FateGuard

[DASH=gray]Aloysius eventually tore his eyes from the fire and slowly heaved himself up, letting a soft hiss of breath pass through his teeth at the dull pain he felt. He nodded at Derek, carefully peeling off the dirty bandage from his skull. The wounds on his temples were crusted with thick, dark, and dry blood though it had at last scabbed over. The throbbing pain was now gone and replaced with only a dull sore. His back was bruised but otherwise okay. Out of the pockets under his armor, he pulled out another thin strip of a bandage, this one clean, and began tying it around his head as he walked past his comrades.

"Rest well, friends." He said gently before walking off.

After he was done tying the bandage around his head, he began to inspect his bracelet while walking towards his home for some rest. It had the large, almost unnerving eye that was so familiar to him. It blinked--or did it? One might have thought it was their imagination being playful. Aloysius knew otherwise. He quickly covered it up with his sleeve before looking up at the night sky while he headed towards home.

He braced himself for tomorrow.[/DASH]

Aloysius wishes his companions a restful sleep while he walks to his house to rest for tomorrow.
 
Melody's eyes remained focused downward onto her interlaced fingers as everyone said their parts. Save for the occasional refill of drink and a cursory taste of bread her food remained practically untouched, her trencher laden with all manner of edibles. It was highly likely that the others around her thought of her gesture as not only rude but wasteful, but it was just as likely for her to get her own sustenance elsewhere. She didn't expect anyone to truly fathom the reason why she repeatedly "snubbed" the host of the feasts she attended, but by this point it went without saying that it was something she would do...it would only make her host look even worse if he refused her his feasting table with it's bread and salt. Basic rules of hospitality, etc...but the fear she might have been socially inclined to feel was assuaged by the fact that at the end of the feast the unused trenchers would be passed out among the less fortunate at one of the side gates. In a way, it was her way of forcing a bit of charity to the opulence of the castle's inner sanctum. At the very least someone would be getting a few more scraps to eat that day. It would also give her a little more time....

When all of the feasting and talking had passed, Melody rose from the table and made her way to her chambers briefly, changing from her court attire to something more comfortable and practical. She stretched her arms above her head as she finally breached the gates, making her way down the hill to the hospital. It was the very least she could do, having been absent from the main battle. If her skilled hands could not be used to hurt, perhaps they could be used to heal.

She moved among the throngs of wailing people, a hush following her where she went. The hush was a mixture of silences. A mixture of the heavy silence brought on by those who knew only her reputation and feared some sort of retribution, the strained silence of deep, resigned pain of those who knew what her presence might mean for them and the rare, soft silence of comfort. It was the last one that she felt the most pride in, the soft sighs of a soothed child calming her own nerves in ways that it could not yet realize.

As she moved through the people, kneeling next to cots to daub at sweat slicked brows or whispers soothing words to an injured child, her stormy eyes softened to the color of morning mist. The faint, soft mist that wraps you in its fragile tendrils, cooling your skin as you set out for a hard day's work. The delicate sort of mist that could dissipate at a moments notice, seared away by the burning heat of the sun. Whether or not these people knew that joy or acknowledged it...was an entirely different matter.
 
Observant of the priest's body language, Leonardo quickly deduced this would likely turn into a lengthy discussion. If not a lengthy story for certain. Great care went into carefully sitting on the bedside belonging to Katherine. To stand for the entirety of Father Gregory's tale would simply ask too much after all the FateGuard member had gone through in the last twenty-four hours. Plus, even if he never gave off the vibes of one who might faint, the priest's mannerisms suggested he might want to sit down for this explanation.

Unless it just came from Saint having sore feet.

Listening to every word carefully to ensure full comprehension of this delicate situation came without a doubt. Therefore the bandaged knight put effort into blocking out all disruptive background noises of the hospital. Focus resulted in vivid memories triggered by Father Gregory's words.

I remember that night. Such an ungodly show of organisation for mere skeletons. Aloysius' ever vigilant eyes picked out the leader from the rest. Until then the rest of us had blindly battled our way through their ranks. Once Aloysius told us where to strike everything changed. From there it turned into nothing more than a matter of who could take its skull first. Aylss' arrows managed to reach him before the rest of us could.

A schematic produced before him vanished not a moment later.

Saint absent-mindedly fiddled with the bandages on his face to ensure each one held securely. Minor adjustments for the sake of himself and others. The last thing he needed was for anyone to endure his deformed visage again. But all the while he took in every word Father Gregory said without a single interruption. Curiosity now had too tight a hold for the story to end abruptly. Perhaps it was for the sake of the boy that required him to understand as much as possible. Or did Saint possess the capacity for ulterior motives?

Hardly by chance his eyes glanced over the sketch of Tahan's body covered in scriptures. Both suspiciously close to a certain shade of blue eyes briefly harnessed a sort of divine glow to them. Though more than likely just a mere trick of the light. Perhaps if Saint had undergone such treatment the demons would never have gotten their claws into him. No one could ever be sure of such a theory.

And they chose Tahan for this? Rather than teaching him the scriptures they. . . they branded it to him?! Now they need his faith to stay strong to keep this devilish miasma out. Now it is all too clear why they need someone like me to help him. To help them.

Not a word left his mouth until Father Gregory had finished.

". . .Well Father, I can see how the villagers might not look upon the diligent work of your programme kindly. Yet I still have faith that my guidance can help Tahan. To let him suffer the fate of that dog would be no less than tragic. My willingness to aid him still stands."

Admirable amounts of self-control went into maintaining a stoic outward appearance. For all intents and purposes Father Gregory had just confessed to a bandaged statue. Even the eyes which often gave away his emotions, windows to his soul, had their metaphorical curtains drawn tight. Many would see it as an analytical curiosity taking over in place of human compassion. Risking the chance of losing the opportunity to watch over Tahan was one he could not afford.

Saint stood soon after Father Gregory and offered his hand to him in another handshake.

The implications of what this Chapter aimed for with their goals were nothing less than staggering. Usage of materials taken from fallen monsters put to work for the church. Knowledge of such activities could quickly create an angry mob of frightened villagers who would feel betrayed by the very ones they depend upon for spiritual salvation. Grave robbery from none other than those who rose from the grave themselves.

Or even hell itself for that matter.
 
FateGuard
Night Two: The Helm Street Murders

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"One, two, three - HEAVE!" The men released a chorus of snarls, their muscles tensed, their faces stretched. As one they pulled the ropes as the mud pooled beneath their feet. Corben was amongst them, directing the pace, willing each man to hold his line. The timber frame lifted slowly from the ground and rose towards the scaffold. "Steady... steady!" The arch of timber wobbled slightly as it came perpendicular. Then, with a gentle thud, it dropped against the crook of the cross-beams. The men on the scaffold eased it into place and began lashing it with hemp. With a collective sigh the workers around Corben released the ropes and slapped each other on the backs.

"Alright, give Angus a hand with the thatching." The band of militiamen and farmhands dispersed and Corben turned, pulling on his tunic shirt as he crossed the muddy square to his home. He had slept till midday, and now the chimney of his smithy was pumping out pale smoke into the late afternoon sky, whilst inside the forge glowed crimson. He tried not to notice the fading light... the threat that hung over his comrades in the logging party, who had yet to return from the forest.

"Easy, Clara. Use the rounding hammer on the spade point." He circled his daughter on the porch, watching her sweat over the swaging block. His hand guided hers, miming the strokes. "You can use more force on the shoulder point, but the spade must be fine, to take the punch-bolt." He touched the metal. "It's getting cool. Re-heat it, quickly."

Clara's face was a clenched fist, angry with concentration. She had tied her hair back and tucked it beneath a hat, while dressing in a leather jerkin and apron. One could hardly tell she was a girl, and this was how Clara liked it. Corben's daughter seemed to resent the gender she was born with. She reheated the hinge, selected a rounding hammer, then began hitting the spade point as gently as her temper would allow.

Beside her, Corben took his place at the anvil and with a pair of tongs removed an axe head from the forge. He began hammering, tapering and stretching the hot metal.

"They say the Saint broke the dragon's enchantments." Clara's voice was sharp and abrupt, like always, sounding between the hammer strikes. "He led the others well. He could take over from you."

Corben smiled through the bellow steam at her. "I'm not that old yet."

"Then give him the Guard every other night." She did not look at Corben, but in her fierce eyes was the love she bore him. She worried for him, each sundown, out there amidst the conflict. For all her tomboy ways Clara would rather her father slept beside her in the witching hours. A long silence passed as they hammered their metal on the porch. Beyond them the rebuilt houses were being thatched and fence-posts driven into the ground, forming enclosures for the livestock. Shouts rang out in the evening air as wagons carted bricks to the grain store and daubers hauled sacks of mud and plaster.

"I know your mind, Clara," Corben spoke after a long while, keeping his gaze on the cooling axe-head. "You think my place is here, protecting my home. That is why you harden yourself. The girl in you finds it natural to protect what is blood, forsaking all else." He paused to turn the axe head again. "But if you wish to walk amongst men, you must know that at times we have other callings. We are drawn to try for something grander, foolish though it may be." His eyes drifted across the city skyline, the half-demolished rooftops and the high walls where the first lamps were being lit.

"You love the city more than us?" Again, his daughter was ruthlessly direct.

Corben paused then made his next strike. "That is not so simple a question, Clara."

"Then make it simple."

Slung over the railing of the porch, his armour was freshly polished, his sword laid atop it. It glimmered in the forge light as father and daughter worked. "Simply put... Clara," Corben began, "...if I did not love this city, as much as I love you... then I would have no love at all to give." He plunged the axe head into a bucket of water, the hiss of steam punctuating his answer. "I hope one day that makes sense to you."

She made no reply. They worked on in silence, their hammer strikes falling in perfect rhythm.
 
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"Then I have your word."

Father Gregory reached out to shake Leonardo's hand. Yet although his initial shake had been firm, quick and business like, this one was fleeting and absentminded, for his mind was already ruminating over other matters. The tattoos on Tahan's body were mostly temporary, and he had been using various scriptures from the Bible in hopes of finding a combination that had the greatest effect. A few which he deemed to be particularly effective were already branded permanently onto various places, such as the collarbone, ankles, and wrists. Those he had deemed to be the entryway for the miasma.

As he stepped out, Tahan stepped in, right on cue. The two exchanged nary a glance before the Father was off, striding purposefully down the corridor to the exit. On the way, he passed a familiar face.

What was the matriarch of the inquisitors doing here? He filed the observation into the back of his mind as he passed her and moved towards the main doors to the hospital.

--

Tahan stood in the center of the room, light grey robes draped around him. His eyes fluttered over the room, a slightly glazed quality to them. At length, he opened his mouth, as if he felt the need to make conversation.

"I wonder what children taste like?"

Perhaps he was trying to include the pregnant woman in on the antics.

A grin flickered across his face, wide and predatory. He shook his head and frowned, raising his hands up and shaking them to retract his statement.

"Ah, I meant .. ! I know that murder is wrong." Out of the armour he did not pose much of a threat.

Another smile crossed his face, this one full of conviction and belief. "Because it is written so in the Bible." Uncertainty flickered across his voice. "But sometimes, I am curious."
 
There was the sounds of metal on wood as Derek returuned home and sighed The meeting and the expedition removed any possibility of a decent night's sleep. Standing in the main hall was a girl with long red hair clad in a white long sleeve shirt with a brown tunic and matching pants. Derek's younger sister Annette.

"So how did it go last night? The dragon attacks?

"I ran into the second one on Fargel Street. Held it off till the others arrived and killed it when the others had weakened it. Then the other dragon nearly killed me as it frantically tore the surrounding area apart trying to get to his mate."

"And the king? What did he have to say?"

"He asked for our opinions. The consensus was that we have the archmages alter the weather under the context that the dragons came here because of a lack of food and warmth. We're trying to improve both of those so we could get materials to repair without interruptions"

"...But if the archmages are diverting weather the wards are...you were gone an awfully long time for something like a dragon attack, Derek. I know it didn't last all night, now what aren't you telling me?

"...I lead a FateGuard detachment outside the wall to protect the loggers," Derek shook his head and raised a hand as Ann started fuming, "Ann, no, don't get like that, we didn't go far going far and Atlas warded the area in the archmages' places so--"

"Fine...just this once. Just this once I won't get mad. If the king didn't think you could do it, and I'm assuming those were his orders, he wouldn't have let you do it. Just...don't forget why you're wearing Father's armor...and wielding his sword. Don't end up like him," Ann looked up when she felt her brother's gauntlet on her head. She looked up to see the ebon armor looking back. Derek's voice carried the signature metallic distortion that came with wearing the helmet.

"I won't. I've told you before. I plan on growing old and retiring...If Corben or one of the others come for me wake me up. I want to get a few hours of sleep before I get back to work. I've been awake far too long."

"...Okay.'

Derek would have smiled, but the mask would have hidden it. He walked into the back of the house to his room and sighed. Being in the FateGuard had been causing problems at home for awhile. Derek frowned as he began unstrapping the Regalia to place on the armor stand. As he crawled into his bed, he sighed.
 
Returning to his home would have been welcoming if Atlas wasn't met with a gaping hole in his home. With a groan of exhaustion, he dropped his sack in front of the door carelessly. One could hear his various equipment clatter upon the floor. He had done his best to protect the group, but at the expense of being sucked dry. At one point one of his comrades commented on the paleness of his skin, and Atlas knew that he would soon be blacking out if they didn't get out. No matter... The man had done his job as best he could.

He sauntered over to his bed, which shared the same space as his living room. The curtain in front of his bed was a suggestion from one of Atlas' lovers. She thought the look might separate the room, making it look better. It did separate the room yes, but it also created a place for moths to settle, which promptly fluttered about as Atlas shoved the curtain aside. The man promptly jumped back startled not from the insects, but from the person laying in his bed.

"What the - What in the blazes are you doing here?"

A naked woman smiled seductively from the straw mattress, curled up halfway to better show off her curves. She was a frequent visitor of his, more so than most of the women in the city.

"Is that a proper welcome for me? I've been waiting all night and day for you." The smile left the woman's face, replaced by a deep frown.

"I was out taking care of business - Did you not know there was a dragon here last night?"

"Oh of course I did sweetheart, but you were supposed to be back after you dealt with it. You normally are."

Atlas grumbled as he shed his clothing and climbed into bed with the woman. Instantly her arm wrapped around him in a death grip. "Oof, not so tight love... The mages couldn't work their wards last night and the logging party needed protection. I volunteered to help."

The woman smiled into his shoulder. "Aren't you the helpful sort?"

He allowed himself a sheepish grin. "You think so? I'd like to think of myself as such. Now - I would like some shut eye if you don't mind."

"But Atlas dear - I waited all night for you. Just this once? I'll never ask for another favor ever again."

"You said that the last time you climbed into my bed," His words held a jesting tone. "What worth do your words have now?"

"They still have worth in them, or does it not please you to know that a woman finds you enticing in bed?"

Atlas grinned. "An honest woman. Very well - but next time do wait until I'm home before you let yourself in."
 
Ferrick was walking the streets as he did so soften, but with a limp now from his impact the other night. He forced his breath to come slow and measured, minimizing the pain. He found himself walking from an area of the city relatively untouched from the attack into an area where the where the repairs hadn't come yet. Walking from the light into the dark.

He stood at the edge of the last lamp still lit, wincing as he wrapped an arm around his torso as he took one long, deep breath. He reached to his belt and pulled his torch out from it's loop and ignited it. As the flames sprang to life he winced at the sudden brightness, holding the torch far away as he adjusted to having this new light so close. It had been a few days since Ferrick had to rely on his torch, maybe his eyes had gotten unused to it. But he had to keep going, had to keep looking. Looking for... for anything harmful.

The people who lived in this area hadn't come back yet, the damages not terrible but enough to make the houses miserable to spend the night inside. The houses on the end of the list of repairs, not fast enough to do quickly nor drastic enough to require starting early. Of course no one had come through to light the empty streets, but just because there were no humans here didn't mean there couldn't be anything here.

He held the torch high in the air as he walked down the darkened street, feeling an irrational sensation of loneliness. He was insid ethe city, certainly not more than a few minutes from an inhabited area, but just leaving the light made him feel alone. And that feeling of loneliness frightened him. Even if he wasn't the friendliest member of the Fateguard he couldn't stand that deep isolation. But he also wasn't about to find another member just to humor his need to stay vigilant.

Some of the alleys between buildings were narrow, so close that it seemed as though the structures would soon lean over into each other and cover the space completely. Ferrick stopped at one of those narrow spaces, looking at the blackness as if that alone would be enough to let him see inside, but it wasn't. He stepped in to the alley, holding the torch high and forward, even at the light illuminated what was inside.



Soon after, he was walking down the lit streets with a clear purpose, his gaze ahead, with no distractions. His face was solemn though, the corners of his lips pulled into a frown. He heard what he was looking for before he saw it, the sound of a hammer meeting metal.

Ferrick nodded in greeting to Clara as he found the pair working to shape metal, stopping to straighten and rest one hand on his side, where he had hit the wall last night, the area where he impacted still painful. But he refrained from leaning on his spear or appearing as though it was impacting his performance. "Corben... we need to assemble the Fateguard, there's been a murder. Whatever did it wasn't human.

"Something is inside the city walls."
 
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A sharpened gaze fell upon Tahan for his initial words. Focused into each immaculate indigo iris, an aura seethed from those eyes with a silent wrath unlike any mere man. Undeniable to any who bore witness to the gaze. Never did the bandaged hand raise itself in anger nor did venomous words more potent than any serpent leave his mouth. Only the gaze.

". . . ."

A moment later, came what resembled muffled chuckling.

Saint shook his head, approached his young ward without an iota of the emotions from just moments ago. Blond hair wavered in unison with each footstep while the white robed figure closed in like a moth to the flame. Without any provocation his right hand came to rest on the left shoulder of Tahan. Not single word left his mouth until both stood over the unconscious Katherine.

"Do you see this woman, Tahan? Her name is Katherine. The last words she spoke before dosing off were a request to find her missing husband. I promised her that I would do everything in my power to find him. But. . . she failed to describe him. So-"

Gently, Saint's left hand went to Katherine's shoulder while releasing Tahan from his other hand. Once her eyes opened the green-eyed woman grew concerned.

"Have you found him yet? Have you found my Johan?"

"Not yet. Earlier you failed to describe him tome. . . and give me your last name."

"Oh of course! How foolish of me! Our last name is Bell. And Johan is a slightly stocky man about your height with olive skin, black hair, and brown eyes."

"Thank you. I shall return soon. Come Tahan."

Minutes after the two left, they returned with another accompanying them. A man who matched Katherine's description perfectly by the name of Johan Bell. Nearly jumping out of bed in joy, the pregnant woman found herself outmatched by the speed of her equally joyous husband. Immediately he took to her bedside.

Leonardo merely nodded at the pair in silence before picking up the Combat Crucifix and leading Tahan away from the couple. Not even waiting to hear if they thanked him or not. Perhaps all that really mattered was that they thanked the Lord above for their good fortune. The same good fortune which had brought a dragon's flame upon their house and injured Katherine. While both FateGuard members walked toward where Saint slept in his off time, he asked Tahan a question.

"Do you know why we helped that woman?"

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Completely locked away behind a reinforced door, Saint slept on his bed with restless dreams. Flashes of vivid and violent imagery plagued him relentlessly. Instructions had been given to Tahan before entering the room for the young man to never enter. Not when he was asleep at least. Leonardo also told Tahan not to leave the house and to instead try getting some rest as well. He had also left the young man with a book to read in case the boy awoke before him and a key to the spare room down the hall from his own inside the small house that Saint called his own.

A strange aura came from behind the door to Saint's room.
 
[dash=brown][bg="#330000"]"Grandma!" Helga cried, sitting up and crossing her arms. "You're telling us the boring part!"

Finn joined in, "Yeah! What happened on the lugging trip, with Derek and Erilyn and Elayna?"

The grandmother frowned. "Settle down now. As I said, the expedition went well and
everyone came home safe."

"But SOMETHING must've happened!" Helga threw her hands in the air, dramatically.

"Well, that was the thing about Gothenheim in those days. When the sun was up, no one had
cause to fear. The land was wild, unspoilt - a paradise you might say. People were afraid to
go out. They were superstitious. They thought the evil was watching them. But no one ever
got hurt in the daytime."

"But what did Atlas do?" Finn protested. "What spells did he cast?"

The grandmother lifted the book again. "What's with all these questions? Don't you want to
hear about what Ferrick found on Helm Street?"

"Yeah!" Finn cried. "Tell us about the murder!"

As her brother fell for the grandmother's distraction, Helga simply scowled.
[/bg][/dash]
 
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Corben's hammer froze in the air, the sparks settling between himself and Ferrick. He had lost track of time, for the sun had set as he shared the evening silence with Clara. The time for home and family had ended - this was the marshall's first thought as Ferrick appeared. The second was that Ferrick had clearly ignored Corben's advice to rest up following his injury last night.

The third thought was of what the watchman had come to report.

Corben's face went pale at the mention of murder. The sun had only just passed the horizon and already dark deeds were unfolding. Usually it was by midnight or the witching hour when trouble reared. This was all too soon. He had to hope, however morbidly, that this was merely a drunken squabble turned tragic.

He reached across and put a hand on Clara's shoulder. "Clara, run to Castan's. Have him send word to the others, to meet us at..." He glanced to Ferrick.

"Helm Street," Ferrick said.

"...to meet us at Helm Street. Go now. Run!"

Clara dropped her tools and leapt from the porch, dashing past Ferrick and down the main street. Corben, meanwhile, snatched up his sword and sheath, having no time to don his armour. He moved inside his house, holding up his hand to bid Ferrick wait. Inside, beyond the workshop, a small lamp lit the single room where Corben and his family lived. Opaque veils divided the space - a small corner for Clara to nest in, the main bedroom to the left, and a living space around the hearth, where cooking pots were mounted. There Corben's wife, Amadea, was sewing patches to a dress. Though in her nightgown, the woman kept her dark hair tied up and away from her face, the cheekbones high to frame the glint in her eye. She held her posture, even as she sewed, and her skin was powdered-pale.

"This is just the beginning. You know that."

Corben moved past her and through the bedroom veil, fetching his cloak from the bedpost. "I am needed."

"Did you really think there would be no consequence when your spurned the Arch Mage?" Amadea set down her sewing and brought her callused hands together. "You have given the Guild just the excuse they need to hoard their magics for themselves."

"Amadea, there is no time for this."

"When, then?" she rose, equalling her husband's height. "When you are firmly in the pocket of the Bishop? Mark me, Corben, the Church will use you no less than the mages. That golem he puts among your ranks is proof enough of his guile."

Corben pulled his cloak around him, "You speak as if there is civil war. Do we not have enough enemies without your inventions?"

"You are not a warrior anymore, husband. You are a Marshall of the Council. And you must play the game. Crown, Guild and Church. Forsake one, and the others will devour you."

"And if they forsake us," he answered with a grin, "They'll all be defenceless."

Amadea moved closer, helping him fix the cloak. She smelled of perfume, even at his late hour. Her skin was immaculate. "The FateGuard, maybe. But not you. The Bishop, the King and the Arch Mage are watching your Corben. Should either think you weak or too favouring... they will remove you. It happened with Eric."

"Eric retired by his own choice."

"You really believe that?"

He pulled away. "Enough! I am needed at the Watch. When Clara returns, bolt these doors till sunrise." He felt Amadea's eyes on his back as he buckled his sheath and jogged down the porch, following Ferrick out into the night and towards Helm Street.
 
[DASH=gray]"Now, please. Surely you could just let me for a little while..."

"Nope, sorry. We're under strict orders from Corben."

Aloysius frowned. The bandage that used to fit snugly around his head had been taken off, showing off the two wounds on his temples. Another bandage wrapped around his waist with a mixture of herbs bunched to his back was now present on him. The herbs were to soothe the sore in his bruised back. He wanted to help with the men and their tasks...but Corben had beat him to it. He spotted him helping the men, pulling the ropes with them. Aloysius was standing, arms crossed.

"My back isn't that bad." Aloysius argued. "Really, Corben will understand." He reached for a nearby rope but the man gently pushed his hand away.

"Sorry, 'Loysius. Strict orders. No letting you help and straining your back."


Aloysius gave a sigh of defeat and gave up. "Alright...If you insist." He turned around and walked from the muddy square. Really, he back wasn't that bad...he felt one of his vertebrae give a groaning crack as he winced. Some parts might have been less than okay, but had felt this feeling many times before. It wasn't a new one; in fact, it was almost like a good friend. Anyways, he decided he would pass the time at the library run by the church. It was private but the FateGuards were allowed to visit it. He was the one who was in it the most, reading different kinds of books on different genres.

"Corben...why do you torture me so?"
Though he was shaking his head, Aloysius was grinning, knowing that he friend meant the best. Whether he liked it or not.


Peace...tranquility...This library is my second home.


Aloysius scanned the aged pages of the book, occasionally turning a page from time to time. The library was usually quiet, with some scholars reading, writing, working, or discussing quietly. Among those was Aloysius's older sister, Jenra. She worked as a scholar in the library, and thus was filled with much information. She shared her brother's quiet manner and white hair, though was no where as near as observant as he was (though to be fair, not many are). Walking through the aisles looking for a book, she spotted him reading again. Some days she would have completely ignored him and went on with her job. Now, she sat down at the table he was at and studied his features briefly, taking note of the bandage around his waist. Aloysius made no acknowledgement of her arrival.



"Had some trouble?" Jenra finally broke the silence. She was obviously amused.

"Why, yes. How keen of you to notice." Aloysius did not look up once. "Looking for another book? Writing another document?"

Jenra was not startled by his close observations. She was quite used to them. "Yes. Yes. I saw you stab that dragoness and blind her. Good work."

"Why thank you, Jenra. Coming from you, that must be quite a compliment." Aloysius used a finger to flip a page.

Jenra smiled. "Rest up, 'Sius. Don't strain yourself."

Aloysius looked up this time, his pale eyes meeting his sister's slightly brighter eyes. He gave a grin. "Corben has that job already."

"Well, I'd take his advice."
She got up, her robes rippling like water at the movement. "I must get back to work, 'Sius."

Aloysius nodded and looked back down at his book while she left. A few more quiet minutes in his secluded corner with reading passed. He was completely submerged in the ancient tales that were written in his book. He was so deep into his reading, he ignored the sharp tap to his shoulder. A hand quickly put down the book he was reading. Jenra was back but now she seemed worried.

"Jenra?" He stood up rapidly, placing the book on the table. "Is there word from the FateGuards? Something bad?" A killing, perhaps?

Jenra nodded, eyes filled with concern. "They say to meet on Helm street...it's serious."Without another word, Aloysius had exited the library. Outside, he directed his eyes in the direction that Helm Street would be. The orange glow reflected in his white hair like a blade, glinting a light crimson. He quickly ran towards Helm Street, dashing with skill to his destination.[/DASH]

Aloysius attempts to help the men with the timber but due to orders from Corben, the men won't let him. He goes to the library and has a quick chat with his sister before learning about the meeting on Helm Street. He goes to said location for the meeting.
 
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There had been little cause for all the worry that had surrounded the expedition outside the wall. Superstition and attacks by night made the townspeople more afraid than they needed to be of the beautiful land outside of the town. During the day, however, the entire mood of their wilderness changed to a land of verdant plant life and glorious growth. The outside land seemed to be thriving and flourishing, naturally beautiful and wholesome, and it was hard to think that this was where the threat to the town came from. Since they were out in the bright light of day, the monsters that might lurk in the shadows did not make themselves known. Instead of a harrowing journey, the expedition was instead rather peaceful and calming, which made Erilyn feel rather guilty now about being on this glorious nature walk instead of remaining behind to help with what needed to be done in the town. For all the terrified expectations that were baseless, Erilyn found instead a new cause of unease. The golem that was sent by the bishop made her very skin crawl.
One back safely inside the walls, Erilyn found her adoptive brother hard at work with the fires of his trade. The look on his face was a mixture of relief and vexation for her, one that she was familiar with and had seen many a time before grace his features. She had made him worry again, not a surprise as he knew well how her parents had perished. She wanted to reassure him that she was all right and to repeat to him how the town needed her, but she hadn't the heart to do so quite yet. She would let his fuss over her, mother and worry to his heart's content before arguing with him.
Smiling weakly, she approached him and he almost smiled at her clinking gently due to the armor. She was hard to ignore, with her steady footsteps each bringing the sound of moving metal that jangled against itself. When she was standing in front of him at last, she held her arms out on either side of her body, up far enough away that it would be easy to remove the armor. She could not remove it herself and she could do very little until it was off of her. Shaking his head, her brother finished the last touches on what he'd been working on and then set his hammer down. Fortunately, he'd been nearly finished with the piece when she arrived, so he could extinguish the flames.
"I was worried sick about you, Eri, hearing that you were venturing outside the walls... without even the protection of the mages! You have no idea, I thought you were going to be carried back here heaped on top of your shield. I don't know why you insist on doing this, even. You don't make as much money as I do, they hardly pay you at all considering how much danger you're in every time you don that armor. You ought to just give up all of this danger and politics, with the bishop and the arch mage tugging you around as if a horse with two sets of reins..." she let him talk himself into an eventual silence, watching instead his deft fingers remove the chain mail. She had set her shield down already, since it would have been nearly impossible to remove the armor with that in hand. Her sword had been laid down as well, glimmering a little less brightly in the light as it still had traces of the blood from the dragon's eye.
Erilyn opened her mouth to respond when he cut her off, his expression somber. He was holding the mail in hand, having finally finished freeing her from it, but did not move to hang the mail on its wooden stand. Instead, he was lingering in front of Erilyn. "You're going to meet your death out there one of these days if you don't listen to me, Eri. You'd be better off staying here and learning to sew or do something that won't get you killed. You could even learn to help me out or use my materials to craft jewelry to sell. All of these things would ensure that you live a long life. Going out night after night to fight the beasts who hail from shadows and nightmares, you'll die young."
The implication that she ought to be doing women's work was almost enough to make Erilyn lose her temper. Only reminding herself that he was the only family she had left and that he worried about her endlessly was enough to quell the indignation that had flared to life with his suggestion that she take up sewing. Erilyn turned away from him, taking the mail from his hands as she did so to lay it across the wooden table. The links each glowed as though burning with an inner fire, though she knew it to be the links reflecting the light around them. With the armor off of her, the light tunic beneath was visible, along with the heavy chains wrought from no material she recognized that hung around her throat. With her hands empty, her fingers curled absentmindedly around the chains. They were precious to her, a gift from the arch mage, and she never took them off for fear that one might steal them away.
"Evain, I know that your heart is in the right place and I regret making you worry so much, but do not try to force the duties of a woman upon me. That is not my calling, my calling is to defend the city and its people from all that would harm it. I go out there with my sword in hand so that I can promise myself you will be safe for another day. These people need me and I will not let them down, I won't let you down." He was silent, no further arguing to be had. He knew that he would not change her mind about this and if he pushed her any further, he was worried that he might lose her. She could simply collect her few cherished items and leave, this he knew well. Thus he met her statement only with a clenched hand and, after a few quiet moments, a change of subject.
"Just be safe, then. There's bread and stew waiting for you. You should eat it before it gets any colder." Gratefully, she took the bowl and the hunk of bread, dipping the slightly hardened remainders of the loaf into the thick broth to soften it up. She ate slowly, content with her meal, but as she was finishing, she was interrupted by her brother, who had been outside arranging his things for the next day.
"It sounds like something is amiss in the town, Eri. I can't be sure, but you might want to check it out. I'm sure that if anything is going on, the night's watch will know about it." He was already lifting her chain mail to aid her in putting it back on. She offered in return a wan smile, accompanied by a hug. The familiar weight of her armor over her chest with the sword on her hip and the shield in hand made her feel secure. Bolstered by the tacit support of Evain, for his information he was not obligated to give, Erilyn exited the house. Her first few steps were as quiet as she could make them while she listened for telltale sounds of something wrong. At least there were no monstrous roars.
 
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Father Gregory removed the glasses from his face, pinching his nose bridge tightly and massaging the pressure point. Tonight would be impossible. Tahan would not suit up tonight. Normally, when things invaded the general area was cleared and the FateGuard were allowed to work without too many open eyes and ears in the area. But the way things were happening .. he would not be able to parade him out like this.

Grim-faced, he pulled his priest's robes around him and ascended the stairs from his dank study room, deep in the catacombs of the Church, into the dusk and strode with purpose towards Leonardo's house.

----

Tahan sat quietly in the corner of the room, perusing the book that the man .. Leonardo? had lent to him. He idly flipped through the pages, but his mind was blank. He shook his head and tried to think.

Thinking was hard. When was the last time he had done that? Furthermore, when was the last time he had read a book? He clenched his eyes shut, and tried to remember what having a mind full of things was like. But all he got was grey, grey in the landscape that was supposed to be his imagination. A feeling swirled around in the endless purgatory. It was red. Slowly, it crystallized into something. It agitated him, made him clench his hands and unclench them, and made him want to ..

He could see things now, inside his mind. A deep growling laughter erupted from his lips, but he did not have lips. Glancing down, he only saw a ribcage, connected to a spine that led up to his head, presumably. Looking up again, he watched his own hand swing down the sword it gripped, cleaving a man clean in half ...

His eyes snapped open as the pendent on his necklace rattled. The skeleton's jaws quivered, shaking in a silent laugh. He looked down at the book, and carefully folded the tip of the page over to mark his spot.

Knock, knock. As he knocked on the Leonardo's door, Gregory's knuckles rang out two sharp raps on the door of the house.

"We are needed, Saint." His voice was thin and floated through the door.
 
Of all the men and women in Gothenheim, none so looked forward to the setting of the sun so much as Malwin. Ironically, it was only when the holy light of day had faded that he was given back his sight. As far as curses went, it was strangely effective in ostracizing him. Corbin kept him at arms length, suspicious of his movements and condition even has he welcomed the assassin's poisons. Saint hated him, completely, wholly, as if he was the walking stain of infidelity...

As if? He was.

There was no more complete definition of the phrase "Sins of the Father" than his own mottled existence. But in all these things, Malwin walked in stride. His position, his accolades, the condition of his family...these were all his to care for and manage. No one else was so important as to tell him his lot in life. Not a scarred blacksmith, not shifty archers, not lecherous mages, and certainly not self righteous fools like Saint. He was his own.

He gave himself an excuse to leave his home that eve, the constant wheezing of everpresent death had grown on his conscience heavily and he needed the air. His wife clung to life solidly, strongly, gulping air like water while his daughter was the quieter, only holding on to life because he willed it so. Without his care, she would slip into that eternal night.

Malwin and Malwin alone stood between her and the reaper's glistening scythe.

His daggers were on his person and the night tasted like murder, like monster. From whence his ability to sense them came, he knew not. Perhaps it was the curse itself, linking him to those unholy denizens even as it consumed the light from his eyes. In any case, there were more than humans behind the wall of Gothenheim. Some of his comrades smelled of the taint, a putrifaction gnawing at their heart and soul...seeping into their body and stealing humanity from its resting place.

To fight the monsters, one must become the monsters.

And in that philosophy, his lips were sealed.

Only until they had truly lost themselves, abandoned that last vestige of morality would he open up that secret board beneath his wife's bed. There, nearly complete vials rested in rich cloth, heavily protected from the damages Gothenheim's foes would bring. The years he served with the Watch had made the process difficult, and some did not bleed so much as others. But here were the incomplete vials of poison, personalized for each member.

He considered returning to them, tracing a pale finger along their cold contours, imagining the agony they would bring. Each poison different to the victim, their perfect antithesis. Had anyone know the daggers could be used in such a way? Perhaps...perhaps not. In any case, it was doubtful they were expected to be used in such a way.

Malwin blinked in the shadow, shapes swimming into focus through the gauze across his eyes. He removed the bandages slowly, spooling them together and placing them in a pocket before taking to the streets. A miasma of malignancy clung to the cobblestone and crowded buildings, a thick smog of latent energy and the souls of the dead. Gothenheim....was this the last? Were there any other humans out there? It was guessed, but never said, that they were indeed the last...the only candle guttering in a dark room.

He took to the rooftops, his softly clad feet making little noise as he hopped the gaps above the street. He must have looked a sight, a monster with flailing cloak easily navigating the skyline. Indeed, he couldn't do this before his accident with the monster...never had as much reason to train himself so diligently. Now these movements seemed simple, childish even.

The sense of corruption drew him to the victim, the body splayed beneath him in the alley. Gripping the edge of the nearby roof, Malwin dropped down and strode over the victim. The body was nearly torn to pieces, something vicious that ate as well as tore. There was not simple survival here, but the perversion of nature. A predator took the prey and did not sup upon its flesh...so, it was indeed a monster. Only malice could carve so deeply without reason. Kneeling, he traced a line through the blood on the mans face, withdrawing the finger and tasting the blood. The rest would be here soon, but he took a private moment to analyze the taste. There was something else, along with the tint of metal that came with all blood. There was terror, the fear of being hunted.

This man, at least briefly, knew his opponent.

Stepping away from the body, Malwin went up the building again, hand over hand. Crouching near the edge of the roof, he watched Helm Street for familiar shadows, warding away blinking as if to make up for all the time he was blind by daylight. A man who saw at all hours could not appreciate sight. They missed things, were sloppy...took it for granted.

Curse or not.

It had made the assassin stronger.
 
After a few knocks and the sound of Tahan's voice, noises of life stirring came from Saint's lonely little room. Life which some villagers whispered existed on a tier beyond simply 'charmed'. Yet no one would ever say they wanted to switch places with the deformed man who adorned himself in bandages so hastily. Only during times of rest could he bear to go without any concealment of the horrifying visage left to him by vicious devils.

Who could ever learn to love such a face when even I cannot bear to look upon it? Never love. . . at most pity. But revulsion will never be rare. Oh no it won't. The rest of my life I'll be just a step above a leper.

Sorrow-filled eyes stared at what stood before the mirror as hands moved quickly to hide what he wanted no one, including himself, to see. Fingers trembled with despairing rage that fueled him during fights every bit as much as his faith. Every time he awoke for his duties that horrid visage awaited him without fail. Inescapable memories surfaced each time he looked upon himself and tortured the disfigured blond relentlessly. Behind a heavily locked door he slept alone every single night since the incident. Right up to this very night no one truly understood just how he had survived demonic torture.

Donned in less than a minute, the white robes of redemption he wore proudly onto the battlefield brought a soft smile to what remained of those lips underneath the bandages. Yet again the attire hung on him without a tear or any sort of taint leftover from fighting the Dragons last night. Just like the day he had received it in recognition for his dedication to the FateGuard. A blessing from no less than the mages and wizards themselves. Picked up from where it rested against the door, the Combat Crucifix soon found itself balanced against the shoulder of it's wielder.

Clank. Clank. Clank.

Locks were undone and released, thus freeing the blond from a self-imposed prison. Tahan stood there without the armor which had helped to save the city Leonardo loved so much. Ocean blue orbs examined him for any sort of weapon while his head tiled curiously. Not even a butter knife on the younger's person. Leonardo motioned for him to follow all the way to the door whereupon opening it he found none other than Father Gregory waiting.

"What has happened Father?"

 
Despite her fast movements, Ann's footsteps made no noise as she slipped into her brother's room and gave him a soft, but urgent shake, "Derek? Derek. Derek wake up," she was about to shake him harder when he sighed heavily.

"How long have I been asleep?"

"About five hours, but that's not important. Someone has been murdered," Derek sat up and shook his head.

"What!? Where?"

"Helm Street,"

Derek stood up and grabbed his tunic before he stepped into the boots of the Regalia, "Ann, when I leave bolt the door. If a light can be seen from the window, douse it. If you think someone is in here, don't try to fight. Just take your lance and get out," Ann froze.

"What are--"

"Don't ask questions. We'll talk about it another time. Are we clear?"

"...Yes." Derek finally slid the helmet onto his head and peered out the window along the streets. The windows were dark all the way down. A sigh of relief echoed in his helmet. As urgent as this sounded he would have to run. Several people had a tendency to panic if they saw a member of the FateGuard leave the house and take off running in the middle of the night. Giving his sister one last nod as she handed him Alondite, Derek opened the door and waited to hear it close and lock behind him. The last sound's Ann heard before all went silent was the sound of metal boots on stone.

"Watch over him, Father.

.......
...
..........

Derek paused as he came up on Helm Street, listening and looking for anything out of place. No noise. Was Derek the first one to arrive? That carried an inherent risk. If it was just a common murderer there was no threat to him. No run of the mill weapon wielded by some cutthroat would be able to pierce his admantite armor and they'd merely look foolish for trying. Something from beyond the wall however would prove far more dangerous and raise many more questions. As he walked through the area, he paused. Continuing to listen and look. Finally satisfied he was safe for the time being he turned a corner. Seeing two figures in the distance he waved his arm to flag them down before moving to join them giving them both a nod.

"Corben. Ferrick. Am I the first one to arrive?"
 

Alyss had felt more in her element within the wilderness, and she was soon hunting for the herbs and plants that she had planned to get for her mentor. A flower with a bright white star-shape in the center of black petals, with purple stamen and a dark green stem with wide leaves; Herbs with curled leaves and small, thin, long vines that clung to the trunks of trees, with tiny little yellow flower buds hanging from the ends; a bright red, tightly closed flower that only grew in dark shadows and bloomed at night, with orange pollen and stamen that was fuzzy and curly; she collected each specimen, and collected what she could to try and bring back something that she might be able to cultivate back home. Then she found one other plant.

Not many people knew why her mentor had given her the name Alyss- it was after a small plant, a flowering herb that bloomed under thick snow, a treat to some animals, who found the buds tender and sweet- it had many small tiny white flowers, with blue stamens- and after snow melted, and spring was just around the corner, sometimes in fields of Snow Alyss there would be what appeared to be a blue smoke or mist- it was the pollen, floating around in the air. It was uncommon within the walls- expensive to buy as well, but was plentiful out here, and Alyss smiled at the small little patch- then took a small sample, hoping that she could grow some of her own- it was a plant that could be made into a alcoholic beverage, and had calming qualities.

There were also some stories that the pollen, in heavy quantities were hallucinatory.

She had enjoyed her time with the group, and when they walked back through the walls, she was almost sad to leave the wilderness.

The archer took her time getting back to her home, but as she walked through the door, the mentor was there, looking almost happy to see her, or maybe her eyes were playing tricks on her- she quickly pulled out all the plants that she had retrieved, proud of herself, while he worked to take samples of all of them, then prepped them to hopefully grow in small pots that he had prepared. He raised a brow to the sight of the Snow Alyss, though he gently tucked it into its own pot, with a small caution that it was a hard plant to grow and it had little chance of surviving- handing it to Alyss and watching as the lithe archer nearly skipped off to her room, stashing the pot next to her bed, near to the sunlight cast from the window. She sat there next to it, motionlessly watching it for a long time.

As she looked at the flowering herb, she was disturbed by the sound of footsteps approaching; her mentor stood by the doorway with a puzzled look on his face.

"You got an herb that I didn't need.... an herb to ease coughing, clear the lungs- we have plenty of that already." He stated questioningly.

"One of the servants has a bad cough, and she's been taking the normal herbs, and they're not helping her.... I wanted to see if these would." She spoke quietly, never taking her eyes from the flower.

"She's.... been..... You've been giving her my herbs?" He asked, now seeming more perplexed.

"Yes, she's been working for you for years, the least we can do is take care of her... Plus, she's expecting... I wanted.... to do something to help." Alyss offered back, a small smile on her face. Her eyes moved, glancing up at her mentor. "Please, let her rest for a few days, let her have those herbs..." She paused as one of the other servants walked into the room, a wary look on her face.

"There is something going on in the streets. Something of a commotion... I didn't want to disturb, but it seems to be important."

Alyss rose silently, already moving for the door, grabbing her quiver and bow on the way out.

As she crossed the threshold, she hoped that the small flowering plant in her room would survive at least until she got back. Making her way, by listening to the people talk, she found where the commotion was and followed it. It was then that she happened across a few others of the FateGuard and silently joined them.
 
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Ferrick and Corben arrived at the alley to find Derek there waiting. He felt a brief surge of relief at seeing an ally here so quickly, but the he turned back and saw that Alyss had joined them at some point. Well, it was time to tell the others what he'd found. As he lit his torch once more, wincing again at the brightness, the sudden flash did illuminate soething on the roof. "Not quite," he said to Derek as he saw Malwin there.

He stepped into the alley now, finding a crack in the wall, wide enough to wedge the torch handle into to let it illuminate the scene. The body had been torn by savage claws, the marks left across his arms and face. His chest was cut deeply, and his throat was all but missing. Flies were buzzing around the body, some signs of decomposition were visible.

Ferrick stood by the body, sighing, his stance becoming more formal, as he started to report. "I was patrolling through this neighborhood early this evening. There weren't any lights, but I saw a mound in this alley that I thought was suspicious. The body was covered by some debris pulled from the house," Ferrick nodded to a space that might have once held a window, but now was just an opening into the building. "I had to move that aside to see the corpse.

"I think he might have died late last night... after the dragons were killed. I don't think anyone has really been through here since, if they were they weren't here long enough to investigate.

"There is one more thing though..." Ferrick stepped close to the body, using his spear to bring attention to something discarded, knocked aside. As he nudged it under the torch's light, it was a knife, of the kind any commoner would have carried. Most important, though, was the dried blood along the blade. "Whatever attacked him, it looks like he fought back. Just not enough to live."

"I don't suppose any of you would happen to be familiar enough with the monsters to tell us what we need to look for... But we need to start looking, soon, it could still be in the city walls, hiding in any dark corner. We need to find it, can't let it kill again."
 
"We have trouble."

Father Gregory grit his teeth in agitation, the skull and crossbones jangling on the iron chain around his neck. He had just received the news himself.

"As it stands I will not be able to send the legionnare tonight."

Tahan had already taken up a subservient position behind the father, hands folded in front of him, eyes gazing vacantly at the floor.

"That does not mean," and here for the first time Gregory allowed himself the luxury of a mischievous smile, "that Tahan is not combat ready. Please have him accompany you to Helm street." With that said, he did not allow much room for discussion and departed again. Apparently, he was quite a busy man. His sudden departure left a vacuum into which silence readily flowed, but Tahan had already lifted his head, staring straight into Leonardo's face. His pupils had sharply contracted, and the intense glare he gave the bandaged man showed a different kind of attitude. It was one of someone slipping into a mode of action learned so well it was nearly mechanically ingrained.

He gave one nod and turned around, rapidly striding to the street. About twenty paces on, he stopped and turned to look over his shoulder, then sprinted off into the side street, leaning forward for momentum and keeping his hands behind him.

---

Later, he had already come to rest on one of the rooftops, looking over Helm street. When Tahan tried to remember where these things had come from, he could not. But finding footholds to ascend the walls of the houses was quite simple, and he found that he had enough strength to pull his own weight up. Incidentally, he ended up on the opposite side of the street to Malwin. However, once he was there, an overwhelming sense of not knowing what to do flushed through his mind. What was he doing here exactly, why were there people with weapons all around, and why was there a dead body in the alleyway?