[IC] Torchlight

[Paradoxial]

All of you saw the tattered banner. Strained to make out the faded words on the once golden parchment,rotted with years of age. Turning around you were met with the sight of an old Carriage, a cloaked man sitting in the front of it. The horse that was carrying the husk of a ride was bone thin, and looked to be seconds away from deaths door at any moment. The man in the front introduced himself as Roake, and beckoned you into the cart. You know not what compelled you to step into the cramped space, nor what force closed the door behind you. But here you are, as the carriage sets an unknown path you face the unknown strangers sitting in the cart with you, each holding the same banner you read in their hands.

[The Fated Fallen]

Kiera boarded first. Part instinct to be the first into danger, but also for a more practical reason. The ragged coach looked so aged that the step-up looked like it would collapse should someone look at it the wrong way let alone a fully armoured and armed Templar were to put her weight on it. Miraculously and loudly it managed to hold, though Kiera doubted whether her ability to step into the coach was a mercy. As she moved it seemed to sway back and forth on it's axles and with her every duck and raise she feared her armour would knock into the roof or sides and shatter the weakened frame.

She settled herself into the far corner seat tentatively, which in turn was met with a cacophony of creaks. Kiera had positioned herself so it was easier to keep watch on the road and at an advantage should she find herself brought to combat those boarding, should the worst come to pass. She had seen and even suspected the fiends and 'friends' who were boarding behind her and her heckles were up. It was true, servants of good came in all shapes and forms but it always paid to be careful.

Kiera's armoured gantlet extracted a piece of paper almost as fragile as the transport she found herself in from her satchel and she took a moment to have a last look at the contract. It was somewhat a mystery to most, her and her order alike. Kiera had found it dumped deep in the cathedral inbox during administration duties and no-one had any recollection of how it got there. All she showed it to had scoffed. They had considered it remote and not as pressing as the issues in the capital. Only Kiera took a moment to consider it, whoever took up the call would be gone for months and unique circumstances left Kiera thinking 'months gone' was the perfect place for her. There was much dissent going on in the ranks of The Order of Light, and her presence was at the same time a rallying cry and a reason for further hostilities. If she could take back what she had seen and known then she would, but it was too late for that. Kiera recognised that infighting in the order would only strengthen the forces of darkness, no matter how much she disagreed with the current state of things. She took up the quest and had left almost all she had known behind on a gambit based on a crumpled parchment. To get away from the politics, to start her own light...

She snapped back to the present. A call to arms was not to met with hopes and dreams. What was important now was to strengthen bonds between those with her, no matter her scepticism. "In the army your life is in the hands of the spearman next to you," her father had told her, and she had only known him to be wrong four times. She tried to start things at least a little jovial, hoping to counter such grim surroundings. Had she been amongst her peers she would suggest a holy chant, but the frayed clothing and wizened glances of her 'companions' had convinced her a more comerade-like approach was necessary.

Being trained for the army, she could get along with most people if she wanted to. As everyone settled she spoke up, chipping off a slice of wood from the window frame, "No expense spent," She held it up for all to see, before throwing the splinters out the window, "Only the best for us."

Kiera as a person always spoke strongly, and bassier than most women. The easier to be heard during clamour or in a crowd. It was actually something holy warriors trained in and the manner of speech had in turn become something typical of her kind. If those assembled couldn't piece together she was a Templar from her various adornments representing Borealis or heavy armour they would almost certainly recognise that way of speaking.

@Paradoxial@Nameless@Eisenhorn@GodOfWar@rivaan

[Nameless]

L O N E S O M E
R O A D

Interacting With: @The Fated Fallen@Eisenhorn@GodOfWar@rivaan

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A faint metallic rapping indicated the final check of his armaments, the thin swab being returned to a satchel at his side. The weapon, an archaic flintlock, returned to his belt, alongside a campaign-worn dirk. Nearly matching their looks in a faded duster and pants was the man known as Jean, to those who had the pleasure of learning his name. One stark contrast to his attire was a deep crimson neckerchief bound at his neck, it’s cleanliness seemingly out of place among the tattered garb.

Hesitantly, he boarded the carriage after the female, taking a ‘seat’ at the middlemost portion on the right and settling in.

The male briefly looked to the speaking Templar knight lady(or whatever, all knights look the same), a small grin playing at the sequestered portion of his visage. First impressions were everything, and he was already imagining each aged stone and protuberance upon the weathered road felt through the wooden confines of the wagon. The miserly beast supposed to tug such cart looked to be dying and he wondered how long it would take to reach their destination.

“What have I gotten myself into...”

The Ex-Brigand muttered to the wind, his voice partially drowned by the creaky whisper of wheels. Hazel hues attempted to peer about the front where the driver sat, but even with such lanky frame, the driver obscured anything of particular detail. While he could inquire of their whereabouts, he simply didn’t wish to converse at the moment, least, not with the likes of him.

He had no particular qualms with the courteous individual known as Roake, yet something about him was..offsetting to say the least. Of course, Jean was certainly not in the position to be a judge of character. The thought even spawned a chuckle; brief and barely audible. The man parted his duster and retrieved the yellowed parchment, examining it for any details previously missed. Whoever scribed such thing seemed to to be rushed, as atramentous words nearly blended together in illegibility. Nothing new, yet he’d check thrice again or more, out of pure boredom

The rogue returned the King’s Call to his duster, replacing it with a tarnished flask. Uncapping, a faint redolence of liquor wafted about the carriage. Jean took a swig of the amber-hued vice, before offering it to his would be companions. Way he saw it, they were gonna need it.

“Bandit’s Vice. Helps to be inebriated during times of boredom”

He tipped the flask in each of their directions, like a conversation starter but less boring.

“Any takers?”

[GodOfWar]

A D I L A A L B A K I R A

@The Fated Fallen@Paradoxial@Nameless@Eisenhorn@rivaan
____________________________
_{"Muddy ground merely means we are still blessed with rain."}
____________________________

Adila breathed in deep; the marshy, humid air filled her lungs with a foreign feeling, one so much different from the dry winds of the east. She heard the creaking of pained, wilted trees, the croaking of small frogs and their buzzing insect companions. Nothing here reminded her of the whirl of dunes and the twirl of tribal flags. There was no barren silence nor communal hum. This place had its own symphony of life and death.

Adila exhaled, sighing a small prayer under her breath. "Umdal ak meli, Shee'l Tor."

The warrior opened her eyes and turned to face the dis-repaired coach. Already, a host of other travelers had crowded around it, their various equipment jiggling and swinging as they began carefully hopping up into their mildewed seats. Adila took some time to unfurl the call to arms she clenched in her hand; aged paper that smelled of many a spilt man's drink and blood. Its texture was coarse to the touch; the result of so many days baking in a Julda's tent, ignored until Adila made its acquaintance. She tucked the parchment away into one of her leather bags, slung her belongings across her muscled shoulders, and secured her yellow fabric veil over her nose and mouth. She inhaled once more, stood up from her squatting position, and then exhaled. Adila's steps were rhythmic and confident as she approached the coach. She silently waved at Roake as he beckoned her in.

The cleric ducked under the narrow doors and bounced softly into the carriage, her spear almost scraping across the top of the low ceiling as she did so. The coach jostled as she sat down; with the state of both its structure and beast, this trip would be uncomfortable at absolute best. Adila crossed her long legs as she leaned against the seat back-rest, her armored belt jingling with the swish of her hips as she plopped her bags down underneath her. She looked at those who sat across from her currently, catching the gazes of both a fellow woman of faith and a dirtied wielder of fire arms. Her interest was mixed with a twinge of distress.

"No expense spent, only the best for us." chuckled the paladin, the bass of her voice threading unintentional command into her innocent icebreaker. Adila, feeling unusually threatened by the righteousness glowing from this woman's symbols and demeanor, responded with a nod and a firm tapping of the carriage's creaking floor with her weapon; roaches were startled out of the crevices like puss from a wound. Responding to the stiffness of the un-acquainted party, the roguish man produced a flask from one of his many pockets and offered it up to any willing to drink with him. “Bandit’s Vice. Helps to be inebriated during times of boredom”, he declared.

Adila held out her hand to receive, and took to the bottle with vigor. The cleric tugged her veil down to her chin and took three swigs in rapid succession, the back of her left hand wiping her mouth as she returned the vice with her right. Another jingle of her adorned belt, and she had materialized a long, creme-colored candle in one hand and a coal-black match in the other. With a swift striking of the match head, Adila lined up the candle wick and flame as if she was aiming down the barrel of a gun, and shot a line of liquor through her teeth like a trained spitting viper. The intoxicant whizzed through the flame, caught fire, and lit the candle with a soft pop. The pleasant smell of hickory incense began to fill the carriage as the wax began melting.

Adila gave the rogue a devious smile. "Drink gives dead men courage" she cooed, pulling her veil up with a careful gesture.

[rivaan]

Alliana slowly made her way into the decaying carriage that was being provided for them. Some of the others had entered before her and had taken seat and so she did the same. The tiny expanse they were going to spend who knew how much time in was filled with the unpleasant scent of old wood and the strain their presence was putting on the wood was not escaping her ears either. Still this accursed creation of man somehow held itself together never the less.

She studied her traveling companions briefly as she took seat. A brief glance revealed an unlikely bunch of travelers to happen upon. A knightly warrior of faith, a woman from distant lands and a rugged highwayman... There was still one outside the carriage, she noted, a beefy fellow. Alliana herself was probably as unexpected meet for the others too. She was still unaware if they had realized her true nature, but given some of them, mainly noting the paladin, had not tried to vanquish her quite yet, she was willing to bet it was safe for them to travel together for a while at least.

Talking about the Paladin, her sarcastic comments brought a tiny grin on the dhampire's lips. Then the highwayman fellow brought out something to drink and also offered it to the rest of them. The exotic woman from distant lands took the offer and returned in kind litting a incense candle up. The candle's scent quickly was replacing the one of decaying wood and old moisture. When it came to her turn, Alliana gently shook her head." Thank you, but I will pass." She replied with a tiny smile to the rugged highwayman, since she didn't tend to drink much with her consitution and dependence on pure blood for it's effects during fights sometimes. She also had nothing much to offer in return. All she had on herself was her clothing, a sword, some stakes, a metal flask for storing blood and a small container of crimson lip dye. She also had her own little treasure a small mechanical thing that she got gifted a few years back, but all it did was play a tune as you spun the little lever, so no use in pulling that out.

She leaned back on her seat and closed her eyes, focusing on her very self. It was probably going to be a long ride, might as well rest. Traveling the day earlier all day through the sunlight while not really fatal for her, wasn't the most pleasant of experiences. Alliana wanted to use this chance to rest as much as she could.

---

@GodOfWar@The Fated Fallen@Paradoxial@Nameless@Eisenhorn

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[Eisenhorn]

Voss was apparently the last to reach the coach, having grown to be less than pleased with this northern concept behind hiding in wooden boxes upon wheels that were drawn by horses. Far too easy to be blinded to threats that otherwise would be readily apparent to even warriors traveling via horse or camel. Yet enter the coach he did, for better or worse, for he was sworn to this duty by his Julda, as she was convinced his sword arm would be needed in these northern affairs. He was not nearly as concerned towards the weight, light as it was, of his equipment causing issue to this decrepit parody of a carriage. He would take whatever space was available to seat himself, his shield with its honed edges resting easily on the floor of the transport. His sword remained sheathed at his hip, shifted to rest comfortably and remain easy to access should the need arise in a hurry. The cart driver was named Roake, and Voss distrusted him immensely. Something was off on a instinctual level, yet he had little choice but to ignore such instinct and proceed. In his grip was a parchment, stained a faded red, hinting to others that the previous owner had met a less than noble end.

Voss recalled the parchment had been handed to him by his Julda, her remarks on a band of trespassers having been found with numerous copies of said scrolls in their hands. Initially thought as treachery or propaganda, eventually they reached the Julda who had informed them that it was little more than a call to arms for those willing to aid them. Not uncommon misunderstandings, hence why neighboring civilizations tended to go through very specific methods of contacting and arranging to meet for negotiations with the desert tribesman. Trespassing too close to wherever a tribe resided was inviting death, should they be uninvited and unguided by one of the tribal folk. Yet he had been instructed in enough of the language of the North for him to be able to depart and learn further as he traveled, and he was fluent enough now that communicating with others usually did not go poorly. At least not due to a language barrier, some had seemed to take the sight of a desert tribesman as ill omen, or otherwise disliked apparent savages wandering within sight of them. Yet he had managed to garner enough information to get this far, and once settled in, turned his steady, wary gaze towards those who had also answered this call for whatever reason.

"No expense spent, only the best for us." A soldier woman, who matched the trappings and stance of the outsider Templar. What few encounters he personally had with their order rarely ended well, and less reassuring was what some of his kinsman had spoken of during conflict with bands of such soldiers. Yet this one seemed, for now at least, content to remark on their general situation, in an attempt to foster camaraderie he suspected. Smart, but the surest way to forge such a disparate group into a proper fighting band was through war. Time would tell whether this soldier woman would be of any value outside of taking the first blows, as her lot seemed eager to do. Before turning his gaze to the next, he responded simply enough, likely to be surprisingly fluent in the common language used outside his people. "So long as we arrive, it will do. Needless flaunting of status can be saved for the Kastan."

Next Voss' gaze would turn to the offered drink by the bandit. His people had such folk, useful in scouting and wandering ahead of the main tribes, ambushing would be enemies and looting the dead. Rather than turn away or frown upon such people, they had accepted and found a place for those with gifts such as what this bandit likely bore. Some may accept, some may pass, but when the drink offer reached him, he made a single nod and took a brief swig of the flask, careful not to simply drain its remaining contents and leave the provider of liquor without further drink himself. "Your offer is well met, Baan Taas, and accepted. One with sharp eyes will be useful. "

Voss recognized the prayer of the woman in a dancer's garb, finding such a person offering prayers to the End of Things a strange sight indeed. She had also accepted the Baan Tass' offer of drink, before making a sly remark on fortifying the courage of dead men, having used a viper's spit of the liquor to light an incensed candle. Prayers and incense, a Vul Julda, though her garb did not match the usual attire that those that followed their oaths to the End of Things, perhaps she was of another sect? It was a curiosity that would be answered, in due time, though a follower of the End of Things was both a comfort, and a concern, to have around. Death followed in their wake, though who was to die was rarely a concern of theirs. His tone was neutral, though more cautious than prior when he addressed the woman. "For those who walk as mortals, Vul Julda, courage is all that will help those who cross their path with Vul."

Last for Voss' gaze to cross was a woman, dressed in fine appearing clothes, and one who lacked a honed gut might simply have dismissed her as a jumped up noble and leave it at that. Yet, his gut screamed at him, for reasons he could not consciously place, and he distrusted this woman the most out of those present because of it. She had turned down the drink as well, and seemed intent on resting instead of communing with others present. There would be little rest to be gained on this rickety old carriage, Voss mused, instead opting to instead keep steady track of those around him, what they chose to discuss, and go from there. He had made what remarks he saw as necessary, and would speak further if circumstance demanded it. Otherwise, he would keep his peace for the time being. His manner of speech had been rugged, and accented, likely giving away his origins without ever speaking of them directly, though he had grasped the northern language better than some of his kin, he had slipped into his own tongue all the same. Something he would have to address if asked.

---

@rivaan@GodOfWar@Nameless@The Fated Fallen@Paradoxial

[Paradoxial]

As introductions ended, the journey began. The horse puffed a wheezing breath and slowly took the first steps forward, Cabin and occupants groaning in tandem as the cursed thing lurched onto the muddy road. It wasn’t long before everyone had gotten at least relatively comfortable, as much as one could be in an ancient death trap such as the one they were in. Through the weathered gaps in the wood, each could see the land of Olde begin to fade, as though the cart traversed upon the faded edges of a worn painting. The comfortable farming villages and lush forests gradually began to wither into mud soaked hills, distant figures wandering in ones and two’s across the silent plains. To the distance was what could hesitantly be called a forest, the trees having long since died and spiderwebs interwoven throughout. The road grew less traveled, more of a line in the dirt than the well kept cobbles known to most inner hamlets. And what seemed to be their destination, the town of Ash. It’s true name long forgotten, with not a single bright light to even indicate a population still lived there, for all intents it seemed to fit its namesake.

[rivaan]

Alliana was quite silent as they were traveling. She kept her eyes closed for the most part, leaving other senses to do the observation of the surroindings rather than her eyes. Everything minute from the sense of smell that changed or the tiny sounds that were slowly drifting in the air. It was all changing. There was another rason why she did it too of course... the sun. While she could stand the sun well enough, it didn't mean she was completely safe from it's curse. It was damn right unpleasant most of the time, bright lights were searing for her eyes, but she stood them when she had to. After all the best time to hunt vampires was during the day. Granted she could hunt them well enough at night too.

She finally opened her eyes after they had entered the decaying old woods and neared the town of Ash... if it could be called that. Her eyes locked on the view outside right away, weirdly feeling at home at these cursed looking woods. She could feel by the rocking sensation of the damned carriage that the road was really not up to par from civilized lands. She narrowed her eyes and looked around at the other passengers in teh cart, before taking a slight breath.

" Guess we are about to arrive soon..." She spoke with amused voice her face revealing a naturally seductive grin. She wasn't even trying to be alluring, but with a pretty face as hers even that sly smile was seductive." Anyone of you ever fought a creature of the night and evil before?" She asked, wondering how many of them had actually ventured into the lairs of horrors.

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@GodOfWar@The Fated Fallen@Paradoxial@Nameless@Eisenhorn

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[The Fated Fallen]

Kiera waved off the proffered flask. She realised it probably made her look pretentious but her order swore off of the stuff. All it was good for was clouding the truth, it was said. And besides, it hardly smelt appetising or sanitary, she wouldn't presume to ask when the flask was last washed.

The hand that held the drink, and by extension the person behind it, held Kiera's attention to a much greater degree. She imagined "Bandit's Vice," was a pretty standard turn of phrase for most people but no doubt was held in her mind that the words meant more to this man than most. She wouldn't judge a book by it's cover; sometimes the brightest lights flare from darkness. If he had come this far he must mean well.

The first woman to take up the offer was surprisingly scantily clad for the current climes. A foreigner, definitely, not to say that was unwelcome. Was she just a desert warrior who has travelled far? Kiera didn't think so. Something had driven her this far, and she could only hope it was the will of Borealis

The desert folk wore less than the next woman offered a drink, but for some reason Kiera felt that the veiled fiend was dangerous enough to make up for it. The noble-folk, if Kiera had to take a guess at class, seemed at odds with anyone here. It seemed she looked totally unprepared for what was to come and yet... No-one had questioned her presence, and she seemed confident enough. There was something going on here, some power hidden away that no-one could see. A wizard, perhaps? Time would tell

In either case the paladin was glad when she wasn't the only one to decline a tipple. She gave a nod to the pale-woman. " Guess we are about to arrive soon..." There was definitely something off about that woman, though Kiera had no idea what. " Anyone of you ever fought a creature of the night and evil before?"

"Nothing major. A few direwolves one time, some man-bat hybrid freaks another time." Kiera had been a part of a greater company in both such occasions, more as a sort of rearguard for both of them. "And yourself?" Kiera was incredibly intrigued by this woman's answer, she was a puzzle that lives might depend on herself unlocking.

@GodOfWar@Rivaan@Paradoxial@Nameless@Eisenhorn

[Eisenhorn]

The holy warrior declined the offered flask when it had reached her, and Voss could not say he was surprised. From the tales and words of his kin who had encountered them peacefully, far rarer, they were rather stoic and refused to engage in many things considered impure or took the form of temptation. To not enjoy life was to life an empty one, live as one would fight, without hesitation. He would not tell her how to go about her business, however, and would keep his silence until the foreign woman, in attire similar to foreign nobility, spoke up about hunting creatures of the night and evil. His mind snapped back to the Vur Julda who's actions had led him to eventually be among the company he was. His brow was furrowed as he considered the question, how best to translate what he had seen in the dunes to what she was likely referring to, and these things turned his thoughts away from a pretty smile and natural allure.

The Templar answered first, rattling off some sort of direwolves, and bat hybrids as well. Neither such beasts were native to the desert, though he could better put to their words what unnatural beasts one might have to face living a noamds life in the sands. "Nothing likely native to this land, but the shifting sands have hazards of their own. Bala Ban Vul, drinkers of those unwary, and unable to fend off, their dangers are a constant." The holy woman's question in regards to whether this foreign woman, well more foreign woman, had experience in hunting beasts herself was a curious one. Something lurked, not latent either, in this fine garbed woman, that little he could tell. Something was off, his instincts wary and fearful of danger, and not just due to being in foreign circumstances. No, something was off here, something that he could not readily place, and he would have to remain on edge until it was revealed.

---

@GodOfWar@Rivaan@Paradoxial@Nameless@Eisenhorn

[GodOfWar]

A D I L A A L B A K I R A

@The Fated Fallen@Paradoxial@Nameless@Eisenhorn@rivaan
____________________________

The carriage began its trembling, unstable march towards the town of Ash once everyone was rested in its withered seating. Two more figures had made themselves apparent to Adila; the broad, muscular bulk of a familiarly garbed man, and the elegant, eye-catching form of a pale woman. Though the later soon occupied herself with the futile tribulations of catching sleep, the toned man soon began to converse among the group as each gave their comments. His words soon fell upon the cleric's attentive ears, her candle-flame now whipping around with a healthy vigor.

"For those who walk as mortals, Vul Julda, courage is all that will help those who cross their path with Vul."

"Courage to face The End of Things.", she responded, her tempered voice denoting a nod of acknowledgement to what she and the warrior shared in heritage. It was of some comfort to know that there were others who hailed from that familiar land, though she subtly worried what their intentions for joining her were. Adila place her candle in a small holder affixed to the wall as a long silence began to draw over the party. They were left with their thoughts for some time.

________

The cacophony of life that Adila had sensed before soon faded from the land as they neared the town of ash, that subtle hum of humble life slipping away to reveal poor soil around them and a dwindling trail. The town that started to materialize ahead seemed soulless, the product of the miserable environment it developed from. She peeled her eyes from the hazy horizon, however, to take one more look around at the company that had collected into the carriage. The sly bandit gave her sense of brash companionship, with his almost charismatic, dirtied mug looking towards the wooden floor. The paladin still ate away at something inside her, a sense of inferiority coming upon Adila the longer she looked at that confident figure. The barbarian was a familiar sight that held regrettable memories; she was not warm nor cold to him, but cautious, respectful. Finally the exotic woman exuded an almost... familiar sense. Her pale features and flowing form blended together into the grace of something cold, something Adila had been so closed to one time ago. Such a woman soon muttered something pertaining to the party's experience in dark slaying; though the foes of the paladin were foreign to the cleric, the barbarian's description of the Bala Ban Vul roused familiar memories of dusty, decrepit husks of men hiding underneath the dunes, waiting for wanderers. "Those drinkers I have fought before as well. Their skin has been infused in some of my...", she perused through her bag before drawing forth another one of her long, dark matches. "... Substances."

A sudden rocking of the carriage soon startled Adila, and brought her attention again to the outside world. Ash drew ever closer with every pat of that old horse's hooves. Two thoughts penetrated her mind as she looked on; first, that no one had acquired each other's name, and secondly, that Adila must indeed stretch her legs before she begins her work at this town. With a swift movement of her arm, the carriage door was opened to the cleric, the dirt below crawling by at a sluggish pace under the transport's rickety wheels. Adila rose herself from her seat and began to step down onto solid ground, her body soon straightening out and walking alongside the carriage as she looked back into its seating quarters.

"I, however, am curious of which beasts accompany me as allies; what are your names? Wait, I will entrust you with mine first. I am Adila, child of Vul. My patron may also be known as Shee'l Tor to some," the cleric said, her strides keeping even with the carriage and her voice carrying with that small twist of a desert accent. "I am pleased to make your acquaintance," she slowly added, her eyes beginning to carefully wander from the cart to the twisted tree-line that surrounded around them.

[Paradoxial]

Slowly, mercifully the carriage jolted to a halt. Upon stepping outside, the true squalor of Ash was painstakingly revealed. Flickering candlelight vaguely shown through boarded windows, the glass long gone from most houses. The wind told a story of a coming storm, and the darkening clouds in the distance served to prove it. It appeared that the strongest indication of human life came from the tavern, whose faded sign swung frantically about from a single hinge. Respectively the church seemed quite abandoned though a slim figure quietly stepped out and walked towards the carriage.

Meanwhile, Roake quietly beckoned towards the group, signaling each of them to step forward one by one. No matter what each one of them did, they could not see his face which always seemed to be obscured in shadow. First was Voss.

Roake stares at the muscular man for a moment before gripping his shoulder with a bony hand. Leaning forward, he whispers “you see through the veil, take comfort in your solidarity. “ before pressing a small dagger into his hand. It is what appears to be solid steel, and has flowing script embossed on its sides. Somehow, it appears the script is glowing but the language is indecipherable.

Next was Adila, who was presented with a small bottle. The liquid inside was black, and the inscription simply read “he prospers, from my sacrifice.” No words were spoken to her, and Roake simply ushered her away before she could ask any questions.

2nd to last stepped Aliana. Though his eyes were obscured by darkness, she could still feel a withering gaze. “Your very existence is heresy, your steps track sin wherever you go.” He sighs for a moment, the wisdom of 10,000 years contained in a single breath. Silently he hands her a vial of purple liquid, crudely labeled “the fallen” in broken script. Before she could ask any questions, Aliana was roughly shoved away with surprising force.

Lastly was Kiera. It was no secret of her devotion, and she practically feel the eminence of shee’l tor emanating from the cloaked man. “You get one question, then you will go.” He said scathingly. “Anything you want to know.” He did not appear happy to grant this request, but nonetheless said it anyways.

[rivaan]

"Vampires." Aliana replied calmly when asked what she has fought before. She then turned to the woman who quite clearly looked exotic along these parts. She gave them a name, so the half vampire nodded." Name's Aliana, pleasure to meet ya." She replied and turned her attention outwards to the surroundings as the carriage soon enough came to a halt and she exited, taking in the decaying town or whatever was left from the town anyway. This was quite literally a horrible location to live... She was amazed people still stayed behind at this graveyard. Most sane men and women would have long ago fled from this... cursed land.

Her attention then fell on the person who was approaching them. One by one they were called forward, given something and then being told something in hushed whisper. When it came to her turn, a potion with purple liquid was handed to her, her very existance was revealed as a heresy and then she was shoved away. Damn rude! It's not like she chose to be born this way! She took a breath though, steadied herself and put away the potion, a gift was a good thing no matter what it actually did. She was going to figure it out eventually. Could save her life... or not, it could go either way really. The half vampire was really curious about the man though... He must hold some amount of power to be able to act like that, but she couldn't put her finger on what exactly he was. Finally seh concluded it was not really her business and left him to deal with the paladin woman.

She turned her focus on the town again. The place was half decayed and half ruined as far as she could see. Buildings clearly showed signs of neglect, the windows for example long since had been crudely boarded up. Pondering their new locale, a question rose in her mind. Sure they would venture from this place out, but they couldn't quest without stop or rest. They would have to return here, ressuply and recuperate before venturing out. Where would they stay in this place? Personally she could very well do with an abandoned house really. It wasn't a problem for her to do so. What she was most worried about was the possibility of a trader in this graveyard of a town. They needed one or at least something along the lines of traders. They would need the supplies of varying kinds from provisions to lamp oils and even weapons.

[The Fated Fallen]

The noblewoman spoke of her previous foes, "Vampires." before flitting to another conversation. The damned woman says 'Vampires' like it's nothing and then moves on with no explanation. Kiera resolved to bring this up to 'Aliana' later, but not now. Their destination approached.

It was a wretched place that had been ravaged by hate and malice. So terrible was the terror wrought unto this village Kiera fancied she could not spy anything that was not broken, splintered or frayed; people withstanding. Despite this she felt no hesitation or second thoughts. Maybe it was ignorance she reasoned, as she had never been subject to such poverty before, but she would like to believe it was because she knew she was in the right place. Even if there was little evil to slay here she would have her hands full providing aid for the poor in the way of medicine, food and shelter. Her left hand flexed and palmed on her sword hilt as she considered the possibilities of bringing Borealis' light to this hamlet as the cart slowly trundled it's way to a halt. She may or may not stay here after all, but that all depended on future events.

Kiera got up as the party began to disembark. She heard harsh whispers being spoken to all who paused on the step, though it was far too quiet for her to hear. She also noted the driver passing something to everyone, though once again she lacked sight of it. Last to leave, she supposed it was her turn. Against her better judgement she gripped onto the lip of the carriage so she could look up at the man better; she could not tell if the creaking came from the cart or it's driver as he leaned over and nor could she tell which was more unsettling. His yellowed and broken teeth creased into a leer, and in that moment she knew in her soul that this man was a follower of darkness; Shee'l Tor.

Shee'l Tor was not always a god in service of evil, and this thought alone managed to restrain her from grabbing the frail man by his rags and dragging him down. “You get one question, then you will go.” He said, and every word was spoken with mutual hate and distrust. “Anything you want to know.” A part of her wanted to not bother. Or, even better, to spit in his face. Her pride wouldn't allow her to take advice or truth from one of his ilk, but reason won out. She figured as long as she didn't ask anything to specific she wouldn't rely on it too much and could dismiss it much easier.

She settled for a moment, allowing the group to move forward a few paces towards a shrivelled figure from the church. She turned back to the driver and asked "All of them, can they be trusted to end this threat? Is there yet hope?" She realised that was two questions, but she didn't expect much from his answer anyways. She awaited his response before joining the others, quite interested to see what passed for holy amongst these folk.

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