The King's Road, near Lastbridge

The dawn had come bright and clear a few short hours ago, and the day was already warm for early autumn. Osric ambled south down the road to Lastbridge under a cloudless sky, one hand grasping the lead of his pack horse – a big strong gray – and the other clutching a walking stick. He passed a field full of farmers working to bring in the harvest and failed to return their friendly waves. Such coldness was not his wont; normally he would have greeted them with great cheer, singing as he went. But he was in no mood for levity this morning.

He knew that lack of sleep was at least partly to blame for his ill humor. After the evening rites were finished the night before he had gone off quickly to his cell, but peace had proved elusive. He ended up leaving just a few hours later. Father Superior Robert and Mother Superior Matilda were roused from their owns beds to see him off, though Osric would have sooner not bothered them. He'd had precious little to say to them, anyway; his mind had been too distracted for proper farewells.

Soon Osric approached the outskirts of Lastbridge. It was the most watchful of the Seven, bounded by walls of stone and guarded ceaselessly. He did not enter the village proper, but stopped outside the shabby tavern that lay just before the northern gate. The Forlorn Hope was its name; whether or not she had known it at the time, the proprietress of that place might well have glimpsed the future when she had named her establishment. For it was here, where the young monk secured his horse to a crooked post and sat down in the shade of nearby old oak tree, that Humanity's last desperate gamble would first begin to play out. This was the appointed meeting spot.

No one approached him directly, but Osric knew he was being watched. Two comely girls had paused in mucking out the stable across the road to look at him, whispering to each other and making no attempt to disguise their interest. That sort of attention would have bothered him on any day – a monk was sworn to celibacy, of course, and this monk took his vows very seriously – but doubly so on an occasion such as this. Did they not know that the fate of the world hung in the balance? Still, they were young; younger even than he was. So he did his best to forgive their indiscretion and ignore them, closing his eyes and meditating prayerfully.

The prayers were automatic, arriving as naturally as the breath they were mumbled under. They had been drilled into his very soul, and he hardly needed the beads at his belt to count them off. “O Queen of Heaven most holy, blessed be thy unuttered name,” and so on and so on. The tranquility that was supposed to accompany them was less forthcoming. His worries should have been carried up to the gods, but Osric still felt their weight upon his shoulders.

There was the note in the pocket of his robe, for one thing. Only with effort did he manage to stop himself from pausing in his prayer to pull it out again. He had read it dozens of times already; looking again would yield no new information. Still, it mystified him. The plain writing had promised the aid of someone skilled at arms – the value of which he could hardly deny – but a line at the bottom of the note was plainly enchanted so that only he could see it:

'Magic, glad you're well.'

No one outside the Order should have been able to write such a missive, but no one inside it would have had any reason to resort to such subterfuge. Hendrick, the man who had passed him the note at the Assembly, had refused outright to say who had sent him with it. So Osric was left to ponder over the bare handful of mages that had entered the Monastery and then run away. One name came to mind, over and over, yet he couldn't bring himself to hope that it was her. And that wasn't all.

The visit to his family still weighed heavily upon him, too. Osric knew now that it had been a mistake to go and see them for dinner. Oh, they had been encouraging enough; he could not fault even one of them for that. The fault was his own. He had gone forth expecting kinship and found nothing of the sort. His siblings were practically strangers to him now, and his parents little more. Perhaps if he had tried harder over the years to remain close with them then things might have been different. But –

– no. There was no sense in dwelling on regrets. The path ahead was laid: There was nothing to do now but to follow it gladly, wherever the gods willed. He loved his family, his friends, and his brothers and sisters of the Order no less than he loved all humans. It was for all of these that he had embarked upon this Quest, after all. Yes, for these. All of these. It was for all of these that –

– he fell asleep in the pleasant warmth of mid-morning, succumbing at last to bodily exhaustion. His head slumped back against the trunk of the oak tree under which he had sheltered. He saw no more, for the time being, but slept peacefully.

---

As Osric slept, the horse chomped thoughtfully on the grass at his feet. Both man and beast were loaded with baggage. Dried food and clean water, fodder and rope, fresh clothes and soap, phials of holy water, religious symbols and talismans, tools of every description; almost nothing that might aid the Quest had been left behind. There were even maps and books of lore to guide them. A keen eye observing them might also have noticed the angular shapes bulging from one particular bag on the horse's back, shapes that looked suspiciously like long knives.

The most important piece of baggage was not to be found in any of the bags strapped to the pack saddle, nor in Osric's backpack. The Cup of Woe – holiest of relics – was enclosed in a plain leather case slung over the monk's shoulder and hidden under his dark cloak. It was snugged firmly between his arm and his torso, as if even in sleep he intended to protect it with his life. Perhaps he did.

The village of Lastbridge went about its work as the monk slept. The staff of the Forlorn Hope prepared for the coming day of profligate drinking, sweeping away the vomit and sundry filth of the night before. The stable-girls went – well, who knew where? No doubt they were busy with something. There was always something needing done, and staring at a silly-looking monk and his horse was hardly a worthwhile use of their time.

"You don't have to go you know."

An exasperated sigh left her lips. "I've told you this is what I wish to do. You don't have to understand it, but at least try to be supportive."

"I delivered your letter Sage! I don't even know why I had too!"

Sage looked at her best friend with an incredibly serious look. Her hands stopped packing her knapsack for a moment. "You know I hate the Order. I didn't want to walk right up to their doorstep." There was no doubt in her mind that Hendrick always wondered why she hated the Order. She never told him much about her past before being here in the village. All he knew was that she was an orphan and Gramps adopted her when she was becoming an adolescent. If he knew the full truth, there was a chance he would've outed her.

"Sage I've never asked questions about your past, what happened to your parents, why you hate the order. I've stayed loyally by your side and avoided those topics because I knew they caused you pain. I don't want you to leave and throw away your life. You could stay here..with me." The tan skin young man seemed frantic and a dread set in her chest. His brown eyes were scared and intense.

Please don't say it. Please don't say it.

"You could marry me?"

Fuck. Queen Mother help her.

Sage's mouth opened and a loss for words and contemplation of what to say next graced her face. Unintentionally she wrinkled her face up in disbelief. Never had she thought of marrying him. Deep down she knew there was a chance he wanted something different between them but right now she truly believed he was just scared of her leaving and possibly dying outside the barrier. "Hendrick, I'm leaving, I wish you the best truly. It isn't with me though. Your life will never align with mine in that way. You know that and I know that. So please don't say things like that out of desperation." She walked over to her horse and adjusted the rest of her equipment to its saddle before turning to look at him. "Please take care of yourself, I hope our paths cross again."

With that she mounted her chestnut horse and left the defeated man standing in front of her home alone. The home that had been the only place she had ever felt comfortable in her own skin. The memories she shared with the old man that had taken her in as his own before passing of a sickness last spring. It was her hope that he knew on his death the difference he had made in her life by just showing compassion for a lost, scared child. Sage hoped she'd do him proud.

---

It wasn't too long before she had made her way to the meeting spot. The heavily guarded area made her uncomfortable, but she knew as long as she remained calm and nonchalant it wouldn't raise questions. Sage felt a wave of nausea as she could see her old friend sleeping against a tree in front of the Forlorn Hope. Would he get enraged? Would he hug her? Was it too late to pretend she was a completely different person? The questions made Hendrick's crazy proposal sound better than she'd like to admit. The shame and guilt was eating her alive.

Stopping her horse nearby she dismounted and guided it towards the tree. Firmly tying the lead to the tree. Her sword hung on her leather clad hip. A quiver filled with arrows resting on her back with her bow. Her attire was comprised of leather dyed in hues of blue, gold, and browns. A few pieces of chainmail protecting her shoulders. In the week leading up to leaving she had worked hard to craft a elaborate table for the leather smith. He traded her the clothing and gave her the chainmail as a bonus wishing her luck on her journey. Everyone in the village wanted to believe this was all true and that they would succeed, but they were skeptical as they should be.

Kneeling down in front of the sleeping cleric she really didn't know what to do. Sage didn't want to wake him up, the road ahead would be long. May as well get a little rest now. So, she took to studying his face up close. He really had matured in the last few years without her. She'd changed a lot too. Her stature was taller, standing at roughly 5'5. The entirety of her silhouette was that of a woman now, not a child. The softness of her face had angled a little more. Would he even recognize her at first?

A sigh left her lips to relieve tension as she waited for him to awaken from his slumber.

A sigh left her lips to relieve tension as she waited for him to awaken from his slumber.

Osric was in the scriptorium, pen in hand, working steadily on a new copy of The Sins of Lady Gisela. This was odd because, as far as he knew, the Monastery didn't make copies of books like that. It was erotic smut masquerading as a religious polemic; he had read it once out of curiosity, but ended up returning it to the shelf red-faced, only having made it a quarter of the way through its lurid story. So why was he copying it now? Wouldn't Brother Alaric be angry at such a flagrant waste of good parchment?

Before he could question his own actions further he heard someone breathing behind him, as if they stood just over his shoulder. He turned with such violent suddenness to see who it was that he spilled ink all over the page, blotting out a whole paragraph's worth of depraved acts. What he saw frightened him far more than Brother Alaric's stern countenance ever could have: It was a demon, ten feel tall and monstrously-formed, leaning down to look him squarely in the face.

Fortunately for Osric, he was only dreaming.

Consciousness came like a thunderbolt. His right arm tightened around the precious case he carried, and his left fumbled vainly for the walking stick he had dropped on the grass. His eyes shot open and he nearly shouted in surprise: There was a woman – a young one, perhaps of an age with himself – right next to him! His mind was still foggy with sleep, but within a brief moment he began to understand the situation.

This woman was armed, after all, but had neither drawn a weapon nor attempted to rob him. They were both at the very spot he had chosen for the meeting place, and upon the appointed day. Of course! This woman must be the anonymous volunteer, the author of the mysterious note in his pocket. His tense, defensive bearing relaxed at once, and he smiled sheepishly at her.

“I am terribly sorry,” he said, bringing up one hand to rub the weariness from his eyes, “I must have fallen...”

Wait.

Osric trailed off, his earlier line of thought returning to mind: The anonymous volunteer was most likely a former novice of the Order of Holy Wisdom. And did she not look familiar? The red hair, the face, that look of consternation. Yes, it all reminded him of someone. But Sage was just a little girl; this was a grown woman. Of course, he hadn't seen her in years. Could she really have changed so much?

No, he was quite certain of it now. This woman was Sage. The realization struck him like a blow to the head. He had no idea how to feel about this turn of events, and, even worse, he had no idea what to say to her. Rather, he had no idea how to say any of the many things he would have liked to say at that moment. If only he had pieced it all together before opening his mouth in the first place. He could have pretended he was still asleep. That would have bought him some time to think, at least.

Osric knew he was staring slack-jawed. The fading memory of his dream was beginning to make him uncomfortable, juxtaposed as it was against the presence of a a childhood friend. So he closed his mouth and bowed his head in what he hoped would be taken as a polite greeting. Politeness was all his addled mind could manage, at the moment.

“Well, this is certainly a pleasant surprise,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady, “I hope you have been well. I – I have often prayed for that.”

The sudden staring for a bit made her feel rather awkward. Sage knew he wasn't going to react in a great way, but the analysis was quite uncomfortable. She was glad at least he didn't react with immediate anger. That was at least something she could be thankful for. Standing up she looked down at him from her full height. No doubt it was throwing him off to see her as a grown woman. He had gotten older but 18 to 22 wasn't as much change as 13 to 17. She wasn't the same. Her pale green eyes looked towards the brown dirt of the road.

"Things haven't been horrible but they certainly haven't been ideal. I'm glad to see you're well and still hold such dedication. Your dedication was always something I admired about you." Her voice was rough with little emotion. She wasn't trying to be cold but being detached even a little kept her from feeling like absolute trash.

With a sigh she looked back to him and moved to sit next to him on the ground. She was unsure how long they'd be waiting here for whoever else was coming. It was statistically inaccurate that she was the only one to join him. Hendrick has said at least one other person should be here. May as well get comfortable while they wait. Sage took to hugging her knees to her chest. A habit she had taken from childhood as a sort of security in these situations. Gramps had found her in a similar manner on his porch that rainy night.

A few moments passed in a weird tension before she turned her head to look at him. "It will never be enough to say, but I'm sorry." A sadness reached her voice and face. "That night before I left I had wanted to tell you." A short laugh escaped her. "In fact I had wanted to ask you to go with me...but I knew you never would have." Dread filled her chest just thinking about that night. It had been hard to chat with him like she wasn't about to give up the only companion that she'd ever had at that point in her life. Osric had truly saved her in more ways than one. Without his friendship in the Order of Wisdom she wouldn't have survived. The last parts of her would have died as a life of repetition consumed her.

Their teachers had liked her. The dedication she had to perfection made her a great pupil. The way she never outwardly complained or caused issues. The worst she ever did was come to lessons late. That and be simply a carefree kid when she was with her friend. It was probably a shock to many the ways she secretly suffered. Lying in bed at night gazing at her raw hands from channeling elements for hours. Burns from accidentally loosing concentration during a spell. Even in the order there were other students that held anything except love for her. Often calling her a teacher's pet or a show off. Osric often had told them off, even if it had earned him some names too.

There's no doubt in her mind that if she had just been able to learn to enjoy being there that maybe, just maybe, her life would have been better overall. Being complacent was unfortunately not in her nature.

"You were the only person that had ever shown me compassion and care. I guess there was a part of me that wouldn't have been able to handle your rejection. The order was your calling, your world. You separated yourself from your own family to go into service. I knew it would be hard to understand why I couldn't. I'm sorry I wasn't better to you even so Osric. I should have told you I was alive at least. The risk of getting caught kept me silent."

"You were the only person that had ever shown me compassion and care. I guess there was a part of me that wouldn't have been able to handle your rejection. The order was your calling, your world. You separated yourself from your own family to go into service. I knew it would be hard to understand why I couldn't. I'm sorry I wasn't better to you even so Osric. I should have told you I was alive at least. The risk of getting caught kept me silent."

Lord Omida said: The man of knowledge speaks, while the man of wisdom listens.

So Osric sat quietly as his old friend told her tale, fiddling idly with the strand of prayer beads that hung from his belt. Hearing it did bring much to clear the matter in his mind; but he found his heart was still confused. Though he could now understand why he had been left uninformed of her flight, the memory of it was still bitter. And the matter of abandoning the Order, that was harder still. But she was here now, and intended to help in accomplishing a holy quest. Was that not a worthy thing?

Osric remained silent for a long space after Sage had finished, considering his words carefully.

“You should know that I came to hate you, after you left,” he said at last, “but there is no fire like hatred – Lord Omida said that, though I expect you remember your catechism – and I did not wish to be consumed by it. Just as well, I never could stay angry at you for very long.”

He sighed, softly, and reached out to lay a hand on Sage's shoulder.

“For all it is worth, I forgive you, and I pray you forgive my own bitterness toward you.”

He wondered how she might take a lecture on repentance and forgiveness at that moment. Though she had abandoned the Order, nothing she had said seemed to indicate a total break from the Faith. In such a case the Seven Virtues and the Three Jewels would be worth mentioning, certainly; or perhaps the Parable of the Roofless Castle? He would have to pick something, and couldn't drone on forever. That never won anyone over.

Before he could decide on a topic his train of thought was interrupted.

"What in Heaven's damned name is there a kid on this pilgrimage of yours for?" She asked, as she made her presence properly known. "Heard about your plan to take that cup to the priory. I've been that way before, and you damn sure aren't surviving between the two of you. Name's Katrina. Came to keep you from getting yourself killed past the barrier." Her arms were crossed, and she had something of a resting bitch face going on. Not a particularly soft atmosphere to give off for first impressions.

Osric grit his teeth at the flagrant blasphemy, but rose to his feet with the aid of his walking stick for a better look at the woman. Her red eyes struck him at once. They were surprising, though unfortunately not unknown to him. He had seen many children with them in his early days as a monk, as those that had them were often in and out of the infirmary. Such strange malformations often occurred alongside others that were more dangerous.

Despite her small frame, she also had something of a dangerous air about her. This effect was heightened, perhaps, by her low speech and her dismissive attitude. People in the Seven Villages simply did not address monks with such blatant contempt. For his part, Osric was too curious to mind the disrespect.

“You have really been as far as Aldren Priory?” he asked, taking a few steps toward his pack horse, “I praise Heaven that we have so well-traveled a volunteer. But I do not think we are so helpless as you believe.”

Opening one of the bags on the horse's back he pulled out a long dagger, nearly a foot long, with both handle and sheath inlaid with shining jewels. Smiling thinly, he drew the blade forth. Anyone sensitive to magic would be able to feel its power as it flashed out into the sunlight.

“Do you know what this is?” he asked, turning toward Katrina before answering his own question, “It is a tool for demon-slaying, forged long ago before Lord Omida first closed the gates of Hell. If you can get close enough to a demon, you can kill it with this as easily as you might dispatch a rabbit. In elder days it would have been worth a small fortune in gold, but now it is beyond price; we have several of them, more than enough for everyone.”

Osric laughed softly. “I have heard that demon-lords actually seek these out to dispose of rivals. The blades would burn them just as holy water does, or perhaps worse. I suppose the handles must not be dangerous to them.” He paused, dipping his head in a shallow bow.

“I am sorry, but I seem to have forgotten my manners. This kid, as you call her, is Sage Magus; I assume you already know that I am Brother Osric Saint-Remigius.”

Like some kind of barbaric herald, Revna's arrival on the scene was marked by the shattering of glass and a yelp of pain.

Sounds from the tavern could be heard from outside. A harsh, high laugh. Stinging exchanges in the heated air. Words said that could not be put right again. Wooden stools squeaking as patrons abruptly stood. Dull slaps, fists pounding against bodies. A syncopated symphony of grunts, insults, and bodies hitting the floor. Two shadows came into view of the tavern's front window, one upright and massive while the other hunched and staggering, obscured by thick glass with a green patina.

"Don't do it Revna! You're paying for it!"

A large man shot through the window accompanied by a crystalline explosion, flopping to the soft ground like a marionette with severed strings. The man's ears were cropped, some punishment for a crime in a past life, and his clothes were shredded and bloodied. He groaned.

"Quits?" A high, rasping voice called out from inside the tavern.

"Quits," The defenestrated man called out as he clawed at the ground to his hands and knees.

"You're smarter than you look, Algar. That's not saying much."

The tavern's door swung open and Revna ducked under the low frame as she tightened her sword belt with one arm while the the other held her halberd. She stood to her full height and stretched as she walked, loosening the tight muscles in her thick neck.

"Revna! You're paying for that!" The tavern owner called after her, now standing at the broken window.

"Just put it on my tab!" She shouted back. Revna turned back to survey the damage. Two of Algar's friends slowly emerged from the tavern, lethal-looking drunks reeling about with bleeding, red-rimmed eyes and skin turning various shades of black or blue. "I'd say same time next week, but I'm heading out of town for a while. Official Faith business, you know," Revna called to those in the tavern with a laugh. With a single look they fetched Algar from the ground and flared like quail back into the the tavern.

A nice warmup.

---

As Revna walked to the stables to check on her horse, she spotted Katrina, speaking with two others. She felt a trickle of warm blood running down her cheek from where Algar had punched her and sliced the flesh with that gaudy ring of his. The blow was already beginning to turn purple and shine. She wiped away the blood with the back of her hand as she spoke.

"And that's why I can't drink alone, Katrina; you usually scare those types off. You with your grim visage. Really, this is your fault," she gestured to the broken window. "I think they'll be lost wit-" Revna stopped mid sentence when she saw who Katrina was speaking with. Brother Osric was no surprise, but Sage she hadn't expected.

"Well well, come to wish your old sparring partner good luck?" Revna said as she approached the trio. "Honestly, I appreciate it, but you didn't have to come all this way." She knew it was no small task to leave the shop behind for any length of time, and it would have been easier to simply say goodbye in their village. Revna had dropped by to do so, in fact, but Sage had been nowhere to be seen.

Then she noticed her clothes. Leather and chainmail.

A slow smile crept across her face as she put the pieces together, her broad forager teeth stained with blood.

"Ach, I knew you couldn't stay away!" She planted her halberd into the ground and swept up the smaller woman in a friendly embrace. Revna smelled like leather, blood, sweat, and stale mead. Katrina, while good company under certain circumstances, wasn't exactly the type Revna looked forward to spending every waking moment with on the road. Sage, on the other hand, was a far better travelling companion in her eyes, and she was beyond relieved that her friend would be joining them. Revna sensed some tension between the two women of the party, having missed something, and did her best to diffuse it.

"Don't let her looks fool you, Katrina. She's a devil with that sword of hers. I should know." She pulled down the collar of her gambeson far enough to reveal a clean, straight scar that started just at her collarbone and descended down at angle down before disappearing under layers of cloth. Katrina had seen the scar before. She'd seen all of her scars. But they didn't exactly trade stories on war wounds, least of all Katrina, with her strange and swirling burns like brands. "Courtesy of Sage. Won't be making that mistake again anytime soon."

Revna turned her attention to the monk. "Brother Osik. May the Mother Above bless you," she said, bowing her head. The words sounded strange in her accent, as if her tongue was wrestling with the phrase. Truthfully, she didn't buy into any of The Faith or their gods, and certainly not The Mother. But it didn't hurt to say the words, or so her father had told her. Her gods wouldn't mind. She caught a glimpse of bundle of elegant daggers, and she grabbed a sheathed one without bothering to ask for an explanation. More steel could only be good, right? Revna thought as she ran the leather sheath through her belt. She studied the Osric’s saddlebags and casually rummaged through them, seeing just how much the church splurged on their expedition. There was a lot. Too much, by her estimation, for just them. Then again, Revna had never been in an expedition of this size, or even outside the Seven Villages since she had arrived, so she wasn’t entirely sure how much they’d need.

"So, where's the rest of us?" Revna asked she climbed down and leaned upon her poleaxe, looking around as if the rest of their party would be nearby.

A sense of relief rushed over her at his words. She sighed letting tension leave her. Sage smiled at her old friend warmly. "There's nothing to forgive, you had every right to feel the way you did." A laugh escaped her, probably for the first time in ages, "I mean you know I couldn't let you go on a dangerous, possibly deadly journey without me. I do have a hard time with mundanity."

Just as she could feel herself relax a voice insulted her. Her olive eyes shot up to meet a very contrasting crimson pair. Did this random middle-aged woman, whom looked like she crawled out of the gates of hell, just insult her ability to protect herself at all? Sage stood up utterly dumbfounded at the sheer disrespect. Osric seemed to just swipe it under the rug completely confirming to her that, yes, this was one of their companions.

The dagger Osric pulled out was stunning. Not any normal weapon you'd get in the seven villages. There was no surprise that the Order had such lavish items. She herself at one point wore elegant robes for important events. One must look the part they hold. However, to think such a powerful item was here, and not just one, but many. Was an invaluable resource for them.

Sage none the less was hoping this travel companion would prove to be easy to get along with despite the initial, introduction? Who was this woman? She was about to ask before Revna of all people came up and shouted the woman's name. It didn't surprise her at all that Revna, a literal giant warrior was enticed into this. A small smile graced her face at seeing her friend. Which soon turned into a smirk and a funny scoff. It made sense Revna wouldn't have thought in a million years that she'd be here. Sage was after all a very loner type of person.

She went to say something about it before Revna connected the dots and suddenly her feet weren't on the ground. Confusion mixed with amusement graced her features. "Glad to see you're joining us Revna, truly. You know I can't keep away for a chance at greatness." She joked.

Once back on the ground, Revna quickly informed this woman on Sage's abilities of swordsmanship. She remembered the scar from that night. While sparing it was a hurdle Sage commonly had to overcome with Revna's height. In comparison she was extremely small despite being an average height. Revna always insisted that they didn't avoid drawing blood during their matches. Something that took Sage a while to get accustomed to. During the spar she had been blocking the attacks and an opening became open to her like nothing she'd seen before. Her arms and legs seemed to have moved on their own when she ducked sideways and cut down on the taller woman.

After she did it, she had apologized profusely not meaning to make sure a deep cut in a spar. Revna, being Renva, just had laughed at her. Congratulated her for finally getting one up on her. They had gone to the tavern and celebrated that night after Sage had patched her wound up. The fondness for the memory was very close to her heart. Revna's positivity and energy was such a blessing.

Walking forward she grabbed one of the daggers and sheathed it in a spare loop. It would be of better use on their person's than on this cart. The level of supplies should at least get them through a month or so. Between the four of them it would be more than enough for a while. It didn't escape her that there were personal hygiene supplies. Osric had always been borderline obsessive about being clean and well kept.

"To be fair Revna most of my scars are from you as well."

Turning to Osric she was intent on hearing his response to the question. Was this all of them?

---

“Blessed” to have a guide is an interesting choice of words that doesn’t get a remark out of her. What does get a remark out of Katrina however, would be the allegedly sacred daggers that Osric pulled out. Katrina suppressed the urge to gag. The color from her face drained slightly. ”Sacrosanct or not, you’re going out there, the first thing you’ve got to understand is that you’d best not be pushing for a chance to stab any demons with those things. You get close enough that those things get their use, you get close enough to have your bloody head shredded off.” Katrina, the roving demonologist who stabbed things and lived under rocks, was saying this to a monk and… Hunter? She didn’t care though. These people hadn’t been outside this village in a while, if ever. Katrina experienced things they hadn’t, and those things were going to keep them all alive.

”Don’t rely on getting in arm’s reach of a demon, else you’re dead to rights and back. You’re not Omida.”

And then came her friend with benefits.

Revna just seemed to appear out of nowhere when the anklebiter was giving Katrina the funny looks. Revna scooped her up and bear-hugged her. Did they know each other? Katrina wasn’t particularly aware of Revna’s social life- the thing she understood most about Revna were the tall woman’s curves. But being another outsider, this sorry shitshow was one leg closer to surviving the first hour past the barrier.

”She’d better be a devil with that bow of hers. Safest bet between that, a sword and some shiny daggers too big to throw. Unless one or both of you can conjure up some holy flame from the sky, I’m not betting on either of you in a knuckle-bang with demons of the Deep.” Katrina may have been cynical about her outlook on this, but her point was that discretion is the better part of valor, especially in the apocalypse. Ever the optimist, Katrina looked around. Revna did have a point about the group.

”Give me a break- There will be others, won’t there? Surely.”

A great weight was lifted from Osric's mind at Sage's words, and he suddenly felt as if nothing had ever come between them, as if their friendship had continued to that very morning without any interruption. But the relief was short-lived. His easy-going smile faded into a frown, his brow furrowing.

This Katrina woman certainly had a great deal of nerve, to treat him as if he were a cocksure fool. Did she imagine he planned to lead them in an assault on the nearest infernal fortress, some sort of suicide mission? Nothing had been further from his mind; indeed, the daggers were more of an emergency safeguard, a knave to be played against a surprise attack. Well, now was it a knave, or was it an ace that trumped in cards? The monk knew little of such things. Gambling was sinful, after all.

Her mention of Lord Omida was particularly galling. Osric was beginning to suspect that Katrina was somewhat less than pious, that she would name a god so flippantly. Before he could think of a sufficiently stern admonition, he saw the big woman approach.

Revna was impossible to miss, and similarly difficult to forget. Their paths had not crossed often before, as he was seldom picked for shrine-duty, and when he was she was rarely among the congregants. But that was between her and the gods. She had been willing to stand before the General Assembly and volunteer, and that was more than enough for Osric. If she was even half as dangerous as she looked with that halberd, the Cup of Woe was as good as returned to Aldren Priory. If he could only teach her how to pronounce his name properly, then all would be well. He didn't even complain when she took a dagger from the saddle-bag without asking; he had intended to pass them out anyway.

“The Mother Above bless you also, Revna,” he said, returning her greeting, “I am pleased you have come.”

Osric sheathed the blade he had held up for demonstration and thrust it through his own belt, before taking another from the bag and holding it out for Katrina. Her snide query about their small numbers set him over the edge, however; he tossed the proffered weapon at her feet in a huff.

“I should think that so august a vagabond as yourself would agree that there is safety in stealth upon the road ahead, and that such subterfuge is more easily managed by a party of small size? Do you not think so?” he exhaled sharply through his nose, “But if you should prefer to join a larger expedition you may, should one ever set off. No oath binds you to this one.”

He frowned, trying to rein in his anger. His hands, obscured by his sleeves, were balled into fists so tightly that their nails bit flesh, and his voice sounded shrill in his own ears. He was not accustomed to losing his temper so easily. Something about Katrina just seemed to rub him the wrong way. After a brief moment he sighed, bowing his head.

“I apologize for speaking harshly.” he said softly, gesturing at the glittering steel on the ground, “Please accept yon dagger as a gift from myself and my Order. If you will excuse me, I should fetch our wagon from the stable across the road.”

With that said, he untied his horse from the crooked post and quickly led away it to the stable. He hoped a moment of busy solitude would set his nerves aright. And it began well; he was pleased to find that the wagon was actually inside. His order to requisition one had been made at the last minute, and Sister Charlotte had worried that she might not be able to secure one while the harvest was still coming in. But there it was, thankfully. How embarrassing it would have been to announce the existence of a wagon where there was none.

It was a decent wagon, Osric supposed. It had a large bed with high sidewalls, and posts at each corner where a cover could be attached to keep the interior dry. The seat on the front was long enough for two people to sit comfortably; three, if they squeezed a little closer. Yes, it was a very decent wagon.

He began to untie the bags and sacks from his horse's pack-saddle, intending to move them into the wagon. He stopped short, however, as he heard slow breathing coming from inside the vehicle. The walls were too high to see within from where he stood, but it sounded as if someone were sleeping. He hoped it wasn't one of the stable-girls; he didn't feel up to scolding another woman that morning.

Laying down his burdens, he walked around to the rear and peered in curiously. He saw a young man, or maybe a boy, sleeping peacefully. He was short and lightly-built, and aside from the brown hair rather reminded Osric of a younger version of himself. He looked familiar, too; but where did he know him from?

The Monastery, of course! This must be one of the novices, though Osric couldn't for the life of him remember this one's name. He seldom dealt with them since leaving the novices' quarters himself, except to train small groups in the healing arts, and he wasn't sure this young man had ever worked under him.

Unsure what the novice was actually doing here, he decided to handle this development as he supposed Father Robert might. he took up his walking stick and rapped loudly on the frame of the wagon.

"Up, lad!" He cried, making no effort to hide his amusement, "You've missed the bell for morning prayers!"

"To be fair Revna most of my scars are from you as well."

"Ach, you're just not in the habit of fighting every guard and drunk you come across is all," Revna said with a shrug. "But if everything goes well, that'll change; you'll get some new scratches on that pale hide of yours before the journey's done," she added with a high laugh. As much as she enjoyed sparring with the smaller woman, Revna was ready for more. Ready to fight with real stakes. Fighting for glory, fighting for her own life, not just practice. I guess to save the world, too, she considered after a moment.

"She’d better be a devil with that bow of hers. Safest bet between that, a sword and some shiny daggers too big to throw. Unless one or both of you can conjure up some holy flame from the sky, I’m not betting on either of you in a knuckle-bang with demons of the Deep.”

Revna raised her eyebrows in surprise at Katrina; or rather, she raised one eyebrow. The other, with a deep scar running through it, only twitched imperceptibly, the muscle or nerve beneath having been severed from a broken bottle’s jagged edge years ago. The effect was a sort of perpetual, roguish aloofness on her expression that was not at all intended.

"That's just Katrina's sense of humor, you'll get used to it," Revna said with a forced chuckle, giving her a playful thwack on the back of her thigh with the halberd's wooden haft. Of course, she was lying. Katrina had no sense of humor at all, or at least none she'd ever shared with Revna. Katrina was dead-serious, but Revna didn't think it would serve their mission to start off with pure pessimism. She hoped Katrina would get the message. Play nice.

Revna's innocuous question about the rest of the party did little to soothe any tension. In fact, she was shocked to see Osric lose his temper. She didn't hate it though. That anger could be useful if they ever had to fight, and Revna was really hoping they would. She couldn't imagine the devout man plunging a dagger into the heart of a ten foot tall demon, but it was fun to try painting the picture in her head. He stormed off to see to the wagon.

"Well done Katrina! You've managed to piss off a serene monk of the Holy Wisdom," Revna said in mock admiration, though truthfully she did find it amusing, reminding her why she drank with the vagabond in the first place. "He does have a point, though. If storming into Hell's gates with an army at your back worked, then none of this would have happened in the first place. Besides, do we really want every farmboy with a pitchfork stomping along with us? I think a small group is best."

She watched the monk as he disappeared into the stables before turning to Sage. "I am surprised you lover boy didn't tag along, though. What was his name? With the sad eyes? Hennik? I thought he'd follow you anywhere!" Revna said with a smirk. She remembered the man vaguely, always watching their sparring sessions from a distance from beneath his large hat. Handsome, in a sort of plain way. Revna had initially flattered herself by imagining he'd been watching her, but quickly concluded that he was smitten for Sage. Even if she didn't know it. "Well, perhaps the less the better," She concluded with a shrug.

Revna stepped towards a nearby field and let out a sharp, three-note whistle. The tall, swaying grass rustled, and a massive grey head rose from the yellow ocean. Her horse. The great beast came stepping towards them, carving his way through the field until he stood towering the party, snorting gently.

“Valdur! I was wondering where you’d been off to, my old friend,” Revna said as she ran her hand along his broad neck. She never bothered hitching him up, and the horse never strayed far from her. Haldor, her father, had told her never to do so. Horses were a noble breed, rare in their land, and should be left free to roam. Valdur in particular, he told her as a girl, was special. The steed of a great queen from Illskaheimr. Haldor had even learned the stallion’s true name, which according to their folklore, created a powerful bond between horse and rider. Revna was unsure if this was a children’s story or something more, but still kept Valdur’s true name a secret.

In truth though, Valdur was a draft horse, won in a drunken bet by her father. The only thing that set him apart from the average riding horse was his immense size and strength, best suited to pulling plows. She slid her halberd into the saddle’s side-sheath and went about double-checking her traveling gear, while listening closely to what her companions said.

The morning started early that was when the rolls were hot and the butter melted smoothly. It was a treat that got Andrew out of bed and down to the kitchen before prayers. This morning Sister Charlotte came walking past the kitchen in a quick step. The Dear Sister was a force in the monastery. She took care of the supplies and stores. Andrew liked her because, she could always be counted on find a few spare coins when Andrew wanted to get something in town. She managed to secure the wagon and asked that it be delivered to the stables. When she left, Andrew asked the farmer to wait for a few moments, bribing him with a hot roll and a cup of tea. He gathered what he thought he would need and left a note in his chest. He had not made it to the point of having a cell in the dormitory. Father Keiler would look there to see is Andrew had been working on his copying skills. Andrew figured he had about a day before a search would start.

Riding in the wagon, Andrew watched the world waking up.

Getting to the stable, Andrew went and collected some items from around town. They he returned to the stable to find two young girls at work. After attempting to gain their attention, he climbed up into the wagon and waited. Minutes became an hour and Andrew took advantage of the warmth of the morning and fell asleep.

Later Brother Osric hit the wagon with a staff and said, "Up, lad!" He cried, making no effort to hide his amusement, "You've missed the bell for morning prayers!"

Hay fell from his hair Andrew sat up quickly with a start and started to look around. He stretched and said, "You gave me a scare that Father Keiler was going to come and drag me to penance," Andrew said still half waking himself up.
Recognizing Brother Orsic, Andrew made his way off the back of the wagon to stand.
"Your Grace, I brough some extra provisions for the trip," He said pointing to the front of the wagon.
A small cask of ale, a whole wheel of cheese, a side of ham wrapped in leather, a box of peppermint leaves for tea, and bucket with three dozen hen eggs in it.
"All donated for our success," he added.

Andrew smiled. The items had been donated but not willingly. Lying was against the rules of the order along with stealing. Andrew knew that he would be punished at some point. The Holy Mother always seemed to make things balance out. Trying to save the world seemed like it should more than level the scales.

From his pocket a prayer book from the chapel slid out. With his right hand he caught it before it hit the ground.
"I know we are not to take them from the hall, but I thought.." He said stopping.

They needed prayers and he needed to practice.

Andrew followed Brother Orsic and the wagon out to the others. He made quick eyes at the girls who had been mucking the barn stalls.

It seemed this group of people was already bringing out a bit of a different side of her. Maybe it was the energy and bluntness of it all. It was possible that she was feeling a little more confident now that they were gonna leave this god forsaken place. There was a hope in her that she could finally be herself once she stepped past that barrier. Honestly, it probably is what she would've done all along had the fear not stopped her. The world outside had often allured her. No one could hold her on trial or contain her out there.

Sage looked at Revna and then to Katrina, she had nothing to lose now. They were finally leaving. "I can do you one better Katrina," raising her right hand so her palm faced the sky she concentrated. A sudden burst of blue flames materialized in her palm. It made her eyes and skin glow brightly. As if her skin had become the stars in the night sky. "I'll burn arrows into their skulls." Just as quickly the flame went out and she put her arm down looking like nothing had happened at all.

No one outside from Osric knew she was a magic user. Revna only knew of her physical limits. Her magic abilities outmatched them. Sage was never as great a healer as Osric. It was a magic she often couldn't get a good grip on. High Sister Elzora told her at some point that maybe all Sage's abilities were centered on the elements. Nothing else would ever come close enough nor would she ever be as good as other in them. Elemental magic was her gift, it was better to excel in one thing than be mediocre in all of them.

She was excited to show just how much practice she'd been putting into mastering elemental weaponry. Have actual applications for her new honed craft. To her knowledge she was one of few that could use so effectively.

"I will admit I lack experience for the world outside the barrier, but I won't be useless. Even if I'm a child."

Revna has to bring up Hendrick. A pained look crossed her face as she turned to her friend. "Yes, he conducted communications between me and Osric for this journey. I think he thought I'd stay if he gave me a reason too." She pointed to her empty left ring finger. "Apparently desperately proposing to me was his master plan." With a sigh she wiped her face with her hands as if to wipe away the memory. "Instead, it gave me more than enough reason to leave. Especially when apparently respecting my boundaries meant that I owed him something."

They really couldn't leave fast enough at this point.

As if upon summon another ghost of her past appeared next to Osric with the wagon. Maybe she had placed too much faith on this journey being a way to escape her past in the Order of Wisdom.

---

Katrina got the point Osric was making. She could take a hint- Quit bitching and fear the patient man's wrath. Revna was surely used to it, being the closest thing to company for the jagged woman, but these two weren't. When Osric tossed the holy weapon at her feet, Katrina stepped back with a sort of quickness that suggested she was either averse to it or expected Osric to try something from the start. Possibly both. The monk clearly had some bark under there, at the very least. She didn't care for his apology, nor did she take the snap of his personally enough to warrant one. "Whatever you say, Osric." Katrina waited until the monk walked off to bend down and pick up the dagger. Even through her leather gloves, Katrina could feel a discomforting warmth bleed through to her skin, like sticking her hand over a funeral pyre. She held it with no reverence of any kind, and haphazardly dropped it into Revna's free hand. "Thank the Order," She remarked.

Sage's fireworks didn't get nearly as much of a reaction as the child may have expected. She looked at the blue fire, watched it drift up into the air and turn Sage's skin to stars. It was only natural someone of the Order could perform magical acts. Katrina's demeanor implied she wasn't even marginally impressed. Katrina held up a hand, and closed it into a fist, pointing her index finger to the sky. Under her gloves, something upon her skin began to sting. Sage wouldn't be able to notice this, but the result was an mote of glowing fire that hovered just above Katrina's hand. It was no bigger than a coin used to pay for things in a bygone time, and burned with the vibrant color of fresh blood. It was unlikely that Sage could recognize this as demon's fire- after all, her own magic involved multicolored flames- and Katrina wasn't about to clarify for her. "People are full of surprises, even in this day and age, aren't they?" It might've been a snarky comment, but Katrina said it in such a deadpan way that it might as well have been rude.

She snuffed the flame out when she heard Osric barking at someone off in the distance, and walked over to discover they had one more person.

"What'n the devil are you shouting about over here? Mm. Another one. Well, power to him. Where were we?" She asked rhetorically, going over to aid Osric in packing things up inside the wagon as she noticed him doing. "Roads past the mountain are safer under daylight. We get past them, there's a place an hour after, Moonhorn Ridge. Demons wont go there- It's dead land for miles and you'd see 'em over the cliffs if they planned to ambush. Safe enough first night on the way," She shared this insight with Osric and the new kid, because Katrina had camped there a few times. Moonhorn Ridge was worthless to anyone that didn't bring food before setting foot there, nothing would grow and thus nothing could graze. And so demons couldn't put up a stronghold of enslaved humans. Katrina was the guide, after all.

Revna shrugged and accepted the dagger from Katrina. "Your loss. Its a fine weapon," the woman said as she secured the long dagger in her saddle. Revna didn't put a moment's thought into why Katrina would turn away the weapon. Such was their way together.

Revna continued securing her equipment, double-checking straps and making sure she'd brought everything. Not that she could go back for it now, though. From behind her, she could practically feel the growing tension between Katrina and Sage. Let them fight, Revna thought. A little blood to start our journey would be a good omen anyways.

Then, she could smell the tension. Ozone, sweet and pungent. Revna spun around warily just in time to see Sage's hand engulfed in brilliant blue flames, like nothing she'd ever seen from her friend or anyone esle. She paused, her face working, rubbing the gently pulsing muscle in her jaw, as if deciding how to react. Then she erupted into laughter, hands on her hips.

"Hah! And here I thought you were all brawn and muscle," Revna said. "A good lesson though. Looks can be deceiving. I guess I should thank you, for not using that bit of magic in our fights," she added, imagining a sparring session where she was covered head to toe in blue fire. Still, Revna was pleased that her companion seemed to have some tricks up her sleeve. Won't have to worry about that one anymore, Revna thought, not that she ever had.

She wanted to ask the girl why she'd kept this secret from her but figured the woman had her reasons, and would either tell her in good time or never tell her at all. Revna didn't mind either way. It was not her place to know the minds of others. She assumed it had something to do with the Order, so secrecy was certainly warranted. Many people in the villages were wary of magic users who operated outside the jurisdiction of the Order, but Revna held no such qualms. Mages were revered by her people, although their magics differed greatly from those monks of the south. Or so her father had told her.

She turned back to her horse, missing Katrina's own magical display, and finished her preparations, laughing at Sage's hand that was free from any ring. "Can't believe he proposed! You should have set him on fire." She paused and thought for a moment. "No, nevermind. Would be a shame to melt that handsome face." Revna put one foot in a stirrup and lifted herself into the saddle. "Good on you though, not taking the bait. Hate to make this journey without you." She took the reins up in her hand, and with the slightest pressure from one leg, Valdur turned to the two women as if Revna would have the horse look upon them as well.

"Roads past the mountain are safer under daylight. We get past them, there's a place an hour after, Moonhorn Ridge. Demons wont go there- It's dead land for miles and you'd see 'em over the cliffs if they planned to ambush. Safe enough first night on the way," She shared this insight with Osric and the new kid, because Katrina had camped there a few times. Moonhorn Ridge was worthless to anyone that didn't bring food before setting foot there, nothing would grow and thus nothing could graze. And so demons couldn't put up a stronghold of enslaved humans. Katrina was the guide, after all.

Revna was somewhat disappointed at the less-than-scenic description of Moonhorn Ridge. It souunded like a wasteland, with neither natural beauty to admire nor foes to confront. In short, boring. But it would be ideal for learning more of their companions and get some travelling in, working out any issues with their equipment. A trial run, of sorts. Revna spotted the young man in the back and, as if completely forgetting the lesson she'd just learned, leaned down to the two women and whispered, "Who's this little scrap of man? Surely they're not coming along."

The young Novice dutifully followed Orsic and the wagon. Scanning the area for Master Keiler and catching part of the display of power from the women, Andrew sighed a sigh of resignation.

Part of it was for the fact that Sage was a red head and had been nice to him while he was learning his basics. She had shown him mercy when most of the Order had not. She looked more intense and worldly than when she was in the Order.
Katrina was intimidating, which was normal. She had seen many a broken tooth, finger, or rib at her hand. He tried hard to stay wide of the fights she normally ended up in. Though she provided operatunities to get a free meal or drink.
Revna was preparing herself and her horse. She seemed to tease the other women and there was laughter.

As they approached the women, Andrew bowed as the novices are taught to show respect to them. It was a way to hide his nerves and his thoughts. Smiling he rose from his bow was a good cover for the insecurity he felt.

Soon the wagon was loaded with the remaining supplies.

Osric laughed aloud as the novice started from his slumber, and the mention of Father Keiler jogged his memory; of course this was Andrew, the lad who was always getting himself into trouble. He wondered briefly why Keiler would be willing to send a half-trained neophyte off to join what might very well prove to be a suicide mission, but quickly came to the conclusion that it must have been because he saw no further use for him. There was a certain logic in that, but it struck Osric as terribly cold. Monstrous, almost. Could there have been something else to it?

His train of thought was interrupted by the rather absurd form of address the novice chose for him. He couldn't help but smile at being called your Grace.

“I am grateful for your additions to the supplies, Brother,” he said, suppressing chuckles, “most of what we have already is rather less palatable. Dried meat, hardtack, and other such things. But I am no King. Brother Osric will do just fine.”

He returned to his previously intended task of loading the wagon, but he paused, eyebrows raised, when he saw the prayer book drop from Andrew's pocket.

“Well, no harm done, I should think,” he said, “you can always return it when we come back.” Of course, there was no need to mention the fact that, should they not come back, it would make little difference whether or not the little book was in its proper place. The Order would have far more pressing matters to attend to then. The end of the world, for example.

Osric was surprised when Katrina appeared, and doubly so when she began to help them with loading the wagon. Then she went further, offering practical advice for the road ahead and the suggestion of a camping spot for the coming evening. Astounding! Naturally, he chose to interpret these entirely practical actions as an apology for the unconscionable rudeness she had earlier displayed. So of course he readily agreed with her assertions.

“A wonderful idea. Your first-hand experience will no doubt prove a boundless blessing in our endeavor.” he said, nodding amicably.

By the time the wagon was fully loaded and his horse, Miracle, was properly harnessed to pull it, Osric realized just how much daylight they had wasted already. The morning was passing quickly, and that was ill news if the road was dangerous after nightfall.

“If we are all quite prepared,” he called as he mounted the wagon and took the reins, speaking loudly enough to be heard by the whole group, “then let us make haste!”

Checking one last time to be sure he hadn't misplaced the precious leather case – which, indeed, was still hanging from the strap on his shoulder – he bumped the reins. Miracle set off toward Lastbridge at a steady gait. Osric only wished he had thought to prepare a speech. A quest this important really demanded a good speech.

No matter. Perhaps he could give one when they made camp for the evening.

---

The King's Road, near Moonhorn Ridge

The day was grown old by the time the soaring heights of the Silverpeak Mountains were behind them for good. Nightfall was not far away, so Osric worked the reins and urged Miracle to make haste. The blighted land that lay ahead only increased his agitation. Katrina had not exaggerated; there was little sign of life here. Even the grass seemed to give way as the wagon rumbled on down the King's Road toward Moonhorn Ridge.

He wanted to pray again, but he had been praying under his breath a great deal since they had passed the Barrier. He wondered if anyone else had felt it. He couldn't bring himself to ask them, chiefly because he couldn't find the words to describe the feeling. It was like jumping into a frigid stream too early in the year... No, that wasn't quite right. It was more like standing in a warm, inviting room filled with friendly conversation, before stepping out into the wordless, biting cold of a winter's night.

Perhaps he had imagined it. Perhaps his nerves were just getting the better of him.

Osric knew he should have been pleased. Nothing had gone wrong yet, and the group seemed to be getting along for the most part. Yet he couldn't escape the unease he felt, and his weary mind wandered down strange and crooked paths. Far too often these led him back to Sister Maire: He recalled her teasing, swaying walk; the mischievous smile so often on her delicate face; hair like black silk peeking out from under her headscarf. And the dark habit sliding from off her shoulders, the hands drawing him toward her shapely, unclad body.

Desperate to drive out these invasive memories, Osric briefly considered screaming at the top of his lungs. He decided against that course of action, reasoning that it might worry his companions. Instead, of all things, he softly sang:

“On hills that are by right his ain
he roams a lonely stranger.
On ilka side he’s press’d by want,
on ilka side by danger.
Yestreen I met him in a glen,
my heart near bursted fairly:
For sadly changed indeed was he,
O wae’s me for Prince Charlie.

Dark nicht cam on, the tempest roared,
loud o’er the hills and valleys;
and where was’t that your Prince lay doon,
whose hame should be a palace?
He row’d him in a heelan plaid
that covered him but sparely,
and slept beneath a bush o’ broom.
O wae’s me for Prince Charlie.”

His tenor voice was pleasant, if not melodious, and his ear for pitch was keen from long practice in the choir. The song was a well-known lament for the last scion of the Pendish royal clan, rendered in the odd dialect once spoken in the lands they were currently passing through. Was that why he had thought to sing it, rather than the scores of hymns he knew by rote? Whatever the case, it did break Osric's unpleasant reverie. He glanced about at the others, suddenly embarrassed by his seemingly-unprovoked outburst.

”Hmm, Katrina?” he asked sheepishly, “Do you suppose we're near the site you mentioned?”

Their journey began quietly.

There was no great sendoff, no men and women waving them goodbye and wishing them luck. They slipped out of the Barrier like thieves carrying their prize in a leather case. Revna wondered if the townspeople saw their mission as a lost cause and figured they would spare the doomed adventurers their mournful gaze. Revna didn't care either way. She knew she'd accomplish their mission one way or another, though she didn't plan on ever returning to the Seven Villages.

It'd been many years since the Dottir woman was outside the Barrier, and she'd been a child then. Unable to understand the chaos and savagery of the demons. She had been scared, though. Revna remembered that. They scampered about from place to place like rats, always hiding in the shadows, afraid of monsters of this world and not.

She wasn't scared now though. She was exhilarated. Finally doing something instead of hiding in the mountains, wasting her days away. She chatted amiably with her companions, getting to know them, sharing stories and jokes when she could.

As they travelled on, down through the mountains and into the plains, Revna grew sullen. Bored, perhaps, or maybe the tedium of travel was getting to her. She'd envisioned hacking down beast after beast, slaying hellspawn and bandits everywhere she went. Revna expected to feel different outside of the Barrier, free from the world within the world. This was just like travelling from one village to another. No excitement, just the slowly changing scenery. It did change, though.

Gone were the verdant pines, the sweet-smelling grass, the gently bending streams. The trees stood as bare totems, sentinels in the dying land. The grass turned to dust beneath their feet. The streams dried into rocky and barren beds. A raw hill country stretched before them. Revna fell behind the group alone and sulking, letting her mind wander and entertain dark thoughts as she bounced back and forth in her saddle.

She was brought back to the colorless world by a familiar song, one too familiar to her in the taverns throughout the Seven Villages. Sung by drunk Pendrians nostalgic for the days of old and their long-dead prince. After five years of hearing that song incessantly, she started bloodying the face of anyone who sang it within earshot of her. Word got around, and she didn't hear it anymore.

Revna's father had told her the true story of Prince Charlie. The coward prince who fled the palace at the first sign of trouble with most of the guards and his retinue, leaving the few palace soldiers and Norrgard warriors to defend the aged king and queen. Her mother, princess of the Dottir, included. She had little love for Pendria royalty, her feelings on the Norrgard complicated, and nothing but distain for the beloved Prince Charlie.

The woman groaned like a bear and reigned in her horse and her anger. "Brother Orsic, will you please sing something else? I'd even settle for one of those boring hymns your order loves," she called out. Harsh, but those who knew her understood that this was an act of extreme charity and patience; most people who belted out that song were several teeth short by the third line. She rode on in brooding silence.

The group slowed nearly to a stop as they evaluated their situation.

”Hmm, Katrina?” he asked sheepishly, “Do you suppose we're near the site you mentioned?”

"What does it matter? This all looks the same to me. Dead. Nothing will bother us if we stop here, or ten miles from here," Revna said, annoyed. "As long as we get off the road." Her bruised cheek from the morning barfight had swollen considerably since they'd left, to the point where it pushed against her eye and reduced her vision to a dull haze. Without a word, Revna drew the relic dagger from her belt and a re-opened the wound, allowing the gathered blood to drain. She wiped her face with her travelling cloak and sighed in relief as sight returned, returning the weapon to its sheath. Revna was tempted to just dismount and hole up for the night between two nearby hills, but figured she'd wait for Katrina's input. She was their guide, afterall.

Katrina's own display of mystic arts was quite impressive. The flames felt different to her, but she wasn't able to place why. Sage had not taken the woman as one skilled in such arts. She appeared in all honesty as more of a rouge or thief type. Someone skilled in close combat. Maybe that was a far miscalculation on her part. None-the-less it enticed a smirk on her pink lips. If only Katrina knew just how small of an example of her power that was.

"That they are," was Sage's only response to the woman's jest.

The reaction that the magic show got out of Revna amused her greatly. During their sparing matches she had always wondered what her friend would have said should she have shown her talent. Not that she would have ever dreamt of displaying it within the seven villages. "You could always spar me with them if you'd like." She teased the taller woman. "As for lighting him on fire, I'm afraid it would have felt like hurting a frightened puppy. His words were hurtful, but he's always been only a handsome face. No real strength in his body."

It wasn't that she had never wondered about if she had decided to settle. Hendrick wasn't a bad person, while his views had come to light as misplaced; he had never tried to hurt her. In the years since leaving the Order he had been a loyal friend. He came from a well-off merchant family. Marrying him would have lent to a comfortable life. One that would have been devoid of children but with many friends and companionship. Unfortunately, she had yet to settle her restless soul. Their friendship had been fleeting from the start. Eventually she would have always reached this point.

Sage walked to her steed; a grey dappled stallion named Ghast. He was a temperamental horse, so unruly to anyone but the people he chose to like that he had once pinned Hendrick between his body and the side of her shop. She enjoyed that he had a grand personality however. In a quick motion she mounted to ready for their long awaited departure.

---

These lands were nothing that she had experienced before. Many talked of the lands outside the barrier. They talked of the staleness and lack of life. The once vibrant world had fallen to utter ruin by the demons. Great cities had been reduced to ash. Nobility and the class system hadn't mattered in the decay of the world. No one was safe, be it an orphan child or a prestigious king. They all died one after another by either slaughter, enslavement, starvation, or plague. Those that were lucky enough to adjust either made it to the Seven Villages or now live in hiding.

No one had talked about the energy though.

The aura of such a place felt suffocating. It was nothing like that villages she was accustomed to. The longer than rode the quieter it seemed to get. It was eerie and uncomfortable. Not even a mother's embrace could warm the coldness of the void. It became apparent to Sage quickly that the villages had sheltered her. She would never admit it to a living soul.

She didn't regret coming on this journey. Just being past the barrier parts of her felt more alive than she may have ever been. The air felt open and unrestricted. It was stale due to the lack of living vegetation but still crisp from the coming fall air. Soon she would be of age. The coming of fall meant she would be fully grown. Mentally she had been an adult for a long long time. It felt strange to recognize that she would come of age in a place she had not grown up.

The song Osric sang, she knew it well. Many people sang it around the villages. His voice had been honed over the years. It calmed her to hear his singing again. It reminded her that part of home was with her. It brought much solace to her. She was glad so many familiar faces were going to be on this journey. She hoped that her and Katrina would come to see eye to eye at some point. They were laying their lives in front of each other after all.

The group started to talk of stopping for rest. Her body unaccustomed to such long riding made her feel like that wasn't a bad idea. Everything felt so stiff. Sage hoped they would be nearing a resting point.

---

Katrina had generally kept quiet on the journey. She gave out directions and ensured they stayed on course during the ride to Moonhorn Ridge, but she didn't offer much more in the way of conversation. Occasionally, Katrina would pull out a map from a satchel under her cloak, to make sure they were going the right way. Beyond that, Katrina didn't partake in any conversations. None of the physically irritating prayers that Osric muttered or the jabs of Revna. The red haired kid was quiet enough at least. To the others, it felt strange to be in this dead and barren place, but Katrina found the Seven Villages stuffy. There was magic behind the barrier, but out here, there was just death and the dying. These were things Katrina had been long accustomed to- She was there when the apocalypse began, in a time when neither Osric nor Sage had been born yet, she was already 16. This was second nature to her in a way it couldn't have been for them, in her mind.

Katrina had been to the place before. It was the last stop on her trip to the villages, and she camped here for an entire week, living off of dead rabbits she smoked in the hills a few miles east of the Ridge. Eventually the group started to get antsy. The sun would set shortly and this was the ideal spot to start making camp. Unsurprisingly, Revna had misgivings.

"Yes, we're near. And no, you're not the guide, Revna. Don't get your halberd in a twist..." Katrina pulled her paper map out and looked at some distant rocks. One of them had a sort of crescent shape that jutted up out of the dirt. The path they were taking led down a hill around the rock. "Just down there, I slept there for a week once." Katrina led them down the hill and to a left turn. When they stopped, the group was at a small clearing nestled between a few rock cliff. There were old remnants of a campfire here. The rocks provided cover from rain and the warm sun as they sloped over. It was like a shallow cave. Over in the corner of the rocks was a makeshift wooden rack, and hanging on it were clumps of rotting fur and long-dried blood. Someone camped here once, presumably Katrina.

She jumped off and led the horses over.

"Closest thing to indoors we've got out here. Plenty of room to move things off the cart should it need. Before I reached the villages, this is the spot I holed up in. We're good here for a night." It was bleak, the air felt dry, and there were a lot of seemingly meaningless, peeling bloodstains on some trees if anyone was particularly perceptive, but it was goof enough.