"If it's all the same to you, I would like to mend somewhat first. I for one am not in any condition to hunt for ogres."
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Damian silently groans. "That hurt!" For a moment, a soft golden light surrounds him and some of his wounds seem to close.
Damian staggers beneath the giant's club, but he grunts the pain away and silently summons the golden light of divine wrath into his blade, further imbuing it with all his thirst for vengeance against the evil of the world. With a unhurried step, he moves next to the beast and strikes with all his might.
Grim shadow, lighted by approaching dawn, Damian puts his armor on and draws his black blade for the moment, as if to inspect it before putting it back into scabbard and facing the sun.
Suddenly, a voice soft as velvet speaks from the shadows beyond the reach of the fire. "Five. There are five of us, not four." A tall man steps into the light. He wears articulated full plate armor, and large sword is strapped to his back. His hair is long, dark and soft and his face is almost woman-like in its beauty. He approaches the fire and gracefully sits. "My name is Damian, viscount Morav. I have been guided here by the grace of Muir and by the dreams I had. May I have the honor of your names?" |