Lucien was in a state that he was rarely in at the first day; perfectly sober.  He was usually at least slightly drunk, but he had chosen to leave the small barrel on his back corked.  He never minded snow.  In fact, he was more comfortable in the cold.  Once the mare strayed from the group, he had gotten a feeling that things would only get worse.

	He was absolutely correct.  One of the knights asked him to provide solace for the group, and all the cleric was able to do was shake his head and sigh.  [color=goldenrod][b]"I apologize, but there is not much I can do now.  I only hope the Gods can hear our prayers."[/b][/color]

	On the third day, he treated the wounded, his services being sought from the injured rather than Evelyn's abilities.  He had a feeling that he was called just to spite the commanding officer, she was perfectly capable of healing a bite wound, although she was less skilled than he was.  But the knight had a certain air of bitterness around him as the flesh mended back together, setting an awkward scene for the grand total of five minutes it took.

	The fourth day was worse.  Four more died that day, and Lucien was steadily becoming more and more somber.  He had taken a blunted arrow in ribs, and while he had to admire the use of bludgeoning quarrel for armored units, he cursed their accuracy.  A bone had been bruised from the glancing blow before the first two were captured and executed while the rest ran.  That night, before the party laid to rest, he opened the keg and passed around some drinks, hoping to help everyone forget the troubles of the road.  Then the Kest Warrior appeared and lacerated two of the knights before it was felled.  The keg was empty by the morning, to put it simply.

	The fifth day was barely better, being the first day to begin normally.  Then The Defiler came into view, and Lucien dismounted, casting a quick area-of-effect spell to both bolster the spirit and toughen skin.  In his left hand was the talisman he carried everywhere, in his right was his mace.  If a summoned or captive spirit was inhabiting a corpse, all it took was a simple tap for the runes in the mace to dispel the captive soul.  So he delved in, immediately smashing a cultist's face and ending a life with the brutal blow, and blocking a dagger swipe with his idol.  No stranger to combat, he could hold his own without a problem.  If Krovah decided to come too close, however, it could be the end of him.  He didn't rely on the Gods for power, but this demon was something too powerful for even the battle-hardened healer.