Parum did not need to think long to figure out what could possibly work. First she and her friends would need to sneak upon their enemy in the cover of the smoke cloud they were causing by themselves and once the fight broke out, she could have "backup" shout out at them. Of course, no such thing would be coming, given how long the circling group did take on each rotation.

While she thought, Mr. Lake turned to face her instead of Brannor and nervously fidgeted with his fingers, rubbing each hand with the other in turns. Once inspiration rose to Parum's face, the wizard gave his answer: "Well, I could blind them with Colour Spray, but that's short lived... perhaps Crown of Madness... but that in turn has proven to not be very effective against those robed people, as if they were too devoted to care about my orders. Then last piece of control I can provide would probably be Sleep, but there's no guarantee if it'll affect all of them. Lastly, no self respecting Wizard leaves home without preparing Burning Hands. You should remember I can only muster two spells, one stronger than the other."

With that out of the way, Mr. Lake turned his focus back onto the temple, trying his best to time how long it took for the big group to make the rotation around the building. It was no short effort, but they couldn't exactly follow the situation much longer if they wanted to make it in before the front door was busted into pieces. Lake was fairly certain these people knew that too and found no need in rushing them. Better late than never, better prepared than dead. And dead people get nowhere.

Kyra lead everyone as quickly as she could to their destination. She knew a quick path from the river bed to the back of the chapel; a path she's walked on many times as a child, sneaking out to play in the river and running back before the priests knew she was gone. Before this route was a childish thing of whimsy, but now it was a path to save lives. Once the group reached the forest they all went into cover to scout the enemy forces. There was too many, even if they could take them out one at a time. They'd need to somehow get rid of some of them, or get reinforcements. The banging on the chapel door gave Kyra a sense of urgency as she drew her bow out, ready to take out the first foe she saw.

But before she would do so, the others needed an idea of what they were going to do. Brannor and Orchid were in favor of rushing the smallest group in the back, who seemed to be building a fire to burn down the backdoors. They were sturdy, but also made of wood. There was also the issue of the patrol that was not only massive, but on the prowl. If they intercept them while dealing with these enemies, the party was done for. And of course there were the ones in the front. Kyra could immediately see that one stood out; unlike the others who seemed little more than rabid bandits dressed as cultist, this one carried himself like a warrior. No doubt he was a mercenary, perhaps a soldier even. Whatever he was however, he was a threat.

Parum asked Mr. Lake for his abilities and spells. Kyra only knew a few, and had no idea what this "Crown of Madness" does beyond what it's name may imply. Put people in a berserked state perhaps? Everything else sounded useful however, especially that sleep spell. Thus Kyra hatched a plan. "Use your most powerful sleep spell. Brannor, Orchid, and I will ready our weapons to focus on any enemy who doesn't fall asleep. Parum, use your illusions to distract and confuse them. We don't want any of them to escape. Torus, make sure there are no survivors, and use your bird to keep an eye on the patrols. Alert us if they get near. Once we deal with the enemies at the rear I can open the door, but we must hurry inside. Agreed?"

All seemed settled or as much as it could pass for in this period of urgency.

The ambushers would strike together, allowing the mage's spell first to do the greatest of work it could and render the distracted enemy ever more useless. It was in Brannor's mind that once the throng of foes to the outskirts were away enough, they would surprise the attackers with no mercy or quarter given; not a single one of them the man intended to take alive. They had wasted enough time already attempting to do so before and the very least these fiends and their servants deserved with a bloody death. This aside, they were to rescue those trapped within... and escort them back. Needless details like capturing the enemy alive were not to be considered, regardless of what had been asked of him and the others here.

It was then he watched closely the gestures of Mr. Lake to come, all before drawing back the string of his bow with easy force, making the gesture almost casual. Again, his attention returned to the front and he set his sights on the enemy. Peering at them with a vengeful seething, he adjusted his aim and tracked them as they stoked their flames.

The thrill and the anticipation of the hunt, how it welled within him again.

It called and beckoned to the animal within his heart, urging him to just let loose. For a moment the arrow teetered upon the string, the bowman behind it resisting the urge to take a shot of opportunity. Not yet could he, not until the mage did his work and the halfling her own. After the shot however, would he close the gap and cut them down in a fitting end.

"Whenever... our time is short to attack." He growled and adjusted his readied shot.

That moment of hesitation to plan threw his aim, as his instinct superseded his intellect. After all, he was a man that fought by wild emotion and feeling. Ignoring the impulse, the drive, clouded his mind rather than brought clarity to it. Among other things, it made working with thoughtful folk problematic, in addition to all the other troubles faced. Granted it was a more intellectual approach, the spell would unquestionably give them more an advantage, but then again it was not inherent to Brannor. The idea, the whole thing as it was, was as foreign as it could be in thought.


@Hekazu@Ryonara@Lucius Cypher@Gordian Nought@Norschtalen

Having received the call to action and approval from the man he believed to be some sort of an authoritarian figure in the group, Mr. Lake reached for the pouch he had on his belt. "These attacker truly need to take a break", he said in jest as he procured a smaller pouch of sand from amidst many different items. He carefully pulled out a pinch of it and sprinkled it onto his other hand while pronouncing words in the language of the arcane. The effects were immediate, causing the six kobolds to fall onto the ground within the smoke.

However, within the smog two more shapes moved about, causing Mr. Lake to bite his lip as he realised he had not got them all. Had his spell not been strong enough or had the effective area missed them? Whatever the case, those figures were still moving. At least they were no further than 55 feet away, if that was of any help. Lake carefully placed the sand back where it belonged and warmed up his fingers for a certain gesture most wizards were quite familiar with. If need be, he could always bring forth the power of Burning Hands.

Brannor let loose his arrow on the moving shape on the left, judging from his point of view. The arrow indeed struck something, but in the dense-ish smoke from 15-feet point from the edge, it was hard to see what it had struck. But at least the yell sounded like some humanoid. Most important of all, they didn't seem to be ready to counterattack yet!

Agreed.

After Mr. Lake offered insight to the reach of his arcane arsenal, the cleric aptly provided roles and tactics to encapsulate the troupe guarding the sanctuary’s rear. Quickly, sand saturated the atmosphere, carried thriftly towards the opposing campfire, swirling tendrils of silt, instantly impregnating draconic pineal glands, the thrones of their cerebral penumbrae. Half a dozen succumbed to the mage’s Orphic hymns of Sleep, mystical intoxication prompting immediate slumber and torpor amid the nemeses. A curious pair of the remaining Dionysian eight began to tred and investigate the origin of the Thracian languor of their partners.

"Whenever... our time is short to attack."

Borne from primal instinct, Brannor’s reflexive predisposition already knocked an arrow, shelling the metallic head into the smoke, with a stringent pluck from his longbow. In concert with a distant human’s pain-ridden screech, the paladin, in short order, unsheathed his blade, equipped to engage the throng.

“Fret not, las.” Embracing his staff and shield, the pirate beckoned the large fanged root within his clenching fist to simmer with anger. The ground trembling beneath the soles of his plagiarized soul, as if the very earth was ‘bout to shift in aggregate before him.

The tethered tongue-ring licked Xaron's pale, vermillion borders, seething in the dusky moonlight, peppered by intermittent shadows cast by the floating raven, high above.

“Nightmares will surface. Wounds will reopen. These specters will know their graves within this hill.”

This plan was good, for what little Orchid understood. Mr. Lake would put the enemy to sleep, while Orchid, Brannor, and Kyra killed anything that wasn't asleep. Parum would use her magic to make the enemy confused and uncertain, while Torus finished off anything they didn't kill. It was a good plan, and if Orchid knew how magic worked he would have thought of it himself. "Good plan. Ready?" As everyone got into position, Orchid waited with bated breath. Harpoon in one hand, machete in the other, they must strike fast and hard. Killing this small group would be easy, but trying to take on everyone at once would truly be a heroic feat. Not that Orchid was afraid, but even a simpleton like him knew that the odds were not in his favor. But no sense in worrying about that right now. It was time to hunt.

Mr. Lake casted his spell, causing all the kobolds to drop. However a few figures in the shadows still seemed to be moving, unaware of what had just transpired. Hopefully. "Now we fight!" Orchid roared in his mind. Soon after he sleep spell went off Orchid charged forward, hurling his harpoon at the first foe standing as soon as he reached optimal range. In this instance Orchid aimed right at the figure that yelped. His harpoon piercing the smoke to impale them through the chest, but it wasn't over for the orc just yet. Wielding his machete in both hands, Orchid shifted his body ever so slightly so that it was obscured by smoke, using it as cover so that he could ambush any survivor that came after them.

Everyone attacked as soon as Mr. Lake casted his spell. Six kobolds dropped, and two humanoid figures remained standing. Everything happened quickly but Kyra didn't slow down for a second. Brannor shot an arrow at one of the raiders, and Orchid followed up with his spear. Kyra Drew an arrow and aimed at the other humanoid figure; she figured Brannor and Orchid's attack would be more than enough, so she took aim and shot her arrow. She was aiming for the target's head, specifically between his shoulders, but instead the arrow sank into the target's shoulder instead. Better then nothing.

Orchid charged forward to engage in melee and Kyra moved up as well. However unlike him, Kyra chose to take cover in some of the chapel's foliage. Though it was slashed up and ruined by the raiders, there was still enough of the bush for Kyra to hide behind. As she ducked down, a memory flashed in front of her eyes. Days of her youth where she played in this very same area, using her natural talents of masking herself in the wild to play games of hide and seek with her friends. How she would simply duck behind a bush and vanish from sight, only to appear later to give her friends a fright. As soon as she blinked Kyra was brought back to reality and remembered that this was no game. Lives were at stake now, and Kyra couldn't afford to be distracted. Drawing another bow she readied herself for another attack.

Parum watched as everyone started fighting. Steeling her will she waited to see how much damage her friends could do before she'd strike. Brannor, Orchid, and Kyra attacked, and now it was Parum's turn. Her blade touching the strings of her Viol, she casted a Minor Illusion near the two humans to create a sort of shout coming from the direction of their allies. She didn't want them to turn and try to get reinforcements, so instead she'd make them think that reinforcements were already on their way. Parum timed the sound to go off right as the actual raiders banged their ram into the wall, so that they wouldn't hear the illusion as well as the raiders at the rear would.

Everyone started to move in, so Parum figured she would too. She couldn't move quite as swiftly as the others of course, due to her stubby legs, so she simply ran and hide behind Brannor again. No doubt he would join Orchid in melee soon, but for now he'll be Parum's shield from danger. She did peek around his side to keep and eye on the enemy however, just in case they see through her ruse.

The unforgiving opener from the party caught the attackers unaware. This was especially well demonstrated for the first target of the group's focus: As soon as the kobolds had dropped to something unknown, something that he might have felt as a little itch at the back of his head, he could only guess magic was in play. But before he could think much further, an arrow grazed his arm, and he let out a loud groan of pain and surprise. Soon after came flying a heavier object, even if it was a bit slower, that one did indeed cause great damage as it skewered him to the ground in front of the door. It wasn't quite a literal skewering though: If he had tried, he could've gotten up. But there was no strength remaining to pull off such a feat. He felt blood flowing from both his mouth and his wound as he closed his eyes, never to open them again.

And while his story ended here, his partner was still up, although they, too, had pain on express delivery heading their way. Another arrow pierced the heavy concealment provided by the cloud of smoke their little fire was creating, striking her painfully in the shoulder. At least it was not her sword arm, she thanked her god. Soon after she heard a noise from her left: It seemed as if her allies had notice the commotion. Good. She couldn't handle whatever was coming all alone.

The crow secured its perverse talons around the strap fastened onto the plump water skin, dripping pieces of Rubicon in its flight, glittering the Gaul sky with the gall of one of Torus’ many leathery canteens. Hovering above the temple, the bird's eye caught six kobolds, motionless, with a draconic knight impaled by an orc’s javelin, like Dragonchess pawns captured and blissfully tossed to the side from grandmaster play. The feathered scout circled once more to obtain a better position over the inaugurating fumes, egressing from the enemy’s festered gathering.

Inscribed upon the edge of the sailor's wooly brows, survived wrinkles of knotty concentration, peering into grim smoke, exchanging sight between his pupils and that of the familiar’s, oscillating from fowl to fiend. And back again, as a female tyrannical voice uprooted within the occipital portion of his brain, gnawing and itching the noxious urges of the elder’s desire for mortality, his aspiring altruistic sacrifice to the oblivion.

Where flowers wither before they are planted.

Xaron remained ever interested in this spinal affair, relishing the marring distraction of bereavement, needless to say, as long as her currently bequeathed carcass, namely the aged pirate, remained intact and without peril. Her existence imprinted a half-century of nirvana amidst repressive despotism, the combination of raw cruelty and sophisticated edification. However, the psionic bard’s dharma realized, if all garnered entry into the shrine, each individually would surmount impeccable odds, unless they could corral those within to retaliate against meekness, and reinherit Greenest, once again.

Or, alternatively, reunite with death and life’s realtors.

The smolder proved more abstruse to decipher than the prophetic after-glow of Socratic oracles, challenging the intricate perceptional relay of the raven with the senior's own glimpses, to biangulate the sacrilegious perpetrator before Brannor, Orchid and Kyra. The intention was to fulfill a promise of Cicero, to release an aquatic anchor upon a licentious life, the analogous guillotine to the remaining sycophant of Tiamat. Serendipitously, the feminine culprit was distracted by a rallying voice, engineered masterfully by the blue-haired Hin. The womanly shadow held its armed stance, before the three, within the obscuring mist, providing an opportunity to plunge the soon-to-be ice-filled mortar, as the golden-eyed Sylvan paladin prepared the next evanescent strike.

With quivering aim, the squawk released its message upon the earth below, hoping it would not harm friend, but only foe.

The druid's methods were undeniably unorthodox, but if it works it ain't stupid. There were multiple parts in the plan that could go wrong, but Torus was still willing to go through with it. If there was one thing for it in his advantage, the enemy would not be expecting a manoeuvre like this, not in a hundred years. The execution in itself was simple: The raven familiar let the waterskin empty it's contents above what it deemed to be the target and the druid threw a spell to freeze it, creating a makeshift bludgeoning instrument.

Now where could it go wrong? The most obvious one was that the familiar might not see well into the smoke and thus miss the correct point to let the water flow. The next one was that the water might be released too slowly. But this was not the moment of worry, this was the moment of action. The bird let loose the water and the druid called forth his power to command this very element of nature to freeze. And freeze it did. It fell into the smoke, and anyone noticing the move was left awaiting the sound of impact.

And oh did the sound ring from the smoke! Both that of breaking ice and that of a woman's scream of surprise and pain, soon falling to complete silence. Well, as complete a silence as there could be, given the still patrolling ball of opposition and the steady smashing sound coming from the main doors to the temple. It seemed as if that had taken care of their final conscious mark.

Chain riding against his leather armor with a distinctive albeit subtle jingle, the powerful hunter closed the gap as effectively as he could and neared the scene before him. By some miracle it had all gone so swiftly, so smoothly, be it the mage's enchantment that befell the kobolds or the distraction that the young bard managed so that the flighty ebony form and its master could down the last enemy. Even the half orc's aim had been true through the smoke and the enemy as a whole laid scattered and motionless. Brannor did not so much as exhale before his vicious weapon made a decapitating strike at the nearest kobold, his hand about the sword's binding as it fell with deathly ease like a headsman's axe.


The blow almost assuredly liberating a kobold's head from its shoulders, the aspirant gave no pause before motioning to the others, namely the priestess to advance into the smoke. With but one hand he withdrew the weapon from its target and walked, far more stealthily now, to the next kobold, leveling his blade and preparing to fall another of the beasts.

"Priestess, go with Parum and our newest member. See these people out of the temple." He directed, not out of authority but reactionary thinking.

The old man and his feathered follower were an excellent source of unexpected tact, as was the half-blood. If the enemy was to begin any counterattack, they would need first do so without the notice of the bird and then fight through the obscuring smoke into the building, right into the awaiting blades. No less, the youthful Parum had... rightfully not handled well her experience with death. All too much and too violent for one endeavor. She wanted to help others, so this was her opportunity to convince however many survivors remained huddled in Chauntea's temple that safety was possible, as was the company of Mr. Lake. Hopefully between him and the young cleric their friendly faces would encourage and rekindle the ember of hope in them.

However, the beast of a man needed only give Orchid a wordless look to the man and then back to the idle kobolds. The subtle gesture was overt and hopefully the orc too would descend upon them like Brannor had in the slaughter. These creatures were too flighty to let live; there was no ounce of his person, not one moral fiber, that suggested to fail this quest to free these people from terror just on the grounds of killing a helpless enemy. These kobolds were reaping their rewards for the evils of this night.

@Hekazu@Ryonara@Lucius Cypher@Gordian Nought@Norschtalen

This was a rousing success. Orchid had known that with the element of surprise they'd be able to take on the enemy more easily, but he didn't expect them to be so successful. He and Brannor took out one of the raiders, while Kyra and Torus eliminated the last one. Parum's illusion made sure the last raider didn't try to make a run for it, and Mr. Lake's spell took out all the kobolds. Now all they needed to do was get the villagers in the temple out of here and to safety. Orchid would have been more than glad to do it himself, though even a simpleton like himself knew that maybe the villagers might be scared of a mostly naked half-orc kicking down their door. Better let the girls take care of it. Orchid then heard a squelching sound and readied his blade, only to realize that it was Brannor taking out the Kobolds. They shared a glance and an understanding.

As the others went about liberating the villagers, Orchid retrieved his harpoon from the raider's body. He gave it a good twist just to ensure that the raider was indeed dead before sheathing the weapon back into it's sack on Orchid's back. Then it was time to get to work. There were six kobolds here, and Brannor took out one. So the half-orc moved up to the next one, hefting his large broad blade in both hands before giving the next kobold a hefty hack right onto it's neck. Blood squirted from the wound like a popped balloon, painting Orchid and his blade a crimson sheer. This might not be the epic battle he had envisioned but it was fun in it's own way. He smirked a little as he moved onto the next sleeping lizard.

And in a flash the battle was over. The last of the bandits were taken out swiftly, and already Brannor and Orchid were finishing off the rest of the sleeping Kobolds. It amazed Parum how well this worked out. Maybe they stand a chance after all. Still, no time to celebrate just yet. Brannor suggested they she, Kyra, and Mr. Lake to head to the chapel. Made some sense; Kyra and Mr. Lake are natives to the area, and Parum could always work her charm. "Right then. Let's hurry and be on our way." Parum ran towards the back entrance and tried to use her Minor Illusion to project her voice inside the temple. She didn't want to yell at the risk of alerting the other raiders on the otherside, and would rather accidentally spook the villagers then get into another fight.

"Hello, my name is Parum. My party is here to rescue you. Kyra and Mr. Lake is with me. We are at the back entrance. Quickly, we must leave before the raiders get through the door." Parum spoke softly to the villagers inside, using a calm and soothing voice. The same sort of voice she'd use to calm down crying children and scared people, much like who may be inside the temple right now. It was much more practiced than Parum would care to admit, though never before has she ever had to use such a tone in a situation like this. They're usually less life-threatening. "Take only what is necessary. Food, clothes, a weapon if you have one. We must make haste."

As Torus's magic took out the last raider, Kyra wasted no time celebrating their victory. Because as long as these raiders stilled stayed in her village, they haven't won yet. She kept and eye open for any more raiders, kobolds, or anything that might spy on them as she moved up to the chapel's back door. As she ran up she glanced at Brannor and Orchid going bout executing the kobolds. In a different circumstances Kyra may have felt uneasy about seeing such violence, but right now hatred drove her to ignore the slaughter. In fact part of her wished the same fate for all these raiders; to be brutally slaughtered while they're at her mercy, not even given a chance to fight back. She would gladly see them all hanged and gutted like fish and have their severed heads piled high like a pyre, burning their filth off the surface of the world. Dark thoughts for a cleric of Chauntea, but these were her feelings. Perhaps when this is all over she'll see guidance to cure her of her wrath. But for now, she shall wield her fury like a sword, and use it to strike back against evil.

Move up to the chapel Kyra was careful as she tried to alert the ones inside of their presence. Ideally they were already there and aware of what was going on, but just in case Kyra called out to them. Hopefully her voice would be familiar to them. Father Falconmoon? Anyone? It's Kyra Shepard! I've come from the fortress to escort you and the other villagers back! We must hurry, this area is infested with raiders." Kyra didn't lower her guard for a moment, keeping her hands on her bow and arrow, ready for any foe to rear their ugly head.

The people on the rescue mission knew they would have to act fast, and act fast they did. The first one having taken care of the remaining combatant, two headed to make sure the little lizard people would not become a threat and another pair made a beeline for the door concealed within the smoke. The attackers had piled some straw against it, but most that came from burning it was this smoke cloud. With all this going on, Mr. Lake shrugged and decided to stay where he was, making sure the retreat route was available once needed.

While the men were cutting kobold's necks, Parum and Kyra did their best to convince the townsfolk to leave their current fortifications. Once Parum had cast her spell, soon someone answered from beyond the door, demanding further proof of her allegiance. But as soon as Kyra spoke, they called for help with taking something out of the way and soon noises of large things being moved echoed from the inside in rivalry with the smashing of the front door. They got the presumed barricade out of the way quite quickly and Falconmoon opened the back door. "Let's hurry then", he suggested.

Meanwhile, Lake had ran into a problem of his own. Nothing his remaining spell slot hadn't solved though: As the party and their rescued people in tow returned to him, they could find five kobolds on the ground, charred by Mr. Lake's Burning Hands. "That's all my spells down, then", the man mentioned almost casually, joining the villagers as another non-combatant.

The brief smoke and flames grew brighter as did a wave of heat that followed it while the men were finishing off the kobold aggressors. By the time Brannor had turned to confront the source, the mage was but casually shaking his hands out; his work well done at this point, spurring him to add his remark. Not a surprise to behold given this, the enemy was reduced mostly to badly charred casualty. Yet, with that ferocious fanaticism that laid in his heart, Brannor overlooked that they were almost assuredly dead for the fact that if they so much as moved in slight, his blade was set to dive deep into them.

There were to be no chances taken, not with these stakes and the seeming turn of fortune. So when the priest Falconmoon appeared with the women and the entourage of survivors from the doorway of the temple, the moonlit hunter and his smoke obscured company were awaiting them already. Mr. Lake had ensured that much at least, that the most pressing danger was well and done. Other threats were not far despite this triumph, so urgency was still in place.


"Orchid," Brannor began as he observed the situation, speaking in his low tone and keeping hushed at that, "When our troop leaves with the people, keep your eyes open to see if we are being followed since you will protect the rear."

Shifting the greatsword slightly in his leathered palms, the menacing weapon and its unusual engravings threatened the seemingly dead kobolds. However, Brannor continued as his nature absent mindedly kept watch of the situation at hand; "If they're foolish enough to follow, we can lure them into the woods and force them to fight us in person than afar."

The huntsman hoped the half-blood was wise enough to know to drop low if they began pelting them with projectiles at a distance; it was harder to see a man hidden in the grass, let alone fire at him, all at night. The same reason predators were so fond of lurking out of sight in it and striking when their prey knowingly or unknowingly drew near. Breaking into the cover of the woods would have the same effect. The people could hide while the defense was mounted just behind them, using trees and undergrowth to conceal and cover their presence. All the wilderness was, was a great advantage for the aspirant of the ferine realm; he knew how to fight in it, where to fight in it and best of all, how to hunt in it. Man or kobold, it mattered none, he sincerely doubted they knew how to approach such a defense.

They were as much prey as they were anything else and there was a particular joy to be derived from turning the tables upon the forces of darkness.


@Hekazu@Ryonara@Lucius Cypher@Gordian Nought@Norschtalen

Fate no longer frowned misfortune on their providence.

The pitter-patter of the scurrying mob proclaimed a morse code of liberty; a koan of binding freedom smelted into the background of the battering ram, upon the crippling gates of Chauntea’s house of prayer. Great doubt was now ever behind them, remaining within the sanctuary of which all escaped, seeking soon the prison-like stronghold of the citadel. The pirate motioned and whispered the children beyond the diminutive Ganges of Greenest, to pursue refuge among the wind-tossed trees and their murmuring branches.

“Let there be no space in your togetherness.”

The blind flock pounced towards the keep, ruminating along the river, as elite shepherds spilt kobold blood, with fire and metal. The accompanying wizard submerged his presence among the pack, after exhausting his limits of combustion and enchantment. His previous conflagration of blazing tendrils absconded a carbonized crypt of draconic flesh.

”That's all my spells down, then.”

Capitalizing on the inferno, Brannor and the pink-locked cleric directed traffic into and through the foliage, while the half-blood grazed on the adrenaline surge. The rampage had soon transformed into a victorious massacre. The posterior of the party suited his vantage, bestowed by the Sylvan warrior.

“Orchid, when our troop leaves with the people, keep your eyes open to see if we are being followed since you will protect the rear."

As the sailor clumsily followed the sightless crowd into the cover of the woods, a crow lept into the clouds, kicking cumulus and cirrus alike. The dark plumed scout darted above the rooftops where a siege engine attempted to overtake the face of a temple. Crusading success was imminent, mimicking that of Grond upon Minas Tirith, and the schismatic renovations of Jerusalem and Constantinople. The Vitruvian artillery always seemed to preface the pivotal conversion of one dusk to another’s dawn.

Nevertheless, the raven's wings pulsated its vigilance alongside the moon, safeguarding their trek from bark to stone. The night had finally smiled a constellation of kismet.

The benevolence of an ironic portion of darkness. Once adversary. Now as help-meet.

The people were a whimpering, disheveled, disorganized mess, kept under hush by the man they had rescued; the one the hunter assumed to be the mentor to the priestess that had cast her hand in on this venture, against a dragon no less. The man himself did not appear to be anything remarkable, not that Brannor was looking for it, but even the brief few glances he partook in whilst looking over his shoulder to keep watch on the entourage was enough to make him wonder. Wonder in particular about the woman, how she was so bold as to face the dragon. Was it really need? Plenty of men needed to kill that beast but a few hours ago, yet how many were content to flee in a panic or cast down their arms with little provocation? Granted it was an unbeatable foe, as it so casually proved in its departure, but not to die trying?

It was a distracting thought that lingered in the subconscious like a fog, one the drifted into the presence of mind whenever the following was told to hush by their shepherd. There were too many questions, too many reflections to think of as they retraced their steps, some of Brannor's boots falling where they did before, tracking almost perfectly in reverse. The gesture was near second nature in of itself, although the mere presence of the tall, open grass was not. It brought back memories, memories before this, when things were... somehow less clear. At least now he knew in part why the divine called to him, why it literally filled his blood.

Not everyone was like the half-blood, the halfling, the elder or the priestess. Rather, they were exceptions, which both reinforced Ashkar's turning emotions on the common folk. For all he could do for them now, no less in service to the light - one element of which hung above their heads, above the raven's flight, above the smoke, and far above the clouds as a silvery crescent - would that change them all that much? Would they still in time be the very same people they were days and months prior? Could this be the experience they needed, so startling as it was?

People were hard to change and Brannor knew this; that at times people needed a violent, forceful awakening.

By the time the two leading the front found themselves back to the concealed entrance of the tunnel, Brannor had again decided to stave off the philosophical debate he had with himself; in truth, at least until tested, he went with what he did know after all. He was an outsider, now and forever. His calling was still elsewhere, even on the ventures of this night.

And when he leapt down into the bed of the stream, balancing himself as he began traversing the stones with a practiced grace, the only remark he had for the company behind him was direct;

"It will be dark and do not wander. Follow the glow of the torches." To which after he said this, he gave the survivors a faint nod likely to be lost in the late night's hours.

The wording was perhaps too accurate, too aptly said. Perhaps the entire concept was but top of mind again, but when he realized it, the moment was already over and the sincere doubt of their own ponderings was assured. Many were reciting soft prayers and thanks, others were asking, begging to their patron for any number of worries one could imagine imposed on their hearts. Either way, Brannor placed a steady hand up upon the woman's shoulder and this time, led the way into the bowels of the stone fort, avoiding the few pitfalls that they had seen earlier and using them to distract from the damp, almost sickening stench.

When the door at last revealed itself before them, the man struck it twice with a knock, then with a balled fist that made the leather tighten and bind, a rumbling echo of a strike. The tunnel and its corridors gave a dull ringing, while whoever awaited them this time on the other side was certain to have heard it a ways off. Of all things though, the wait was the worst, but it seemed this quest had all but drawn to an end.

@Hekazu@Ryonara@Lucius Cypher@Gordian Nought@Norschtalen

Orchid watched the rear as the others slowly trickled out of the temple and into the forest. He was only slightly annoyed that the wizard had used his magic to kill all the Kobolds before Orchid could, but he decided not to make a big deal out of it. For now. Orchid compensated the time he would have spent killing the kobolds to looting the dead, particularly the two humans who were overseeing the kobolds in the first place. Once everyone was gone, Orchid followed. He snuck through the foliage with his javelin and shield in hand, waiting to see if there would be pursuing. Torag’s rather clumsy attempts at stealth caused Orchid go a bit on edge, worried that the old man would blow their cover. Fortunately it was not the case.

Eventually the group would arrive back to the keep safe and sound, relatively speaking. No one had followed them and everyone seemed in good health. They even found that elder priest that presumably was Kyra’s teacher, as well as other noncombatants. Orchid had personally hoped that maybe the temple was home to some paladins or others like Kyra; for a priestess she had a fiery spirit that was nearly a match for Orchid’s own. While he had expected fighting them like Orchid and Torag to stand up against the dragon, he had half expected Kyra to react like Parum and hide. More so since Kyra was some sort of healer, and thus Orchid thought her skills would be the opposite of harm. But what would Orchid know?

Truthfully, he did wonder what this passion he was sensing from her was. But Orchid would never understand the fury one can possess when you see your home burned to the ground. At least Orchid wouldn’t remember such a thing. Life among the druids was a transient one: though they served and lived off the land, they never made settlements or even anything more complicated than a tent. They lived in caves or openly in the field, resting underneath trees or using their magic to make shelter. The idea of simply living in one place for most of your life was foreign to him. So he had no idea what Kyra had lost. Orchid had no concept of home.