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[filiusenox]

Solbryn blinked up at the Kasar, her face set into blankness, and she spoke, simply, eloquently,  "I bear no weapons, Mighty Kasar, that you can take. I bear a tool of death and blood and steel, and one of hacking and slashing and cutting of wood."

She paused here, before continuing. "If I meant to kill Brunhi I would not have followed my guide. I would have challenged him to an honorable duel or asked to meet him on the field of war. I am a snake, as such, do not step on me and I will not bite." she finished, bowing slightly at the hips.

[Dwarmin]

Solbryn would prefer to keep his weapons.

"Ah, hur hah...I think, I can take them. You cannot stop. Eh? Meant, doing, matter no. We ask and you respect our asking." The Kasar says with a note of challenge.

He rises to full height, hand on his weapon-a greatsword as long as your body-his eyes finally flashing with something like amusement.

---

Rankar knocks on the door three times, boomingly.

There is a momentary silence.

Then the doors begin to creak open, though no rattle of chains or pulling ropes is heard-indeed, no one is seen to be opening them at all.

Standing in the courtyard, hands folded in a voluminous blue robe, is a figure completely hooded. It is about the size of a human. He beckons to you to come forward, and speaks in a quiet, patient voice. Though you can see nothing of his face.

"...ahh, Curious. A free Kasar walks abroad with a free man. Strangers, welcome. Provided you harbor no Chaotic intents, you are welcome here. Be at peace.

Have you come to join the Monastery of Order as member, or are you merely pilgrims?" He asks simply.

[filiusenox]

Solbryn rose to his full height as well. Her knife was still sheathed on her belt and she rested a hand on it, flicking his hair back to reveal his dark eyes and the fine lines of his face. His voice held no note of challenge, just calm, resolution. "Try to take them. I spoke of snakes earlier and I meant it. You may never regain your full might if you fight me and I can serve the Stone better if I could still breath."

His words weren't a threat, they were carefully worded to be a promise of things to come if the Kasar followed that course of action. Panic rose up in him, but he didn't let it show in his eyes, somehow keeping them cold, dark, and uninterested. "Your call, mighty Kasar. Either suffer for the rest of your days or respect my asking."

[Shootandrun]

Rankar stepped in the monastery, intimidated but not showing it. The figure standing in the courtyard was strange - he could not tell if it was a man or a woman, or even a human at all (though anything else was unlikely). Still, the figure seemed not to carry any ill will towards him or his friend, and as such he was not afraid to speak.

He could not tell the whole truth of his journey, of course, but something was telling him he should not lie. There was a strength at work here, the strength that preserved the monastery's order, the strength that had opened the door. It was unwise to speak treacherously in that force's domain - he did not know whether or not it could see through tricks. Thankfully, words were a talent of his.

"Greetings, child of Order. My companion and I have been seeking a purpose for a long time, and Order has granted us one. We are now following the path to where we have been called. However, this path is long and we are weary; we require supplies."

It was all in the wording. No lies spoken, yet no real truths given. Kasars learned to watch their tongues quickly in the southlands, and he was even more wary than most. With that out of the way, he smiled, taking a more business-like tone (if still serene, so as to not look out of place in a monastery).

"We need maps of the region and mounts; a horse for him, and perhaps even a mount for me, if one can be found here. If payment is required, I am a smith; I can repair anything that was damaged, or create new things, if tools are provided."

[Digital Hellhound]

Chaos

Wendell Madryt

 The mage offers no reaction to Wendell's words, wheezing and writhing on the ground. The goblin sees cold sweat running down his face as he approaches, his eyes blank with fear. Wendell ignores the staff and broken amulet and reaches for the mage, aiming to carry him on his shoulders.

He quickly notices a few problems with this plan. Though he thinks he might be able to carry the man in his arms for a short while, the mage is both heavier and taller than he is, and his panicky, jerking movements are not helping. After a few moments spent trying to get his attention, Wendell sees no other choice but to try dragging him instead. There's no way he'll carry the armor, though - he's not sure how well he could move it even if he abandoned the mage.

Dragging the mage behind him with effort, Wendell makes his way over to the suit of armor. The maggots, pale and dead, are spread out on top and around it. The runes carved into it mean nothing to him. Peering inside, Wendell finds only darkness - if there was a person inside, there's nothing left of them. The armor is of fine make, devoid of rust and wear. Wendell is no expert on forging armor, but it doesn't bear any signs of artifice he can recognize, seeming to have just molded itself into that shape.

'Ghh.. goblin,' Wendell hears the mage whisper, faintly. 'Leave the armor and go. Can you... can you not feel it?'

He looks pained, desperate. The stillness presses down on them from every angle, but Wendell can't see any obvious dangers. The dead forest looks empty of all life save for the pair of them.

Wendell thinks - he's not entirely sure where he is and has no sounds to go by, but the closest villages are the one his father had called home and Carver's Fall. The former has people who might help him, but also danger, such as the surviving hunters - the latter is full of unknowns.

Spoiler: Wendell Madryt, Chosen of Chaos (click to show/hide)

Tier I
HP: 30/30
Combat: 1 die
Action: 1 die
Magic: 1 die
Skills and Traits: None
Equipment:
   *Old Crossbow (1d6+1 damage)
   *Boning Knife (1d6-1 damage)
   *Pouch of Coin
Known Spells:
   *Dispel [Avaritia/Difficulty: 6]

Anathema

 Determined to keep his mind clear, Anathema delves into his memories, searching for an useful spell. He was close to reaching one earlier, but something was wrong, then, both in the pattern and the intent of the spell. He grasps for his old skill - [11] and the spell floods into him. But as soon as he knows it, he realizes it is not quite what he sought. A mental shield, but one to protect from magical observation and scrying spells, not illusions or subtler attacks.

Another half-remembered pattern comes to him, unbidden. [12] Clarity, the purging the mind of all illusions and distractions, sometimes of all emotion. No memories to distract you, no empathy to stay your hand. It is a frightening experience, afterwards, but there is no greater sense of purpose, no clearer path to take, when under the spell.

But it does not guard against an attack on the mind. If Anathema knew such a spell, it has long since slipped from memory. More crafting could reveal a pattern, but... the singing draws him on, not by any magical means - as far as he can tell - but by its strangeness and beauty. It reminds him of things long lost, in places far beyond the reach of Man. The music calms him, soothes him, bringing a sense of serenity he has not felt in a long time.

Spoiler: Anathema, Chosen of Chaos (click to show/hide)

Tier III
HP: 45/50
Combat: 3 dice
Action: 3 dice
Magic: 3 dice
Skills and Traits: None
Equipment:
   *Obsidian Flute
   *Ancient Gauntlet
   *Stormfinder Amulet
Known Spells:
   *Unknown [Difficulty: 5]
   *Pain [Avaritia/Difficulty: 6]
   *Wards [Superbia & Invidia/Difficulty: 6]
   *Clarity [Luxuria/Difficulty:[/i] 6]
   *Unknown [Difficulty: 7]
   *Mental Shroud [Superbia & Invidia/Difficulty: 8]
   *Unknown [Difficulty: 10]

[monk12]

Anathema unconsciously flexes his hands, dredging up his ingrained magical skills. A spell to hide from searchers, a spell to dispel illusions. If you knew you were in an illusion. Ha! Paranoia will destroy ya!

He licks his lips, hearing a swell in the music. A siren's song to draw him on. Even the dragons can be made to serve you, if you have the courage to brave their den. Anathema smiles slightly, raising a hand in greeting, then shakes his head. Focus. Sticking to the ruined walls and overgrown plants, Anathema sneaks toward the source of the music.

[IamanElfCollaborator]

Wendell ignored the protests of the mage and dragged him away from the area. He didn't want to be stuck there too long, and he wanted answers. He was still considering his next destination, but at this point, he wanted to know what the hell was going on.

The goblin trudged onto the road, dragging the mage with him as fast as he could.

When both were safely away, Wendell propped the mage up by a rock, taking out his knife and leering at the mage.
"I want answers. You can give them to me or I can abandon you to die. Your choice, mage. You haven't particularly given me much reason to let you live after binding me. Oh, and one magic trick and I slit your throat. You know I will.

So tell me; what do you want with me? Why hunt a goblin who was likely to die anyway?"

[Dwarmin]

Solbryn rose to his full height as well. Her knife was still sheathed on her belt and she rested a hand on it, flicking his hair back to reveal his dark eyes and the fine lines of his face. His voice held no note of challenge, just calm, resolution. "Try to take them. I spoke of snakes earlier and I meant it. You may never regain your full might if you fight me and I can serve the Stone better if I could still breath."

His words weren't a threat, they were carefully worded to be a promise of things to come if the Kasar followed that course of action. Panic rose up in him, but he didn't let it show in his eyes, somehow keeping them cold, dark, and uninterested. "Your call, mighty Kasar. Either suffer for the rest of your days or respect my asking."

Solbryn stands strong.

The Kasar snorts.

"Ahhh, okay."

You see a flash of a giant brown fist-then several fists-and everything becomes a predictable darkness.

Surely you didn't expect to take on the entire camp yourself?

...

Solbryn comes to in the tent he was trying to gain entrance too-albiet, relieved of possessions. Including his weapons. He's chained more or less to the central pole holding up the leather roof, one that's thick as a tree. The chains themselves are thick, rusted iron.

He hears a peeping noise from somewhere around him, and looks around.

"Sobri? Sobriii! Wake up!"

Ah, your little harpy friend-they've put her in a small birdcage.

...

Time passes like this. You've got a sizable lump on your head but don't seem otherwise injured. In time, you feel as if you might sleep again, but a are roused when you see three Kasar shuffle into the tent from outside-where a nasty storm has kicked up. You notice the two larger ones are the guards you 'fought' earlier-the one who knocked you out is wearing your weapons on his belt. He flashes you a grin.

The one behind them is smaller...and yet...you feel this one commands their respect. She (?) motions them aside. Huh. You don't think you've ever seen a female Kasar before, though it is difficult to tell because she is covered in heavy clothes. Only her deep green eyes are seen. This must be...

"Brunhi. I am Brunhi. I lead this clan. I apologize for the unpleasantness you suffered...but a Kasar always means what he says. He said he'd take your weapons if you did not offer them freely, and...you'd do well to remember that, Hu-man.

Now, can you tell me about yourself? What brought you here? And, I will see about removing these chains. Do you find these terms agreeable?" She asks, her voice rumbling perfect midlish.

---
Rankar speaks to the hooded one. He seems to converse with someone (or many someones) only he can see.

"...you offer much, and speak as one who follows Order should. We can provide you must that you seek...but your timing is queer as your circumstance.

It is of no matter now. Do you intend to spend the night? The battle will begin in merely an hour. I will say now-we do not need your aid. We cannot lose. We cannot win. No one mortal can ever change it's outcome. But you can grow stronger for it.

If you do so, I cannot guarantee your safety. But you may gain something you'll find more useful than a sack of food, more than any amount of material things-if you survive. Of this, I will say more if you agree-otherwise, you are best sped to the horizon before...they...arrive. Fate brought you here...and now you must make a choice. It is the way of the Monks of Order, to offer this to everyone who passes by. The lure of a reward beyond the material with no promise of wealth or power at all. Is it wiser to deny? Perhaps...but I leave the ultimate decision to you and your friend. But, choose quickly. If they come while you are here..."

The figure seems to converse once more, before removing his hood. He is but a man, a young one with calm blue eyes and short black hair-and quite sheepish looking.

"I'm sorry if this is all so sudden-I myself am newfound to the order, and I know how it must sound so silly. But, it must be said, all the same."

[filiusenox]

Sol's eyebrow twitches, and he heaves a heavy sigh, spitting some blood on the floor, checking each of his teeth, a sudden feeling of relief bubbling up as he realizes he still has all of them. He tests his chains, instinctively

As do I, Brunhi. Your clan will suffer for this injustice and mockery, and for touching me you filthy, gods-be-damned cows.

But on the surface, a smile flickers across Sol's face, and she dips her head in a slight bow to Brunhi. "One of your people lead me here and told me to meet with you.", she gives a slight huff, looking around, "And then I had a talk with your charming friend and I got my face beaten in. I didn't expect I was so dangerous the whole clan must subdue me, mighty Brunhi."

[Dwarmin]

Solbryn snarks and plots.

"Well, technically it was only one particularly large member of my clan." She says with a casual humor that causes rumbling laughs from her followers.

"We only wished to ascertain what you were doing in the jungle-we have small reason to be wary. Perhaps you are blameless-you revealed yourself and came here of your own free will, after all. Or perhaps Spearmount decided to spy upon us, though that's more than I give them credit for. I merely wished to speak to you without weapons at hand. And most Kasar are typically...what you would call 'blunt' in mannerisms. I did not wish for them to strike you.

But, I do not think a spy would be so poorly dressed anyway, they are usually paid much better. Then, you must be a stranger to these lands? Do you know my clan intends to capture Spearmount? Free my enslaved brothers and sisters? It is the start of something glorious...we Rise. We rise, after so many years in chains. Which of course, makes your position somewhat ironic, yes.

The question is, what role do you play in all this? We will free you if you wish it. If you are a spy or an opportunistic traitor of some sort, feel free to report everything you've see heren. It won't save them...and you might find your reward mighty short indeed-and perhaps shaped like a rope. From what I understand they are killing many of their kind and mine there in the city, seeing traitors in every shadow. Abominable. If only they knew who was really helping us, hmm?

Or...you could instead help us. Brogal, the Kasar you met foraging in the jungle, reports you were nearly invisible until you chose to reveal yourself. We could use that skill to save many lives on both sides, end the fight quicker. You could be paid well, if my guess is right.

Or you could join the rest of them, refugees fleeing down the coast to the larger settlements. I do not know what they are running from, but they should be running faster all the same. Justice is tireless.

Anyway, it's your choice, human. What do you choose to do?"

[Shootandrun]

Rankar gave a side glance to Caellach, though he already knew what his companions' answer would be. He was not one to sit idly while danger prowled, and the priest had intrigued him.

"I will fight with you and yours, priest. If Order is challenged, then its followers must answer its call to arms."

A daring statement. The priest said that he would make no difference, and that their side would neither win nor lose - curious. He was aware of the myths of dualism - order and chaos, fighting an eternal war - but one would have thought that their followers would not be caught in the same balance. Personally, he did not believe a battle's outcome could be decided in advance, whatever the holy man said.

The so-called "reward" also intrigued him, but not as much as he would have thought. While it was interesting, of course, he knew his way around priests, and he was fairly certain that any reward at the end would be at best a few supplies, at worse a promise to go to heaven or whatever those priests called it. Sometimes, they also said that the reward was one's growth in character from having fought a great challenge, though he knew better than believe that alone was worth it.

Still, it had intrigued him, and that combined with his belief that everyone could make a difference had convinced him he would fight.

[filiusenox]

"We rise, we rise..." Sol repeats herself, falling to the side, "Always with this shit." she peers up at Brunhi, before responding in a cordial tone, "Un-chain me and let the harpy out. She's a friend."

She was about to laugh her rear off, to be honest, irony always had hated her."Irregardless, I just climbed up a tree and fell asleep. I'm not a spy. But perhaps I could help you. Will you slaughter the humans?"

[Digital Hellhound]

Chaos

Wendell Madryt

 The mage gives a weak protest when Wendell begins dragging him away as fast as he can. The man slows him down, his weight cracking apart the dry, dead earth. Their breath and movement along the ground are the only things breaking the silence, but even they sound oddly muted. The goblin steadies his nerves, remaining calm for once - the nature of this place, though very unsettling, affects him less than the dangers posed by other living beings.

Wendell finds his arms tiring after a while and draws to a stop for a moment. He sets the mage down against a grey, leafless tree - the forest here is as devoid of life as before, and Wendell can barely decipher one direction from the other. The mage keeps muttering every once in a while, eyes wide. Wendell follows his gaze as it darts around the forest. He seems to be watching the treeline intently, and for a moment Wendell sees a flicker of movement - something tall and humanoid, unnervingly thin. It disappears in the blink of an eye. Regardless, Wendell decides to get a move on.

To his surprise, the mage begins to gradually regain his lucidity. Wendell is sure the forest is beginning to feel more natural once more, a little life returning to the world. It takes the mage a while to say anything, however.

'Something is hunting you, goblin,' he says and chuckles weakly.

His weight suddenly becomes unbearable and before Wendell can turn, he's pushed the goblin forward and is back on his feet. Wendell spins around to prevent him from escaping, but the mage seems to have trouble staying upright still. He puts a hand up as if he expected Wendell to help him.

'It will come for you, sooner or later,' the mage whispers, almost too low to hear. He frowns. 'But... why? How does it resist?'

Wendell ignores his ramblings. 'I want answers. You can give them to me or I can abandon you to die. Your choice, mage. You haven't particularly given me much reason to let you live after binding me. Oh, and one magic trick and I slit your throat. You know I will.'

'Ah... I am not your enemy, goblin. Regardless, we should not be discussing this n-'

The goblin cuts him off. 'Tell me; what do you want with me? Why hunt a goblin who was likely to die anyway?'

'Very well. You are the likely focus of several prophecies House Vethar of Gaolmarc has hoarded for the last six hundred years, relating to the 'Heir of Kremnor' who will open their ancient vault. The head of my order saw fit to send me to provide my assistance to the latest spawn of the family - the youth accompanying me earlier,' he says. 'Is this satisfactory, goblin, or shall I now receive a blade to the gut?'

Amusement twinkles in his eyes - presumably he thinks, perhaps for a reason, that he's just made a vast revelation. He doesn't seem to think he's in a subordinate position or one of any danger. His expression is one of condescension.

Spoiler: Wendell Madryt, Chosen of Chaos (click to show/hide)

Tier I
HP: 30/30
Combat: 1 die
Action: 1 die
Magic: 1 die
Skills and Traits: None
Equipment:
   *Old Crossbow (1d6+1 damage)
   *Boning Knife (1d6-1 damage)
   *Pouch of Coin
Known Spells:
   *Dispel [Avaritia/Difficulty: 6]

Anathema

 A few steps later, Anathema finds what he is looking for. The blue light blinds him for a moment, but finally, he sees.

A procession, thousands long, arrives on the ruined street as he watches. First come two horses, black-eyed, their forms transparent, ethereal. Their hooves make echoing sounds on non-existent cobblestones. On their backs sit ghostly riders, in fine armor, carrying spears and banners. Moonlight falls softly through their bodies. Anathema watches, unable to speak or look away, as they make their way across the plaza, followed by ranks and ranks of long-dead priestesses clad in white, their songs caressing his soul. He catches fragments of words, distant-sounding prayers. They sing songs of grief, loss, the peace of death. Anathema shivers as their sightless eyes rise to meet his.

More follow. Some of them have never been human. Anathema watches what must be hundreds pass, some looking at him or whispering soundlessly. Some are figures of frightening beauty, others monstrous, creatures of fear. None stray from their path.

Memories flicker in Anathema's mind. Many of them seem familiar - others seem to recognize him. The singing continues throughout, with few discernible sources.

What must be hours pass. Anathema does not move, though knows very well he could. These are beings that should not be here. Their spirits should be long gone. If they remain, perhaps others do too...?

He's broken out of his reverie by a voice.

'Champion,' comes a low, echoing voice. Anathema raises his gaze to see a ghostly rider, clad in ornamented, form-fitting armor, and his companion. The ghost removes his helm to reveal startling, Elven features. Inhuman beauty locks Anathema into place. The other removes its helm also - a woman, Anathema can see. A name flashes in his mind - Ellyne, an enemy of his in times long past. She was there to bury him, but time must have taken her too.

'Champion,' the elf repeats. His voice is steady, full of sorrow. 'You are free, and so the world weeps.'

Ellyne studies Anathema with saddened eyes. 'I hated you, when I lived. It seems so pointless, now,' she says. A faint smile plays on her features. 'Leave this city, champion. We could not, and our fates are clear for all to see.'

Anathema finds himself stepping up, facing the riders. They study him curiously, but there is no hostility in their forms - and no life, only an unearthly shadow of it.

Spoiler: Anathema, Chosen of Chaos (click to show/hide)

Tier III
HP: 45/50
Combat: 3 dice
Action: 3 dice
Magic: 3 dice
Skills and Traits: None
Equipment:
   *Obsidian Flute
   *Ancient Gauntlet
   *Stormfinder Amulet
Known Spells:
   *Unknown [Difficulty: 5]
   *Pain [Avaritia/Difficulty: 6]
   *Wards [Superbia & Invidia/Difficulty: 6]
   *Clarity [Luxuria/Difficulty:[/i] 6]
   *Unknown [Difficulty: 7]
   *Mental Shroud [Superbia & Invidia/Difficulty: 8]
   *Unknown [Difficulty: 10]

[IamanElfCollaborator]

"I will be no key to anyone, you damned mage! I will not open a vault for you and your damned employers. I will not be used as a tool, and for this affront, and for almost getting me killed, you will pay! No, I won't merely gut you, no, I'll desecrate your corpse and make you wish I simply gutted you!"

Taken over by wrath at the mage simply dismissing him as a tool to be used, and angered and horrified by the day's events, as well as the revelation, Wendell guts him with the boning knife, twisting it in as he watches the mage's aghast expression.

"You chose wrong when you angered a goblin, and now you will pay."

He slashes upwards into his chest and stabs him several times in the chest and belly, to ensure his death, before cutting his throat to be sure, seething heavily as he did so.
Wendell then stabbed the mage one last time in the skull, before running off, seething in anger. He would kill anything in his way now.

The rage of the goblins had overtaken him.
Wendell, overtaken by wrath, fear and unwillingness to be used as a mere tool, kills the mage and leaves the area before he is found.

[Dwarmin]

Solbryn makes an ultimatum.

Brunhi waves a hand and the chains are removed. Aetha is also let out of her cage, and she flies to your shoulder gladly.

She nods, and speaks to you then.

"Needless to say, war is war. I have told my kind not to perpetuate any atrocities against those who have not raised arms against us, but many will die all the same. But there are many who have suffered long, who when freed will not be so lenient. It is the cost of freedom, sadly.

For my part, I do not wish a slaughter. Nor will I free one people in chains merely to chain another. I only want a place the Kasar can all home.

And now, I leave you to what you will. Your equipment is in the corner there, and if you choose to leave no one will stop you. You can stay here as long as you like otherwise, until you make your decision."

With that, she shuffles out alongside her two guards.

The larger of which, removes your weapons and hands them back to you. He grunts non-committally, which might have been an apology. or a belch.

They leave you alone, and their are no guards you can see hulking outside the tent.

---

Rankar accepts.

The young man seems slightly confused.

"Huh, almost no one says yes...but, anyways!

Since you've agreed, you won't mind a story-but let's talk while we walk. The battle's going to begin very soon...and you'll probably want some warm food in you before it begins. It won't stop until daybreak."

He motions, and you and Caellach follow

Caellach himself seems nonplussed.

"You are the chosen one, Rankar. I suppose this stuff is going to happen all the time now..." he says with a well practiced sigh.

...

The young man speaks as you both eat a hearty meal of vegetable soup and bread. They even have Kasar sized bowls.

"Alright.

Now, despite my stunning good looks and obvious youth, I am not alive." He smiles slightly at this declaration.


"None of us are, the ones who defend this place. We're still flesh and bone, but...we can't die of anything aside from natural aging. At least not permanently. Long ago, before any of us can even remember, this place was...blessed by order. Some say it was a drop of his holy blood that touched the ground as he dueled chaos. Others that there is something special here, that one day may be of use. All we know is that we are here, and every day..."

There is clang of bells from the rooftop. The man sighs.

"Every day, chaos swarms us. Beasts you'd probably call 'vampiyr'-, those undead that subsist on the blood of the living. We believe they are from the opposite temple. Why they attack us, we do not know. But they too, seem unable to perish. No matter what we do, they rise into plumes of ash and take off into the sky come morning, before the sun touches the lands. They are stronger than normal men and women-though they are not solely human-but, not invulnerable. Common steel can part their flesh, and fire causes them pain enough. They are capable of great acts of agility...and, shall we say comeliness? Do not be fooled. They will slaughter anyone whom the ensnare with their beguiling smiles and figures.

We have often wondered what exactly we are. We eat and think and age like normal men, but if slain we recorpreate in the temple altar. It is a task that wearies our souls, yet we have seen the beauty and perfection of this land and as long as they attack us, we will fight them. Now do you see how pointless it may seem? There is no victory, no loss, no territory to gain, or lose. Sometimes they gain the advantage and sometimes we do but once the day comes it is merely reset...over, and over. They are tireless in their need to attack, as we are to defend. We ourselves, cannot leave this place. Whatever power here that has sustained our lives flees when we pass the border. Indeed, the only possible way they can kill one of us is to physically bring us to the borders of this place, but we are not easy to take alive in any case.

Now, I must warn the both of you-they will target you. It is rare they have anyone new to fight. We will defend you as long as we can, but...if you perish here, it will be permanent. Unless you choose to join the order before you pass, as I myself did...I was certain I could survive the night, but they were too strong for me. I was mortally wounded...and between this and darkness, I chose this semi-charmed life. I do not regret it. I have found happiness and peace here, even the love of a woman, whom will not be sundered from me before our natural time. But I say too much! If only we had more time, yes?

And yet, as I said, other men and women of greater martial skill than mine have survived the trials of the night. Those that do are blessed by Order, and carry forth his light into the world. The weapons you carry will cleave chaos ever more sure, if they successfully taste the things which attack us."

The bell begins to ring more insistently.

"And, that is that. Have you anything else to know?"