Lord Wyron

D&D 3.5e - The Marches of the Savage Realm

ℜ𝔢𝔫𝔞𝔲𝔩𝔱 𝔅𝔢𝔞𝔲𝔪𝔬𝔫𝔱

---

'By the gods, I'm getting too old for this...' Renault's breathing was ragged and heavy as he - with certain effort - freed his blade from the dead carcass of the rat. Like ritual, he used the edge of his cloak to wipe away the blood and any other fluids that stained his blade. He would not have dared such a thing with the pristine white cloak he possessed in the Order. But the heavy cloak he wore now was of little consequence - no station attached to it. It kept him warm during cold nights and provided sanctuary in a thunderstorm.

For now, the party had stopped, and while Renault was thankful for the momentary rest, he was too on-edge to truly enjoy the reprieve. They were in what was presumably the heart of hostile territory. More rats were likely on their way, bigger and in greater numbers. They had weathered several waves now, yes, but how many more could they endure? Renault feared that age and tiredness were beginning to creep on him. His grip on his blade was looser, his swings sluggish and more predictable. Fatigue was the silent killer of many knights, forced to push the limits of their endurance until they nearly passed out from exhausted.

In that moment, Gorosk inquired about the strange, almost unsettling box that sat untouched and unharmed in the center of the chamber. Without the immediate threat of combat, the eeriness of the environment had settled in fully. A fearful uncertainty, so to speak. What was in this box? Why is it sitting here of all places? Why had the rats not broken through it?

"I don't trust it....stay on your guard." Renault warned, letting his sword fall at his side while being kept securely in his grasp.

D&D 3.5e - The Marches of the Savage Realm

ℜ𝔢𝔫𝔞𝔲𝔩𝔱 𝔅𝔢𝔞𝔲𝔪𝔬𝔫𝔱

---

The battle had begun in full force: a fight for territory. Were these rats invaders? Or reclamations of the land's original inhabitants? Their Elven companion likely would have argued towards the latter. The Elves' connection with nature was, for the most part, unbiased and impartial. All creatures had a function, a purpose, one bestowed upon them in a time before. But to the more zealous priests of Erithar, the reviled beasts of this world were a sort-of...scar tissue, for want of a better word. The sins of mortals inflicted wounds upon the earth, and from those wounds poured out insects, rodents, and parasites like a pus.

Having now witnessed his leading the charge, two more rats came at him from either side, foam and spittle at the edges of their rotten-toothed mouths. They could smell their own bite upon him: the stench of blood and raw flesh, carrying the hint of their distinct 'venom'.

The first attack came at him straight ahead. Renault's reflexes - dulled with pain, fatigue, and hunger - could not have anticipated the blow, but Vah'lux did, interceding herself between them to spurn the attack at the edge of her axe. It happened so fast, so seamlessly that it took Renault more than a moment to fully realize what had happened - and what the giantess had saved him from.

With no time to mutter thanks in the midst of battle, the second attack came at Renault's peripheral, focus ironically weakening his senses elsewhere. Though a cunning adversary, the rats lacked dexterity and direction. With a harsh scraping sound as the vermin's teeth carved against the metal scales of his armor, Renault twisted his upper body, raising sword arm and hoisting it over his head before making a broad diagonal sweep downward in hopes of nicking the rat in its no-doubt hasty attempt at escaping.

Attack Roll

9

D&D 3.5e - The Marches of the Savage Realm

ℜ𝔢𝔫𝔞𝔲𝔩𝔱 𝔅𝔢𝔞𝔲𝔪𝔬𝔫𝔱

---

Their trek through the foul and cramped tunnels was, thankfully, rather short-lived. As the burrows beneath the homestead unfolded, the passage they sifted through opened into a larger, more spacious chamber, connecting identical tunnels. Renault was reminded of the architecture found within Andallia's ages-old cathedrals and chapels; tunnels wrought of cold, hard stone, lit by braziers and torches that carried the sickeningly sweet smell of incense. To some of Erithar's adherents, the perfumed vapors brought a sense of calm and equilibrium - spiritual enlightenment. But others found the stench nauseating; their thoughts and actions clouded like a thick haze that seeped into their eyes, their nostrils, their lungs, and their minds.

But this place, this...befouled antechamber, bearing a lone chest and nothing else. Whatever indulgences may have been contained within were no doubt unholy. Still unable to shake that knowing feeling that they were all being watched, Renault silently gave thanks for the wider space and returned his dagger to his side before drawing his blade proper. His heartbeat quickened in the initial dead silence of the room. Something was off - unsettling. There was no sign here of life or death, and every breath they took seemed to bounce off the walls and echo back in different directions. It was as if they had tread upon the sanctified ground of a pestilent god.

Then they emerged: four acolytes, two senior among them, light-colored fur marking their station. Raising sword-and-shield slowly in those spare few moments before battle was inevitably to start, Renault spoke to the others, barely above a whisper, "We stick together..." De Bray's heroics earlier, while unwittingly successful in the moment, was something that rarely worked twice, and Renault was unwilling to risk the possibility of serious injury down here. Rats were not hunters; but scavengers, marauders. They knew they could not kill in one stroke, so they maimed, wounded. A crippling injury down here was certain death, to be feasted upon alive by these filth-ridden zealots and their spawn.

Renault decided then-and-there that this would not be the way he dies.

"Alright, then," he said next, hoping the others had heard his earlier message. "Attack!" The final word, while still hushed, came out in something of a snarl. Leading a half-charge-half-sprint in the direction of their enemies, Renault's injured leg gave him a lopsided, almost feral stance as he lunged towards one of the larger rats, raising sword above head and bringing it down in cleaving blow, hoping to use gravity to his advantage.

Attack Roll

16

Damage Roll

5

D&D 3.5e - The Marches of the Savage Realm

ℜ𝔢𝔫𝔞𝔲𝔩𝔱 𝔅𝔢𝔞𝔲𝔪𝔬𝔫𝔱

---

"Into the dark, indeed." Renault repeated, biting his tongue at the rude things he'd wanted to say to de Bray for volunteering him as lead. He couldn't and wouldn't deny the tense feeling in his gut at the fearful unknown that lay within the pit. Even the most seasoned soldiers felt something similar on the eve before a battle. He remembered the old days: when priests and priestesses of the Order would organize prayer vigils for Paladins sent away on missions. It was a ceremonious affair, and some took to it more than others. All had to put on the face of holy devotion in the Order. After all, they were the religious might of Andallia: moral guardians against the darkness that threatened to encroach just outside the city gates. But politics pressed a heavy hand against the Order, and Renault had wondered if some of his more-cynical fellows even believed in Erithar.

Deciding to waste no further time, Renault prepared to venture in. Upon further inspection, aided by the lantern secured to his hip, Renault saw that the pit was actually a steep tunnel, leading somewhere unknown beneath the ground. The slimy film that coated the walls, coupled with the rotten stench that threatened to expel his breakfast - had he eaten any - made Renault think they were walking into the bowels of some massive, long-dead creature.

Slowly easing himself into the entrance to avoid snagging his gear on the jagged wood that surrounded it, Renault found something of a foothold and was able to move further in. His boots made a revolting squelch sound with every step, sinking into the foul coating. Not wanting to walk into presumably enemy territory unarmed, Renault afeared that his longsword would be disadvantaged in the close, cramped tunnel that forced them all in a single-file line.

Reaching for his other hip, Renault drew his dagger from its sheath. It was a rogue's weapon, somehow more and less deadly than the sword he'd trained with since he was a boy. Renault grimaced at the idea of getting closer than he had to to actually hurt any rats that would inevitably come for them, but he knew it was better than trying to make a clumsy swing and leave himself even more open to one of their gangrenous bites.

D&D 3.5e - The Marches of the Savage Realm

ℜ𝔢𝔫𝔞𝔲𝔩𝔱 𝔅𝔢𝔞𝔲𝔪𝔬𝔫𝔱

---

Swallowing back the primal fear that had begun to well in the back of his mind, Renault took a shaky breath, steeling his nerves. Something fearful had possessed him while he gazed into that wretched abyss. He was taught in the Order that Men did not fear the dark - but the creatures that dwelt within. 'It is only a godless creature that cannot stand the light', the elder Paladins would declare with conviction. The dawning sun would erase all obscurity, reveal a man for all his intentions.

Long had demons and their ilk used the shadows as refuge, all-but-refusing to act in daylight so long as necessity allowed it. Some argued that their senses had long grown accustomed to darkness, with bright light causing discomfort and disorientation. Others took a more romantic approach, believing that such creatures despised their own countenance, refusing to look upon themselves for fear of shame. But Rats had little sense for shame. They were vermin: plague-born and feasters of refuse.

Perking his ears as the group spoke of a light source, Renault spoke up finally. "I may have something." He knelt to one leg - gingerly to avoid agitating his injury further. Unslinging his shield off his back and to the floor beside him, Renault pulled out his backpack and rummaged about inside for a few moments, muttering to himself. The militia hadn't exactly been gentle with his belongings.

Retrieving a hooded lantern and a flask pint of oil, Renault spared a moment giving the lantern a once-over for any obvious damage. Seeing none, he uncorked the flask and carefully poured it into the lantern, swearing under-breath as his sore, clumsy hands caused him to spill a few drops.

With the lantern sufficiently filled, he returned the now-empty flask to his pack before hoisting the whole thing onto his shoulders. Sniffling once with a stifled cough at the musty air, Renault wrinkled his nose as the strong smell of the oil hit him. Waiting til his breath had properly adjusted, he spoke once more.

"All we need's a small bit of flame to light this, should be six hour's worth."

D&D 3.5e - The Marches of the Savage Realm

ℜ𝔢𝔫𝔞𝔲𝔩𝔱 𝔅𝔢𝔞𝔲𝔪𝔬𝔫𝔱

---

Uncaring of his concerns, Tracan brushed past anything Renault had said with a blunt, "Let's go." Holding back a flash of anger that briefly shone across his features, Renault followed wordlessly, yet with the silent wish that, should any of them be mauled, the Elf would be first. He knew those thoughts were sinful, even spiteful - but though he dedicated ten years of his life to virtue and chivalry, he could not deny his own humanity; the same humanity that took it all away from him.

But Renault also believed that his thoughts were at least partly justified. The Elf had acted consistently unfriendly since they first discovered her presence just a few hours ago. That being said, Renault couldn't exactly blame a lack of courtesy given their shared circumstances.

Returning his mind to the here-and-now, Renault took lead after crossing the threshold once Tracan stepped aside. His face scrunched in disgust at the sight that lay before him. To think it was possible for a burnt, abandoned homestead to look worse. The rats had certainly proven their worth, there.

The most evident sight was the large hole in the center of the floor, clearly chewed into by the bite marks and indents that marred the surrounding floorboards. "I think we found our nest..." Renault declared, voice carrying that sort-of thoughtful tone that made it unclear whether he was speaking to the others, or to himself.

His eyes flickered to the stairs that led to a floor above, with the weighted uncertainty of what may awaited them. "So," he began, turning head to look at them all. "Up or down?"

D&D 3.5e - The Marches of the Savage Realm

ℜ𝔢𝔫𝔞𝔲𝔩𝔱 𝔅𝔢𝔞𝔲𝔪𝔬𝔫𝔱

---

While his compatriots discussed next steps among themslves, Renault had sheathed his blade and slung his shield across his back, giving his arm a welcome respite. Flexing the aching joint of his shoulder in hopes of easing tension, Renault dragged himself stiffly towards the others, ready to engage himself in the discussion.

"Rats breed - and grow - fast. No doubt there's another brood ready to replace this one, likely almost fully-grown." He paused, tongue moving around the inside his mouth in contemplation. "Assuming these ones are fully-grown." He finished, motioning towards the carcasses for emphasis. 'By the gods, the stench' he thought. Had he not known better, he'd have assumed the vermin had been dead-and-rotting for days, not freshly-killed and still warm.

"We'll have to purge the nest." He let the words hang, his expression shifted to one of momentary uncertainty, as if gauging all options in his head before speaking next. "But we've not had food or proper rest in days, some of us, weeks. We're in no state to fight a horde right now."

Though no stranger to battle in his glory days, Renault had the good fortune of avoiding the more harrowing aspects of war. Where legions of men clashed against one another like waves rising and breaking upon themselves. Each crash would take soldiers on either side, leaving corpses strewn across once-green fields. The survivors would crawl back to camp: weary and struck with battlefield panic, heavy-laden with plate and chain mail. But even in those dire straits, the men would be attended to by priests and priestesses alike, weaving spells to mend injuries and cure fatigue.

It was then that Renault began to understand the succinct and simple terror of the Marches. Beyond Reddenbarrow there were no priests to close wounds; no battlefield camp to return to except one they made themselves; no rations sent from the lord's castle to keep the men strong and nourished. It was only them and whatever foul creatures were thrown at them.

An ordinary man might've panicked, turned tail and run back towards civilization without ever looking back. But Renault was long past that point of self-preservation. Even now, at the furthest spiritual point he had ever been from Erithar, the apathetic disregard he had begun to feel for his own life would have made him a martyr to the Order.

D&D 3.5e - The Marches of the Savage Realm

ℜ𝔢𝔫𝔞𝔲𝔩𝔱 𝔅𝔢𝔞𝔲𝔪𝔬𝔫𝔱

---

With hoarse cry, Renault twisted his upper body, using his momentum to sweep his blade backwards, cleaving into the rat and ending its wretched existence. Freeing his blade from the flesh of the creature with a sickening squelch, Renault's arm fell to his side, fingers loosening their grip on the hilt as his hand began to ache tremendously.

Fatigue washed over him as the adrenaline of battle subsided. His shield hung on his arm like a dead weight dragging him ever-downward, and the growing stiffness of his fingers threatened to send his sword flying should he attempt another swing. By Erithar, he was out-of-shape. The tired soreness of his muscles seemed to only aggravate the pain in his leg, turning his gait into a proper limp.

Their reprieve lasted only a moment, if that, as one more rat emerged from the farmhouse, incensed at the death of its brood-brothers and sisters. Lunging at the first person it saw - that person being Quentin - Renault began to slowly hobble his way closer to the building. He was in no state to sprint, and even if he were, this final foe didn't seem particularly worth the effort. Quentin had repelled its initial attack with ease, and it was likely the rat would be slain within seconds. If not, he would answer. But until then, his only course of action was slowly closing the distance separating them, keeping the rat contained, if nothing else.

D&D 3.5e - The Marches of the Savage Realm

ℜ𝔢𝔫𝔞𝔲𝔩𝔱 𝔅𝔢𝔞𝔲𝔪𝔬𝔫𝔱

---

Though intending a cautious approach, lest the Elf's claims of unseen enemies be true, Quentin was apparently filled with a righteous fervor that befitted only the most zealous knights back in the Order. Shouting a name that Renault recognized as Andallian in root, Quentin surged forth, bearing sword in both hands. At least three responses entered Renault's mind in that moment, but in the time he took deciding which one to say, he was left with nothing to say at all.

"Humans..." Vah'lux muttered under-breath, clearly exasperated at Quentin's recklessness. Renault chuckled, a sound that could have easily been mistaken for a raspy cough. Though Quentin's actions could easily warrant rebuke, Renault found himself amused, instead. That amusement was snuffed, however, as four more rats poured from the house's mouth like putrid vomit, scattering in any which way direction before coming to their collective senses and pouncing upon the intruding adventurers.

One went for Quentin, another taking the flank and eyeing Renault from his peripherals. The remaining two lurked on the outskirts, no doubt sizing up their mark and eyeing any point of weakness. A flash of pain in Renault's leg only reminded him of the nasty bite these vermin packed.

Drawing his blade once more, Renault already felt tension starting to settle in his shoulder. The days spent loitering in jail coupled with years of relative inactivity had weakened him, and Renault wasn't looking forward to the soreness he would no doubt experience tomorrow.

Turning on his heel to face the rat encircling towards him, Renault set his shield out in front of him, adopting a defensive stance. With luck, the rat would rashly charge headfirst and be repelled by the shield, opening itself to a swift counterattack. But Renault hadn't forgotten the other two that hadn't chosen targets yet.

He heard the creak of a bow being drawn back, then quickly released as the arrow took flight, only to aimlessly bury itself in the fallow earth. The other had taken note of all four, and that's the assurance Renault needed. So long as eyes were kept on all four, this would be another simple fight, gods willing.

He watched Gorosk rush in out of the corner of his eye, aiming a powerful kick at the head of the rat that had gone after Quentin. Another joined its brother to attack Quentin, yet both repelled without incident. The last one, one that perhaps bore slightly more cunning than the others, took to the outskirts and rushed for Renault, who saw it sprinting and leaping with violent tenacity. Bloodlust has its advantages, but cannot compensate for a lack of stamina. The rat tired itself out in the chase and lacked the energy to attack Renault with any real strength. Seeing his chance, he took a lurching step forward and put his weight into a powerful thrust, hoping to skewer the vile beast between the ribs.

Attack roll on the Rat

20

Damage roll on the Rat

7

D&D 3.5e - The Marches of the Savage Realm

ℜ𝔢𝔫𝔞𝔲𝔩𝔱 𝔅𝔢𝔞𝔲𝔪𝔬𝔫𝔱

---

With battle ended, at least for the moment, the party granted themselves a quick moment to collect themselves. Wiping his blade clean using the edge of his traveling cloak, Renault lifted his sword to the waning sunlight, inspecting it for any specks of crimson before returning it to his hip.

Shifting where he stood, Renault winced as the change in movement incensed the steady throbbing that was beginning to settle in his leg. His attention redirected by Quentin asking about his condition, Renault nodded with a simple, "Yes, I'm fine -- thank you." His tone was blunt, but not unkind, a side-effect of the solitude he'd been living under up until now. Even mundane questions asked by others had the potential to fluster him. For a man unused to explaining himself, this would be a difficult adjustment.

Realizing the possible rudeness of his voice, Renault let a soft smile spread across his features, hoping to wordlessly assure his gratitude. With the focus of conversation now shifting towards their recent victory, Renault nodded once in satisfaction, pleased with the results despite his surprise injury. He felt little concern of any real danger; Reddenbarrow was close by, and Marthan, himself declared that he would heal any injuries that befell the group. Though not all priests were taught the art of healing magic, for a village as small as Reddenbarrow, a permanent physician or even an alchemist wasn't always a guarantee. It was oftentimes up to the church to take over in medicinal matters.

Their celebration was short-lived, however, as Gorosk voiced his concerns over the nature of rats. Their aggression seemed to grow relative to their size. Whether naturally-occurring creatures or perversions of the natural order, they had ingrained themselves into the wildlife. The Elf-Woman spoke up at this, first arguing that their party had disturbed the rats' territory before warning that rats rarely kept broods of only five.

Renault's expression soured slightly as Tracan seemed to almost defend the rats' behavior, soured further by a fresh wave of pain shooting up his leg. Keeping any words he thought of in his own head, Renault took her advice in stead. "Well, then...we best not waste any more time."

With that, he moved towards the most obvious feature of the farmstead - the scorched building, looking for anything of note.

Search Roll to Investigate the Farmhouse

17