He clung to this thought in spite of his uncertainties, trying to steady his voice and answer the Lieutenant's questions and requests as best he could. Afterward, he would often discuss the issue with his companions, pinpointing his weaknesses in strategy and shortcomings in planning, and think on how to better address the next problem. And while in the beginning he felt like a child with a large, complex toy, he eventually began to gain more confidence in his choices, his friends, and himself. He was changing, even if he did not realize it. "What do we know about Vala's Rift today? It has withstood the demons? It could very well be a breeding ground for demons, or even a trap. Here we are exposed on all sides, especially from the sky. Have we scouts we could send ahead to determine the status of the town?" He turns once again to his allies for input.
I agree that commanding the army would fit with Brevon, but I'm concerned about the time involved in learning another set of rules. Allowing the GM to narrate the battles and letting us insert RP into them just seems the fastest and easiest route. I'll update my stats with the ioun stone this evening.
I also support option C, if only because it will keep things moving quickly :).
Brevon repeats the names and titles of their honored companions as he bows in greeting, offering his hand to Nurah in a gentlemanly fashion. "Truly an honor to accompany you into the heart of the battle. Our concerted efforts can surely only lead to victory." He looks over the ravaged army with concern, but says nothing of the shabby state of their equipment. He suddenly feels very self-conscious in his own resplendent, multi-hued plate. "Thank you, Your Majesty. Have we any information as to the threats we might face on the journey to Dresden?"
As the wealthiest PC already, Brevon isn't spending any money at this time. Do we need my input on anything in particular?
Brevon is filled with an unexpected excitement as he gathers his equipment, armor, and weaponry. It is good to have a purpose again. He finds the others just inside the gate, preparing to ride out to the northern encampment. "We've horses then? How long is the journey expected to take?"
"I am sure these new companions, Aron, Sosiel, and Nurah, are more than capable, and I look forward to meeting them. The same is true of the army of Iomedae's Light, I am sure." Brevon Sabor, Knight of the Fifth Crusade. He thinks with pride as the Queen presents their medals. He kneels once more, because it seems to be the thing to do. He hasn't had much experience with queens. Standing, he listens with great interest to her description of the Sword of Valor. "Used by Iomedae herself..." He remembers his most recent dream. No, it couldn't have been... "As soon as possible," he responds to Elriel. "But first we should meet our new allies. Are they nearby?"
"Your Majesty. Yes, of course!" Brevon more than secretly excited for this opportunity to pursue the demons deeper into their own territory. This, he knows, is his destiny, each of their destinies, spurred on by the will of their divine creators and shepards. He knew that some would balk at this notion, to be a mere pawn in the plans of something far greater than oneself. But they were no longer pawns. They had graduated to knights. In addition, the mission would give him something to focus on. It would be a way to take his mind off of...other things. "The Sword of Valor. It's a banner, you say? What else is known about its powers?"
Brevon can't stop staring at the queen. Her beauty is indeed hypnotic. At last he steps forward, fist placed over his heart. "Your Majesty. It is a great honor to be received by you, and to receive such praise. Whatever our contribution, it would have been in vain if not for the bravery of Commander Tirabade here." "As to this...wardstone. It has indeed enhanced our strength, intelligence, and battle prowess. Waves of demonspawn crashed against us, but were repelled as water on a rocky shore." He goes on to explain the epic battle that followed. "As to the extent of this transformation, I cannot say, as we have not faced another significant trial since the incident. What I do believe, howevever, is that these are gifts from the gods, granted us to continue this fight against the demons and their conspiracies."
I think Hedda should be able to claim any of the loot. You're part of the unit now, soldier! We're all being targeted by effects, so Arrika claiming the +2 cloak seems fair enough to me. I'm sure there will be more to find. Also not a bad idea to keep an adamantine weapon around. For emergencies...
The following items seem especially useful: The cloak of resistance +2
"Ready now, they're upon us!" Brevon had called when the demons charged, suddenly feeling quite protective of his newfound friends. His own speed had surprised him. His armor seemed to weigh nothing at all, and he was able to practically leap across the charred ground. Is this the wardstone? Is this Sarenrae's blessing? Whatever joy this thought brought him was overrun by the fear in Hedda's transformation. Her rage had truly brought her to life in an awful and terrifying way. Her claws, her size, Brevon had stumbled back and away as she had ravaged the demonspawn practically single-handedly. To his infinite relief, this effect soon passed, and she resumed her human form. Albeit more bloody. Whiskey. It's definitely the whiskey. He tried to reassure himself silently. "Shall we finish tracking the deer?" "I, uh, Yes! The deer. We should continue the hunt." As they hunted the animals and he saw that she seemed to have regained control, he could not help but smile a little. "A creature such as that," he muses to Arrika, Elriel, and Rukzha, as Hedda stalks ahead of them, "Is truly a gift from the gods. She is a weapon of divine warcraft."
"Doesn't your Goddess teach you that all beings should be redeemed? Would she have approved of my actions?" The question is innocent enough, posed by Elriel in an earnest way, but it cuts like a knife. If only I had that answer myself. To kill another person, purposefully, intentionally, knowingly. Even with such justification, would Sarenrae absolve him? Could she see there had been no other way? Could she forgive him for killing as an act of love? "I, uh, can't speak for her," he says with a grim and somber expression. "Such a definitive answer is beyond me. I can only surmise, as I have done, that She sees within each of us a spark of something, something worthwhile." "Maybe...She leaves it up to us to find it, to search within ourselves and ignite it. For some that comes easy, perhaps. Their souls burn as raging engines. Others never succeed, and die cold and dormant as a sapling in winter..." "And some, some hold it for a time. Maybe they take it for granted, and then it is lost to them. They search for it still." He pauses, noticing how quiet the room has become. "Keep searching, my friend."
Brevon taps his cutterly on the wooden table as Elriel tells his story. "The mere fact you are concerned about the question suggests you are not a wicked man, Elriel. I haven't known you long, but I do not believe you are a cold-blooded killer. As Hedda says, this sounds like self-defense. And if you have taken pride in your strategy and victory, you are no worse than the thousands of men and women who have survived the demonic assault, and pride themselves on living to see another day." "The holy texts teach us that pride is a useless emotion, praise misdirected that distracts us from the truth. But I don't think it makes you wicked. Do you?"
"Good then, we'll mention it to the others at dinner." --------- Later that day, after Brevon has casually mentioned his and Hedda's shared interest in scouting beyond the city's southern borders , he listens with a great deal of concern to Elriel's question. "I don't believe that evil is measured by what we feel," he says quietly. "Neither is goodness, for that matter." "Goodness and wickedness can only be measured by what we do, or how we do it. The murder of an innocent is just a much a wicked if the man regrets it. Yet even joy felt after killing another in true self-defense does not make that act wicked." "So...without knowing more...I would say that no, feeling enjoyment in such things is not itself evil. Doing them may well be another matter."
"Good morning...Brevon, right? Are you always up this early? I thought training to fight demons would require a sparring partner, no? Care for one?" He eyes her uncertainly, surprised by the request. "But you have no weapon. It hardly seems fair to spar against an unarmed combatant." Especially a woman. Especially a demonic woman. He smiles then, suddenly desiring nothing more than to see this woman fight. They easily find her a sword and set to it. She is strong. Shockingly strong. It only takes a few moments for him to realize that she is stronger than him. He breaks away, fear and pride both driving him back. He raises a hand. "Alright, wait. It's clear you have recovered from whatever injury you sustained at the hands of the cultists. Perhaps we would do well to put this strength to use, hmm? I have heard that refugees from the Hinterlands still travel to Kenabres. They have heard of our victory against the scourge and seek sanctuary from the wilds. Still, there are threats lurking beyond the city walls. We can put ourselves to better use than cracking wooden swords, yes?"
First light finds Brevon on the training fields. He wears the same style of simple clothing he wore the night before, but now he also sports simple, quilted armor tied around his chest, arms, and shins. He wields a wooden sword in one hand, the other held behind his back. One. Two. Three. He counts out the steps as he assumes the stances of the battle dance. His moves are not lithe or graceful, but exhibit a notable athleticism and strength. After only a few minutes, his breath becomes steady and heavy, and a light sheen of sweat begins to accumulate beneath his shirt. Then he notices her. The new woman. The savage. Hedda. Her blonde hair matches his own, even in length, yet hers is clean and kept, not bedraggled. Her skin is yet smooth and bright, despite the horrors she has experienced. Or perhaps because of them. She is not to be trusted, he reminds himself sternly, angry for becoming so interested. He tries to refocus on his dance, but he is suddenly forgetful and clumsy, too aware that she is watching him. After a time he sighs, giving up and walking toward her. "Good morning. Hedda." He addresses her almost stubbornly, offering a stiff bow in greeting.
I think a quest beyond the city gates sounds fun! Toothy, is that feasible now? Would there be a likelihood of finding food, other supplies, or survivors? Or have the demons reduced the surrounding lands to a waste? Or do we have to go find out :). Brevon isn't much of an outdoorsman, but it would be fun to have him dragging around this massive armor and worrying after Hedda.
Deep within the Defender's Heart, in a monastic room devoid of ornamentation or decoration, a candle burns against the dark. A single flame, a paltry thing, it struggles to illuminate the edges of the room. And yet it fails, for shadows lurk in every corner, shimmering and dancing, as shadows do. Brevon sits upon the floor, cross-legged, clothed only in simple, cotton breeches and tunic. His magnificent armor rests upon a bust in the corner. Even in this dim light its speldor smolders. It is late--well past midnight. These days, they have been hard. He has seen more suffering and evil and he thought was possible. And he is weary for it. He has brought forth a large tome. Its cover is hand-stitched leather. Its title, cut into the leather, dances in a delicate script. The Birth of Light and Truth. He spent many days painstakingly scribing this, his own copy, from one he'd taken from the abbey in Karcau. He hadn't asked permission. He might have felt guilt over it, but at the time he was too far gone. Such concerns were for the living, and he was quite certain he was dead. Yet the book had been a comfort to him. He had read the words over and over. In those days he hadn't yet mastered the written word, and so it was slow, tedious work. But he kept at it, day after day, working through the easier words and glossing over the more complex until he had been able to put the sentences together. Then he had memorized each page, made sure he could cite it exactly, before moving onto the next. Eventually, he made it through the entire book. Then the work began. Letter after letter, word upon word, paragraph unto paragraph, he had painstakingly scrivened each page in his own hand. His writing was clumsy and ugly, and he bemoaned that such lovely words should be relegated so. But after a few weeks, his script improved noticeably, and then he hadn't minded so much. People came to check on him. They worried after him, since the day, said they hadn't seen him. They asked him why he hadn't eaten more, why he had let his hair grown so long. He ignored them when he could, pretending he wasn't home and hoping they'd go away. Of course they knew better. Where else would he be? What else would he be doing but pouring through his book, writing his own? In a matter of months, working each day, he had completed it. It was the most ambitious thing he had ever done. But he felt no pride in this, for it wasn't for him. It was for her. He stares down at this book now, running his finger over its cover, tracing the title. He closes his eyes, silently mouthing the words as he recognizes them. He smiles gently, remembering the long nights alone with them. He opens the book. Inside its hand-written pages have been hollowed out, cut out by him before he left for Kenabres. Its contents have now been replaced by baubles--trinkets. He lifts a small golden locket. It is tarnished, but that is alright. It is what they could afford. Its chain is broken, but that is alright, too. It isn't for wearing. Without opening it, he places it gently back within the book. Beside it are other trifles. He touches comb, the hairpin. His hand hovers over the letter, a folded piece of parchment with a broken wax seal. His hand begins to tremble, and then to shake, as one tear, then another, falls upon the paper. He slams the book shut and shoves it away, under the bureau, not wanting to look at it any longer. He lies upon the cold stone floor, lost in his regrets, until the candle has burned down completely, leaving him alone in the dark.
Brevon flushes again, even his ears turning a distinct shade of crimson. "Bah! Well, you know! Anything ah, violent or impolite. A craving for whiskey, for example.". He busies himself readjusting a greave, averting his eyes from the women.
Brevon watches in rapt attention as the priestesses discern Hedda’s condition. After the report is given, he scoffs. ”A demon trapped insider her? This sounds quite dangerous, even unpredictable. How do we know the demon cannot take control of her, as intended? Hedda, do you feel any wicked urges? Any desire to harm us or act violently?”
Brevon politely pretends not to notice as Elriel and Rukzha share a moment. Busying himself with polishing a section of his shield, he turns his back. He purses his lips as Rukzha takes flight up to the top of the roof. Her insistence that her power stems from anything other than divine providence continues to vex him, but he knows the truth. He knows his goddess can lift him higher than any spell. "An impressive feat, to say the least. No doubt the enemy will rue the day they invoked the power of Rukzha Kerzuk." "Too many people have died because I couldn't be better." "Goodness isn't only measured by the lives we save. Others may have died so that you could live. If not them, then you. But you have been chosen to live. It is the will of the gods." He says the words slowly, carefully. "From death, life. There is a certain sanctity in death, don't you think?"
Brevon tries to rub the back of his neck, forgetting there's plate in the way. The clang of metal slapping metal causes him to jump, though hopefully no one notices through the armor. "We've seen more than a few inexplicable, unexplainable, downright uncanny occurences these past days. A naked woman hardly seems the strangest. And yet, you're not just any woman. You seem to be the object of some experiment, yes? We should get you back to Defender's Heart and have our holy priests attest to your health, both physical and spiritual."
Brevon's skin flushes with heat at the sight of the wild woman's figure. He lowers his eyes to spare her any embarrassment, feeling strangely guilty at the realization he'd found another woman attractive. Not that he hadn't come across many pretty girls on his journey north. He just hadn't found many naked and bound in chains. This thought further thrills him, and he attempts to silently recite the alphabet backwards. At least she isn't a demon. "Privacy. I'll give you privacy," he says almost imploringly as he turns his back. As he does, he tries to introduce himself, speaking the practiced line with amazing alacrity. "I am Brother Brevon Sabor, acolyte of the Everflame, devotee of the Dawnflower, servant of Sarenrae, bless her fair and noble name. We are defenders of Kenabres. And you? A victim of some demonic experiment. Do you feel well enough to walk?"
I am "back" and will work on getting updated in my games over the course of tonight and tomorrow.
"Indeed. What has transpired could be nothing short of divine providence. The Light, the Everflame, Our Lady of Rebirth, has joined in the righteous cause of Iomedae and filled our cups overflowing." Brown kneels before Irabeth. "Commander, I pledge my blade to your service, for it is clear to me now that this is Sarenrae's will." Rising, he smiles toward the others. "What now? Now we determine just how blessed we are. We press our advantage, drive the line forward, take the fight to the enemy. But the enemy is cunning, and will not relinquish their territory any easier than we would compromise ours. We will need all our hearts and heads together, I believe."
Welcome Shari! For my secondary domain l am thinking redemption. Miyuki Yoshiko has not participated in any online campaigns. |
