Kyra wasted no time getting everyone out of the chapel. Understandably, some of the acolytes wanted to preserve the books and other treasures the church had, such as the large chrysanthemum ornament that served as the center piece of their main chapel. It was masterfully crafted with darkwood, by one of Greenest's eldest master wood carvers before he died. It was so good in fact that there were many offers by various lords and nobles to purchase it, paying so much that they could upgrade their humble chapel into a full blown cathedral. But for many reasons they refused those offers. That old master was Falconmoon's own teacher as a priest of Chauntea, and the one who had established the worship here in Greenest in the first place. Through his skills at wood working and the help of the people of Greenest, they made the chapel they were in now. And before his death he carved that chrysanthemum as a symbol of unity and hard work here in Greenest. Sufficent to say, it was more valuable sentimentally then it was materialistically, and it was still very expensive.

However if there was one thing that Kyra wouldn't put a price on, it was the lives of her acolytes. Though these young men and women may consider Kyra their sister of the church, they mustn't forget that she is technically their new leader. Falconmoon may have not formally retired but the responsibilities of the chapel, and those within it, lies in Kyra's hands. It wasn't as if she didn't want to save her precious chapel either; through tears and bitterness, she had to choose their lives over this holy place. This place, a sacred ground that was suppose to provide safety and protection to anyone who enters their doors, had to be abandoned if Kyra wished to actually save the lives within it. Fortunately all it took was a stern sentence and her own tears for Kyra to convince the younglings to come with her. Once everyone had grabbed their things, they quickly left before any of the raiders broke through. Though the thought of letting the others go ahead while she tried to fend off the raiders did cross her mind, Kyra continued to lead the others instead. She had to.

Fortunately the party managed to reach the back entrance with very little trouble. Falconmoon kept pace despite his old age, and the others were young enough to catch up. While Brannor led with his blade ready to cut down any foes, Kyra kept her eyes peeled for any kobolds spying upon them. She would shoot them down before they could spread information about their activities; Kyra would rather not let the raiders know that they were actively undermining their operations. That way they would lower their guard just like at the back of the church, and allow their small group to do massive amount of damage. Brannor went to knock on the door using the pattern they were taught. Kyra had the survivors and other villagers wait by the door while she and the rest of the party watched the parameter.

"It will be dark and do not wander. Follow the glow of the torches."

Behold.

Ashkar stood at the door of the fortress’ heart, knocking thrice; the ripened sailor was pinned within the venerable corridor, amid the exit and entrance of eschatological safety. The conglomerated mass stuffed the overpopulated aisle with ill described humanoids, as if old and new grapes were intentionally crammed within a winepress, a tunneled Armageddon awaiting a Steinbeckian wrath who housed Gog and his Magog.

However, Falconmoon remained ever poised, as other younger Bacchanalian celebrants were polarized between extremes. The decrepit pirate surveyed the surrounding crowd splashing along the stream bed. Their lit visages vacillated from joy to distress, while the archpriest remained like the Ashvatta tree, contemplative but always offering shelter and fruit, no matter what the storm or the journey.

Was he naïve to realize hundreds of his parish had recently perished?

Still, the man remained so. Still.

This paramount peace floating upon the prophetic turbulence jarred the divided Torus. How could one apparently now lead and be seemingly simultaneously apathetic, without being hypocritical? Where an adult might allow paradoxical ideas to coexist in his consciousness, inventing rationalizations for each, children are too simple and innocent to accept blatant contradictions. The passion of Kyra more mimicked the ideals of a tempered pastor, envisioned and mirrored by the druid’s previous encounters with their kind. Along the trek to the citadel, Falconmoon's atamasthana face never disclosed a hint of worry nor exhilaration, but yet was not stoic or unwelcoming.

Possibly, he matured into a fool over the decades. Then why defend the proletariat within the sanctuary?

As tens of inexperienced or wise virgins, with trimmed lamps or without, swarmed the Hin, half-orc, and the paladin, awaiting entry into the keep, to feast, in congruence, with those who already savored the banquet of sadness, sighing, and sickness, left within the wake of Greenest’s draconic invasion, the questions spindled the elder's tongue ring, seeking spiritual advice, from the nearby Siddhārtha, whilst biding his borrowed time.

“My eyes always shutter with fear of the coming ancient ones, but yours does not betray you. Is this a clever façade or brisk truth?” Xaron begged the cleric.

As Kyra kept watch, she heard Torag speak to her... She thinks. They haven't really had an actual conversation before, mostly because the old man speaks in riddles and makes Kyra have to translate what he says into common. Though strong-willed and generally a good judge of character, Kyra wasn't exactly educated. She preferred listening and interpreting stories and legends over book reading. It was just too boring for her. Thus she wasn't sure if Torag was trying to be wise, intellectual, or just senile. Fortunately for him, Kyra did take the moment to try to understand what he was getting at. He wanted to know how Kyra could act so brave in the face of this much catastrophe. Probably?

"You'll have to forgive me, grandfather. My mind isn't in the right place to interpret riddles at the moment. If you ask if I am scared, I am. I truly am. Please do not be offended, but you travelers may not understand... This is my home. I may be young, but I have already made the decision that I shall live and die in this village, and that I will do everything in my power to make sure it is prosperious while I breath. Seeing such chaos undo so many generations of work it... It frightens me. Like a violent storm that can even strip stone into sand, it feels like a force of nature that I cannot stop. That dark, evil side within the hearts of men that no amount of prayer or wishes can ever vanquish. And yet..."

Kyra bit her lip as she turned her head to look directly at Torag. "This dark and evil side is just as natural as goodness and light. To pretend that one can exist without the other is childish naivety. I won't deny my fear. I... I embrace it. I use it to fuel my anger. To see such horrifying things happen to all I love... I need that fear to make me strong. So that my hatred guides my arrows and powers my spells, and allow me to strike down these infidels." Kyra said quietly, so that only she and Torag could hear. In the back of her mind she knew this kind of thinking went against the ideals and thought of her teachings; she was suppose to show mercy and understanding, to be able to bring harmony between the forces of the wild and civilization. To create a bond between the nature and man. Yet at the same time, she has seen the strength and the feral wilderness; she remembers the viciousness and brutality found outside the cities and laws of civilization.

Nature was not peaceful. It was not kind. It cares very little for those in it, neither beast or mortal. Even those created by nature would suffer openly by her whims. It was that part of nature, and of Chauntae, that Kyra was tapping into. Most would not consider Chauntea a warlike god and Kyra would agree wholeheartedly. But just as the sun can create warmth and light, it can also burn it's enemies into cinder. Just as the ocean provides fish and bounty, it can also crush and rip apart any creature misfortune enough to underestimate it's current. The wind can be a gentle breeze or a roaring tornado. Even roses have their thorns. Kyra may be a mere priestess of Chauntea, but a helpless victim she is not.

"We should focus on the task at hand. Keep an eye out for trouble."

It took some time before any response was given from the other side of the old sewer tunnel door. Some of the civilians were already getting nervous which had Mr. Lake and Father Falconmoon trying to calm them down, all the while the old druid and the younger priestess had their hushed discussion. The aforementioned discussion had not yet completely reached it's end point as the locks on the door gave their clicking response and the wooden barrier slowly crept away from it's closed position. It seemed as if the people inside were not willing to open it fully by themselves for some reason. But given the locks were out of the way, the door was no obstacle any longer.

Having already seen the methods employed by the "guards" of this door, the people originally sent on this rescue mission could probably tell what it was. The small group resorted to stealth, thus they probably wanted to maintain the element of surprise in case an enemy had made it this far. As soon as the unmistakable figure of the paladin pulled the door further open and stood visible in the doorway, those nearby could hear a snapping of fingers, the sheathing of a blade and see as someone in dark clothes and a mask walked into the meagre light, gesturing the group to head inside. The two of his friends refused to show for one reason or another, but there was no reason not to believe they were there somewhere.

As the rescued denizens of the town of Greenest began pouring inside, Torus and Kyra had plenty of time to finish their discussion, gathering some curious looks from passersby, especially from father Falconmoon who had this strange feeling of something being... off with the older man. Deciding not to make a big fuss out of it now, the old priest made a mental note to have a chat with the man at some point during this night. For now, he made sure his flock made it in.

Back in the keep, not much had changed in their absence. A familiar face was admitting citizens into the keep, that being sergeant Longwater. He tried to catch the attention of the rescue party with a wave and did his best to gesture them to stay around, but the group of people around him made this somewhat difficult to see. To those that did notice and take heed of the suggestion, he shared the following news: "The governor thanks you for all your work. Did you happen to catch any attackers on the way? ...no? Well as the big man himself said it, while that sure would've been nice, what you've already done is more than we could've ever hoped for. Rest well for the rest of the night... given they don't seem to be even preparing for a breach, there should be little trouble to be anticipated."

But in the end, the night held yet one more surprise, one that came by mere hour or two before he morning sun shone on the Greenest in flames...

As much as Brannor knew some quiet conversation was held, it was neither his business nor his interest what was exchanged between the two polar voices. One was old, weary with age, while the other was quite youthful yet. One man, one woman, both involved in some finer topics - something the student of the hunt would have found interest in had he known the subject at hand, but alas as he did not, he paid it no further mind over the other few voices that arose now and then. This was wise, as when the reveal before them played itself out, no one was there to greet them but the "shadows" that melted in and out of the inky lantern lit darkness of the keep's underbelly. Able to see, quite well at that, Brannor ushered the group onward and inward without questioning the ordeal.

The masks were right to keep out of sight and mind, lest of course they spoil their carefully crafted and surely coveted surprise they had in mind for any kobold or follower of the blue dragon find their way here. Whoever they were did not matter really, whatever aura of distrust they put off could be ignored in the face of a common enemy, an adversary much more coordinated and powerful, at least here. It was with this rationale that the entourage were kept moving forward without a moment of tarrying, all up until the unexpected allies of Greenest and the survivors of the temple saw themselves into the attention of Longwater.

The man, a bit worn by the night's battle, kept up his station by vetting and accounting for those who survived. A task that, to someone of this village, was both a joyous and grim notion; to know who had survived and those likely dead... or worse. The paladin assumed the latter, that worse was what the darkness had in mind as whatever evil possessed the hearts of these things to assault the keep and it was related in some sort to the dark priests accompanying them. Dark minds often were born of darker magics, ones more sinister than anything perhaps any of those present knew.

Of course such an assumption could be woefully wrong, but anyone who had cast their lot in with an evil dragon were unlikely to stop just there; like the light that anointed the warrior or the priestess, one that still burned ever so dimly in the rest, perhaps not more awakened yet, the darkness ebbed and flowed in the not too distant background.

Longwater and those still resisting were those dim lights, one that caught the attention of those present and who moved to him. It was at this point Brannor faded away, allowing the people to mingle and merge as they did without much order. Distinct as he was in their midst, both by shape and scale, but dress as well, towering above them, his duty here to Chauntea's people had drawn to a close. They risked their lives for them, even the mage did at that, so it came as no real offense to hear that while they could not capture the enemy, not a single head was so much as harmed; not one hair marred.

With a stoic nod, a trait the man practiced unconsciously out of lack of common tongue to share, the huntsman turned himself away and began about his ritual, just as he did before. He would clean himself of the stains that had now adorned his leathers at their edges and the vicious steel of his weapon before resting. Albeit he stopped midstride to speak to the company, should they have need of him again where he was to be found.

"You may find me with the water, when you need me again."

And like the predatory ideals he embodied, he vanished around a corner thereafter in a few calm, plodding steps, content to take his rest.

So it was he set about repeating himself in gesture, taking up the time he had to rest the mind and spirit as much as the body. If anything the heart was the most settled. It had been tested and it had been proven. Brannor was certain there was something in this endeavor, as odd as it began days prior, that related to this town. That the Silver Lady had meant in some way for this to be.

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

Orchid didn’t pay much mind to the whispering from the others, paying more focus on watching the area around him for more enemies. As he waited, he wondered what they were doing here. While he’s certainly heard of bandits who have roamed lands simply to slate their blood lust, those bandits were usually humans, orcs, or even wild elves. Kobolds, though Orchid didn’t know too much about them, didn’t come off as a warlike people. They were far too small and cowardly to raid settlements openly. Steal cattle sure, and maybe if they were in a big enough horde they’d siege a village or something. But Greenest seemed too well protected for such a small amount of kobolds to want to take it on.

Of course it wasn’t all kobolds. There was a mix of other races here too, but it only made Orchid even more curious. While they weren’t uniformed in any particular way, it seemed odd that bandits could get so many kobolds working with them. Orchid could see perhaps five or even ten in a sizable bandit clan, but when the fort was besieged Orchid swore he saw at least fifty of the scaley goblins. Kinda hard to tell, Orchid was also raging when that happened. Still all these bandits, plus a horde of kobolds? And then orchid vaguely remembered the mayor mentioning something about a hooded figure or some such. Sounded like a leader. A cult leader. Shady hoods, a bunch of kobolds, and even the adult dragon. Orchid was not a smart man, but even he could see that this was obviously some sort of dragon cult.

So perhaps they were doing these raids for that blue dragon. Robbing this village for riches and supplies to feed the dragon’s hunger for treasure and food. It certainly prosperous enough to have some wealth, while small enough that there wouldn’t be much serious opposition. Seemed like a good place to raid, if Orchid had to decide. Knowing this only made Orchid more restless however; they still haven’t found any real clue about these guys and what Orchid thought was just him guessing. Perhaps it wasn’t too late to find out more.

Soon the doors opened and everyone was rushed inside. The shady warriors from before continued to be shady for some reason, but Orchid didn’t think too much about it. He didn’t lower his guard until everyone was inside and the door behind them was closed. Only then did he take a sigh of relief, sheathed his blade, and quietly went off somewhere to rest. The first thing he did was look for more food, in which he got a potato, an onion, and half a loaf of bread. Good enough for him. Sharpening a stick Orchid roasted the vegetables over a fire while he munched on the bread. He looked through his backpack, finding that he still had some rations to eat, but instead went for his waterskin. He could use a drink.

Once Orchid finished eating he quickly started to get back to work on that drake hide. Stripping it off his shield, Orchid took out his tools and went into the lengthy process of treating it properly. The skin was still coarse and rubbery; he needed it to be firm and rigid. Stretching the hide out and applying some oils, Orchid got to work on the hide.

In about an hour of time, the old priest had got his thoughts together and figured it was the time to meet up with the shifty looking druid. Undoubtedly they had played some vital part in the defence of Greenest to be recognised and thanked by the Governor themselves, but Father Falconmoon could not shake the odd feeling he had about this man of nature. Finding them had been easy enough as they seemed to gather quite a crowd around themselves by putting up little shows every now and then, so the priest simply chose to wait until he was done with his current one before addressing the man.

But indeed as soon as he was done, Falconmoon approached Torus. "Old druid, I am Father Falconmoon of the local temple as you may well know. You have my thanks for saving my flock and myself from the assault and I would like to talk with you. Will you allow me this?" he requested, turning quite a few heads of the crowd. Why would their religious leader be interested in someone who followed not their way? Perhaps he was there to convert the man? Falconmoon cared little for the chatter of those around him however and waited for the druid to answer.

Were he to accept, he had already requested the castellan to make some room in a nearby storage so that they would not need to chat under everyone's watchful eye, since you never knew what kind of secrets a wanderer might have. It was always easier to talk with them when they could know that not everyone was there to eavesdrop on them. His first question would undoubtedly have to be what he and the future head of the local temple had to discuss in hushed voice.

@Gordian Nought

The fiendish lyricist received, in stride, Kyra’s response, but remained insatiate. ‘Til finally the famished aim of her hunger approached.

Father Falconmoon.

Torus, too, starved. As a lost chick yearning for his mother hen, in hopes of complete propitiation from Xaron.

"You have my thanks for saving my flock and myself from the assault and I would like to talk with you. Will you allow me this?"

His modus operandi was simple. Offer gratitude visibly and captivate confession in solace. The pirate melted in congruent acquiescence, to seek his transgressions' pardon before the grave, a false dawn to come.

“As wax before the fire, let us vanish like smoke to an inner sanctum. I desire to bury a tyrant beneath a wave of tears.”

However, the psionic bard hissed in regretable angst, whilst manipulating a bit of lamb fleece in the druid's left hand. Her curiosity no longer beckoned the vicar of Chauntea, now vigilant and fretful of the threshing of her unholy Seed by the possible restoration of the holy priest.

She issued a warning, in blemished anger.

“The hour is nigh; the fading King
paces forth to reign the later night,
crown’ed with the shine of a wing
and enthroned on a globe of pallid light.

The wolf’s tail sweeps the blanching feast
to expire a deeper gloom behind,
the Fey uprears her shining beast,
sighing within the semblance of a mind.”

The briny elder trembled visibly, in the inherited Minotaur mantle, before the inquisitive presbyter, leaning upon his adopted staff; his glossal ornament constantly shifted upon its axle, prompting their quick departure.

“Let us lament in secret, before the wick fully ignites.”



@Hekazu

When the doors opened Kyra rushed everyone inside the keep. She made sure to lead them personally so that none of the guards think these villagers were actually raiders who managed to break in. Once everyone was safe and sound Kyra let herself have a breath of relief and relaxed. She immediately sunk to the floor and massaged her eyes, trying to get rid of the image of her beloved chapel gutted and burned to the ground. "It can be rebuilt... It will be rebuilt..." As she closed her eyes Kyra realized just how exhausted her body was. She didn't remember the last time she had a moment to rest; if she wasn't tending to the wounded she was out fighting, and there were so many here at the keep who needed help.

Kyra jolted awake and noticed that she was alone. She looked around for others, finding a guard who mentioned that a group of villagers just arrived. It was the same group that Kyra had lead in, so she wasn't asleep for long. But she thought she might have been out for longer. Her mind lingered on the enemy and it brought a reminder. They still needed to capture one of the raiders. Kyra had no more spells left, but she knew this village well and could pass off as a mere victim to be bait. If she could get some of the others to help her perhaps they could get that prisoner that the mayor had asked for. But who...?

The first person that came to mind was that half-orc, Orchid. He seemed to have the skills to hunt down and take out a raider nonlethally, which they can then bring back to the keep for interrogation. But his poor grasp of common, as well as Kyra's own fury, made her aware that neither of them would be suitable to talk to this prisoner. BUt then that brought Kyra's thoughts to the halfling bard. Though she was cowardly, perhaps the minstrel can muster up the courage to extract information from their unwanted guest. It wasn't much of a plan but it was the best that Kyra could think of at the moment. So she went off to look for Orchid, to recruit him in her mission.

She found the half-orc in the common's area thanks to one of the guards. She wasn't sure what Orchid was doing but she called out to him. "Orchid! I need to speak with you." The priestess approached, her face stern but warm. She didn't want to make Orchid think he was in trouble, but this was a serious request.

Orchid was hard at work tanning the hide. He had picked at the impurities and soaked it in oils, the pungent heap of flesh stretched between two sticks to dry out. It'll need at least a day before it would be ready to be used again, more if he wanted to properly shape it into something complex, like a hood or a cloak. The idea of wearing a drakeskin cloak was too tempting for Orchid to mess up now. Sure it was no dragonscale, but it was close enough. How he wished he could at have at least chipped off a bit of that dragon's flesh, and perhaps wear it as a crown of some sort. But alas, he'd just have to settle for this drake skin.

As Orchid contemplated his next course of action someone called out to him. He turned to the voice and noticed it was Kyra. Was he in trouble? She seemed serious about something, but unless they were being attacked Orchid wasn't sure what. Still he stood up and approached the priestess, his hunched, hulking figure towering over her. "Orchid here. Need Orchid?" The oaf pointed to himself. He was still going through his mind what she may need. Perhaps she needs his strength to move some bodies? Lots of corpses around here. Or maybe repair another wall? Not really his forte but he could carry rocks. Or maybe she was going to go kill things? Admittedly Orchid was all tapped out of rage for today, but he supposed that he could take on a raider or two. He'd just have to be more cunning this time, since he can't rely on his brute strength just yet.

Falconmoon listened to the answers provided by Torus' multiple minds, but did not fret as the illusion rang around him. He could see the druid handling the piece of fleece and thanks to knowing the local enchanter well, he had seen this before. It did signal the fact that there was something the druid was hiding however, so the priest, now even more intrigued, waved at them to follow. "Come, we shall talk in private."

It was a short walk to the spot they had for themselves, but even during that time the old priest found himself wanting to ask the questions already. With age came self-control however, so he did manage until the druid closed the door to the storage behind them. "Now, do not take me in the wrong way, but I am curious as to what and why you discussed with Kyra. What could have been worthy of your hushed voices?" Falconmoon was only worried, but his choice of words could have been better.

Afterwards he would be interested in asking the druid's story and about his need to communicate with him in Illusion magic, but that was for the later. Now as the priest leaned against the pile of crates containing spare armaments, his priority was to know why the two had been so secretive in the old tunnel beneath the keep.

@Gordian Nought

Trailing behind the cleric, the short trek was riddled with sighs of tension and elation. The slothful promenade into the closed quarters culminated with inquiries of rationale and purpose. The mettle of conversations prior were eventually positioned before the makeshift altar of justification, ironically constructed out of timber pallets filled with munitions, all allowing the aged defendant to validate a raison d'être. Curiosity of Kyra’s interaction underpinned the ethos of the priest’s dialogue.

Worthy of hushed voices?

The druid’s plagued yin and yang coalesced into an emotional mandala, where each soul endeavored to both exercise strength and exorcise weakness over the other. The spiritual game of tag frenzied into a full contact sport of psychotic dogpile, as drips of eccrine sweat and blood oozed from the clenched fleece. The pool of impurities slowly collected from the once blanche swathe into the crevice below the Acacian crates, formulating a vantaged nystagmus of a bubbling sickle under a wooden gavel.

Within the asthmatic pause, the betrothed gyalpo and rakshasa finally became wed, in utterance.

“You mistake us, sir. The inquisition, meant for you, was merely intercepted by your successor.”

Their blended voices mimicked a churning ocean, heralding unsegregated instigation from the sedate pirate. The right palm jarred suddenly from its statuesque hibernation onto Torus’ beard, frenetically paging over the metaphorical whiskered facial papyrus, with his tantric fingers, while gripping the top third of his dragon-fanged scytale. The Tethyrian staff curled adjacent his knuckles into the Curna fuzz.

“She only echoed why a toad trapped in a well should never question the…"


“Splendor, is what I seek and have always sought.” Kneeling suddenly into the miniature Bethesdan portico, whilst visibly staining a corner of the labyrinthine hide, Torus wrestled the windigo within his body.

“Time has rendered her vise weaker with every passing year. From Chult, her grasp was that of a dreadful man-eater’s. Inescapable. Now, in Greenest, her temper tantrums beget that of a lost child who has abused refuge.”

The verbal trepanation hit its mark, with the bardic Preta screeching in the suffocating chamber, as the sailor of many ships petitioned for rubrics of absolution from the Father to solidify his atman. The left hand released the sheepish scarf and prodded for the crescent elk antler, to procure a suicidal vajra with the kartika tusk. The Tertullian lobby proclaimed the last vestige of a penitent parent.

“I beseech your god, Teacher. Grant my turbulent flesh a tranquil heart, free from this evil dream. Strengthen me against the nightmarish darts of passion spoken within me. And pray for my polemic spirit, if my soles cannot keep unshaken at the remembrance of your mercies.”

A final metanoia to liberate himself from the Vritra’s rule, either by burr hole or by blessing.

@Hekazu

"I know this might be too soon, but I was thinking of heading back out there. There's still others who needs help, and we still need to catch one of the bad guys. Do you want to come with me?" Kyra asked directly. She wasn't going to try to be subtle and manipulate Orchid, partly out of trust, but mostly because she felt this was easier. She had no patience for intrigue.

"Okay." Orchid said without a moment of hesitation. He was already here to help to the villagers, and Kyra was just another villager to him. Scratching his chin he did wonder what they'd be doing. "Just you me?" Orchid pointed at Kyra and then at himself. He wondered if everyone else from before was going to come with them.

Kyra shook her head and looked down at Orchid's tanning work. "Yes. Torus is too old, Parum is too scared. I was thinking about asking Brannor, but his armor is too loud. I need a hunter. You're good at hunting, right?" Kyra was actually considering asking Brannor, but she didn't want to move in too large a group. And while she would never admit this, Kyra felt that she would be more comfortable sacrificing Orchid, if necessary, than Brannor.

Orchid eagerly nodded his head. "Orchid very good! Okay. Orchid get things." Orchid went to pack up his belongings. Who knows what might happen while they're out there, so it'd be safer to take his stuff with him. It's not as if he had a lot anyways. The only thing he left behind was the drake hide since it still needed tanning. He picked up his machete and gave it a few swingings, looking at it's blade. It actually hasn't seen as much action as he'd like. Hopefully he could correct that this time. "Orchid ready." He said as he sheathed his machete and strapped the shield to his arm.

Nodding her head Kyra turn and lead Orchid back towards the tunnels below. She wanted to do this as quickly as she could; the more time she wasted just standing around here, the more Greenest burns down. "Alright, listen carefully Orchid. As much as I'd like to fight everyone, we have two important things we need to do. First, we need to save the other villagers trapped in the village. If you hear anyone scream for help, we have to help them. Second, we need to capture one of the bad guys. I don't care how many we kill, but we need to keep one alive. Not the kobolds though; I doubt they have anything important to tell us. But everyone else is okay. The tougher they look, the more important information they might know."

Eventually Kyra and Orchid would arrive at the entrance to the tunnel. There were a few guards there as they approached. "We are heading back out to rescue more villagers, as well as try to capture one of the raiders for questioning. It'll just be me and him for now, since the rest needs to rest up and recover from the last mission."

@Gordian Nought

Falconmoon raised both an eyebrow and his chin as he heard the conversation held between the druid and Kyra had been intended to be held with him instead of the younger priestess. He was not exactly sure if he could believe what the druid had to say, but before he had the time to ask more questions about it, the man seemed to go on into some sort of shock and interrupted their own sentence in a tone the priest had heard but once before: It was the same tone as the one he had heard in the female voice in his illusion.

Now more intrigued, the old priest stepped forward, raising his holy symbol with his left hand while holding his right extended towards the druid. "Child, I see your mind is in a difficult place. Can I aid you in some way?" he asked of him, child of course being a funny term to use, although Falconmoon was still quite likely the older man in this situation. The druid could easily answer with what they had originally intended to tell, their will to seek freedom from the nightmare their mind split to two was to them. To these words, Father Falconmoon nodded and raised his symbol higher while stepping close enough to place his forefinger and middle finger onto Torus' forehead.

It had been a good while since he last called upon Chauntea to grant him strength in spellcasting since that had been an integral part of Kyra's training, to build their link with the Goddess, but her link would not be strong enough for something like this. To be frank, he could not be sure if he could do it himself... but he was willing to try helping a man in need. Drawing a rose in the air with his holy symbol, Falconmoon recited the words of prayer loaded with the power of Remove Curse. How that would affect Torus' two minds was uncertain, but the priest did his best to help.

---

@Norschtalen@Lucius Cypher

The masked man the priestess and barbarian were conversing with listened to what they had to say before barking a few words behind himself in undercommon, receiving some answer back from the shadows. The pair of would-be heroes could not understand a word they were saying, but received the synopsis of it in a short few moments as the man shook his head and said "No." Nothing more than that, a simple gesture and one word in Common. He stood stalwart on their path, keeping them from reaching their goal.

If questioned further, which would undoubtedly happen, the man would raise the lid of his vocabulary a bit higher, allowing for a little more thorough explanation: "Official business only. Get permit." His accent clearly leaned towards Orcish and he obviously had trouble expressing himself in Common, but the matter was simple enough for the explanation to be understood: They would not be letting the pair of adventurers outside without prior approval.

Then.

Nothing.

The solidarity of silence was far reaching. The void of voices meant...

Freedom.

Laughter suddenly jetted from the younger elder, pervading the storage room housing the two old men, as wrinkles of ineffable joy seismically creased upon the druid's countenance. The liberated Torus giggled with glee, standing promptly vertical to match mouth with Falconmoon's sacred medallion, shedding the stagnant knees of confession, stained with the blood and sweat of a defiled war. A multitude of kisses overwhelmed the cleric's hand and his symbol, eventually succumbing to the need to breathe and express his gratitude.

"It is meet and right to sing, praise and worship you, Chauntea, for not condemning but deeming me worthy to partake of healing, of spirit and flesh. The receipt of your divine graces, Father, has repelled the adversary, illumined my heart, and granted peace to my powerless days. Now with a faith unashamed, a love unfeigned, and the promise of wisdom, I pledge to pursue the knowledge and practice of holiness, so as to finally pass from this plane in hopes of attaining that everlasting rest, where the tongues of friends, family and festival are unceasing, alongside the gladness and goodness of the Gods, once we, at last, enter their courts."

The pirate slowly became mute, allowing the banishment of the bard to take hold. No condolences entered his uncrowded mind, for the witch, who sought manipulation at every beguiling turn, was seemingly dead. Xaron's borrowed temple had now become her tomb. Then, a tabernacle of tears bellowed a waterfall of expired release.

“She was insane, blinded by rage and vengeance for her mother's death.” The crooked nose sniffed haphazardly. “All to hunt and destroy any citizenry involved in her demise and betrayal. The last few decades were utter pandemonium as we exhaustively roamed the Sword Coast, in search of an elf by the name of Nox, a supposed Harper rumored to be her father. An elusive hunt that claimed both of our souls.” Wiping his eyes, Torus inadvertently snorted once more. “Until this very moment. We no longer should waste moonlight and join the others, as this night of terror has not yet ended.”

Scurrying to the exit, past the priest, he halted mid-stride, about-faced, and whispered.

“Thank you.”

The act of cleansing a blade was as much a ceremonial process as one would employ upon their self. The ordeal that Brannor undertook with it was methodical, ever so careful to not waste what little water he had to spare on it. That which he had not drunk for himself, he spent the rest upon his person, but most notably for this process; it was a thing of dedication, knowingly done and a ritual not to be scorned. As to be expected of good steel, the blade and its uncanny edge did not readily trap the taint of their enemy, but this did not mean it was not there. The illness these creatures kept in them, this bias of evil, was deeper than just the physical. Striking them down in body was only the first step - something in time perhaps he would grow beyond.

It was as true in this quality, the need to return purity to one's self and their means, as it would have been in the hunt, but where that was as much a matter of respect and function, this was strictly a process of necessity.

Allowing the water to fall to the stone floor between his boots as it followed to the point, some splashing upon the toe, the outsider examined the weapon and its length, being certain to not leave any traces of its vicious work behind. Turning it over, once and then again, he found himself pleased with the result, then resting a palm atop it where it laid flat across his leggings. Just as he had done before, he took the time to rest, to close his eyes and remove himself from these dank corridors. The excursion to the temple of Chauntea was, without question, one of the few breaths of air the man had throughout the night. It was almost as familiar just in presence and presentation as the thoughts he conjured up within his mind. Had he his instrument, perhaps he could have convinced himself he was not again here in the depths of the keep between it all.

Surely dawn was coming and with it was the near certainty the enemy disband like the vermin they were. Unless that dragon was to return, Brannor was confident their reign of terror on the night would close. They would likely be fatigued and sure of their victory, as the tides seemed to have largely turned against them throughout it; the most recent endeavor likely having been the true turning point, but what was to come next?

The man had come to Greenest days ago, following a drive he could not explain on a path he did not really understand. He knew now what he believed was correct, that his gift and mantle of the wilder things was a weapon to beat back the things that truly did not belong, but just how was he to do it? His company was not lacking, between a raging lunatic, a scorned priest, a curious elder and a wounded youth. They all had that drive within them to resist, to fight back and follow through, something the paladin needed in the days to follow surely, but just what would they do and be willing to agree to? The orc seemed to live for the thrill of it, the woman now for her faith besmirched, the raven's master for odd secrets, and the halfling out of want to set things right.

Could he convince them to continue? All of them, that was. That this was a battle far from over, one larger than just Greenest? A wicked dragon and its followers assaulting the countryside was no threat to be ignored, as many more souls were at stake, but that it seemed a cult of lesser monsters had formed around the beast.

Perhaps that was the actual "hunt" he found himself prowling in the wake of.

Or perhaps these notions were all a roiling descent into the sleep Brannor had fallen into.

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

When the group returned from their mission, Parum went back to her lonely corner in the keep, playing her viol quietly. Her body still shivvered at the thought of that dragon and the sight of the carnage, but slowly she felt that her peace of mind was returning to her. Perhaps she went over board with the whole dragon thing; she's never seen one in person and it was just so overwhelming to her. As much as she hates to admit this, she was still very naive to the world. The only fight's she's ever seen were bar brawls, and she still hasn't quite gotten the taste for killing. She wanted to record epic tales and legendary battles, but how could she if she can't even stomach a real fight? Parum stopped playing when she noticed her hands were trembling, a sure sign that she still had doubts. Of course she was still scared for her life. She wanted excitement, but she wasn't suicidal either. Parum still wanted to live.

Standing alone in the keep wasn't making Parum feel any better, so she started to wander around. Everyone in the keep was busy, either on patrol or tending to the wounded. Parum thought maybe she should try to give a hand at healing, however just the stench of it dissuaded her. She gulped deeply and stayed out of everyone's way. Parum walked aimlessly, hearing people's hushed whispers and prayers. She wondered if there was anything they could do to break the siege. Perhaps kill their leader, or even slay that dragon. Most of the raiders appear to be kobolds anyways; if they defeated them, would this cause their army to route? As she wondered that, Parum's mind slowly shifted to thinking about what the others were up to.

Parum remembered Brannor mentioning that he was near some water, so he was probably washing up. He likely finished by now too. She also vaguely remembered seeing Orchid somewhere eating in the keep. Probally taking a nap too. Parum was also positive that Kyra was probably in the infirmary dealing with all the wounded. Parum was honestly not sure how to feel about her. She felt a bit... Jealous. In the back of Parum's mind, she wanted Kyra's passion and heroism. Granted the two girls had different lifestyles and different motives for what they were doing. This was Kyra's home. Parum just wanted to be a hero. There was also Orchid. He seemed fairly typical of an orc barbarian; savage yet courageous. Or maybe he was just stupid. Could be both. And then there was Torag. He was honestly a mystery to Parum. Not only does she barely know the old man, but every time he speaks it's as if he's trying to tell them a riddle. Surely everyone else thought this as well. She wasn't sure how much she can trust the old man to continue helping them, but he hasn't failed them yet. So for now Parum will have faith in him.

As Parum walked aimlessly around the keep, her feet brought her back to the underground tunnel leading to outside the entrance. She wasn't sure why she was here. Perhaps she wanted to see if there was anything she could do. Maybe just play a soothing song, or maybe even share a tale or two. But when she arrived she noticed none other than Kyra and Orchid trying to leave. Parum didn't need to investigate very hard to figure out what they might be here for; Kyra obviously wanted to go out and help more villagers and Orchid was along for the ride. It also wouldn't be that much of a mystery to figure out what the doorman had said; those two couldn't leave. She did wonder for a bit why not, but then again if her memory served correctly, the door leading outside wasn't all too secured. No locks, not even a large rock to block it. If any of the raiders knew about it they'd surely come knocking, and the more people going in and out, the more likely they'd find it.

It was now that Parum was at a crossroads. On one hand, she understood the door guard's concerns about the constant movement around this secret entrance. They were already struggling to man the walls, they can't spare more men defending this tunnel. But she was sympathetic to Kyra's cause too. She could understand her desire to save her village and fight against evil, even if there is a considerable risk of doing more harm than good. So Parum had to ask herself. "What do I want to do? Protect myself and everyone in this keep? Or save as many people as I can outside these walls?" It was a tough choice to make. However... Parum remembered her actions back on the walls. Or rather, her inaction. How she had spent much of the battle cowering near the tower, hiding behind Brannor and Torag. How all she could do was watch as her allies not only stood their ground, but even took the fight to the enemy. Some people may forgive Parum for her cowardice in such a frightening circumstance. But Parum would not forgive herself if she let her fear control her here.

"The mayor had given us two tasks when we came here. Save as many villagers as we can, and strike back against the raiders. Just because we've come back doesn't mean our job is done yet." Parum appeared behind Kyra and Orchid, standing at their side. Despite being only half their height, Parum stood tall. Well, as tall as she could. One hand held her precious viol close to her chest, while the other rested on her rapier. She still felt tinges of doubt and fear inside of her, but she had to step forward regardless. She would be no hero if she never fought against the odds. "You have your duties and we have ours. We need to work together, not against one another."

@Gordian Nought

While Father Falconmoon was surprised to see such an intense act of thankfulness, he let the druid go on with the kissing of his holy symbol until they were done on their own. He saw no reason to deny the man his way of thanking the god that had seemingly freed him from... whatever it had been that had ailed them. As the fellow spellcaster pulled back, Falconmoon brushed his symbol against the bottom of his sleeve. And then he listened to what the druid had to say.

The man seemed to be carrying as convoluted story as stories go, at the very least on the scale of what he had ever heard in Greenest, but now a chapter would be coming to an end... a chapter he had shared with the female voice even the clergyman himself had heard earlier. And he could tell it was a great weight off the druid's heart. Father Falconmoon smiled and nodded. "If you ever find yourself in trouble, child, remember the blessing of Chauntea you received tonight. The gods will help those true and smite the wicked. You, child, are part of the smiting blade, for you already have rescued their faithful fold. Best of luck with your endeavours", he wished. There would likely not be much more to discuss after this.

---

@Norschtalen@Lucius Cypher@Ryonara

The quite obviously outsider of a guard raised a hand onto the chin of his mask, rubbing it for a moment as if it was his own. He seemed to be truly considering the words of the bard, but this was interrupted by one of his friends saying a few words in the strange language they spoke, which obviously weighed on his decision. Finally as he returned his hand onto the handle of his scimitar, the guard sighed and shook his head. "No. Big boss said none are to go. So none go. Big boss said only with permit. I do not want to fight big boss and the attackers. Not a good fight."

It would not be hard to deduce that the 'big boss' the man was talking about was either the castellan or the governor himself, but it seemed the man was content with just following the orders he had received. They would either need to break through here (which would quite possible be a dumb move) or seek to obtain this 'permit' these clowns seemed to be so fond of.

"Good gods..." Kyra was half tempted to put an arrow through both these clown's faces. She was grateful for Parum's words, but evidentially that wouldn't be enough for them. Was it so hard for these fools to understand they still had permission to leave? Then again, this sort of obstructive red tape is exactly why Kyra never joined the militia. These people try too hard to be professional when the time to act is more important than following a hierarchy. "Parum, Orchid, follow me. We're going to find that thick headed dwarf or that fool of a governor and get their 'permission' so these chuckleheads will get out of our way." Kyra said angrily. She turned around and looked for either Escobert or the governor. Escobert would be the easiest to fine, or so Kyra figured. She just needed to ask the guards or see where the most militia men were leaving from.

"Damn foreign guard, can't even take a piss without going through so many damn orders. They'll fall on spears if no one tells them to watch their step..." Kyra grumbled underneath her breath. She clenched her bow in one hand, and gripped her holy symbol in the other. She was both praying to Chauntea to calm her nerves and wish a disproportional amount of harm on those guards in the basement. Kyra cared very little if they were only doing their jobs; the moment where their jobs interfere with her job is when demons are at work. She gripped her holy symbol so hard that her fingers were starting to bleed, the thorns on her rosary digging into her skin. Eventually Kyra would find what she assumed to be the command center, and ideally where Escobert was. She let herself in.

"Escobert! I need your permission to leave the keep. There are still villagers out there and we need to capture and interrogate one of the raiders. Those clowns you call guards won't let us pass unless we have some symbol of your approval."

The guards followed the party with their eyes as they left, the pink haired elf evidently steaming in anger. Zealous as she was, it would have done no good to her or the effort in general to send her out without adequate rebriefing on the situation at large outside. While her anger would be directed to the system that tried to make the best of the situation, to the caravan guards repurposed to guard this entrance the situation was as claer as it was. The bard had made a good case of going, but they'd really need to know just where they would be going.

Once the group found the castellan, Kyra had been quick to give him a piece of her mind. Escobert was not happy to have received the venting of the priestess' irritation, but he understood what they were up to and nodded solemnly as he thought how he could help the situation. Before completely finishing the thought, he said a few words to confirm he had listened: "Ah, the guard group that had trouble speaking in any language I knew. Probably just some communication error, let's fix that one right up..."

Escobert thought whether he could have some way of proving his acceptance in any other way than showing up personally, but after failing to do so he began walking back towards the basement. "I'll talk to them. But while we are going, I could share the newest information we have from out there. We don't really know where there might be people to save, if anywhere since most seem to be here. But I can tell that they've showed a worrying interest in our mill. You, if anyone, know how important it is they won't take or destroy all our food reserves. So that's all I can point you to. Or if you are out there for a shorter while, you might just run into some patrol and bring one back from there. Do what you will."

Once they made it down, Escobert quickly made the fact the group was pretty much allowed to come and go as they pleased clear to the guards, who accepted it with no protest. The group was let outside, reminded of the proper knock for getting in once more and the door was closed after them. Next would come their plan of action.

@Norschtalen@Ryonara@The Harbinger of Ferocity@Gordian Nought@Lucius Cypher