Jan frowned at Ren's comments. Uncouth, she was, and a mage as well. He had never held much regard for spellcraft. Quite useful on the battlefield, certainly, but mages tended to make poor soldiers. They were brave enough, as a rule- had to be, to tamper with powers ethereal- but they often seemed to handle authority poorly. Too individualistic, they meshed poorly with massed formations.

This one certainly seemed sure of herself. Sure enough to make a veiled threat against a superior. The priest couldn't help but admire her spirit. He decided against picking a fight with her. Maybe later, if they both survived.

“My apologies, dear lady,” he said, with a curt half-bow. “I suppose the word I should have used was 'foreign.' Perhaps 'unusual.' In any event I must say it is lovely. I do hope no blood spills upon it.”

He smiled then, revealing his missing teeth.

“I am Father Jan Oremus. A priest, as you surmised, and a trained warrior- as you may not have. As I was telling these lads,”

He gestured at their three militiamen. Two looked to be in the forties, not much younger than Jan himself. The third was much younger, probably less than twenty tears. All three bore spears, with daggers at their belts.

“I will try to hold the front, while-”

He heard the winding of the signal horn, and looked to the horizon. Orcs. They would be upon the ragged band soon. He turned back to Ren, laying his shield gingerly upon the ground for a moment, and drew his dirk from his waist into his right hand. He held it out to the spellweaver, all levity gone from his face.

“Take my dagger. You may need it, should the enemy overpower us and close upon you.”

He smiled again, thinly and in spite of himself, turning back to watch the oncoming orcs.

“I pray it proves unnecessary. I have waited long for this moment, and they will not pass me easily.”