Davena chuckles at the suggestion that the party was concerned for her well being.  "Thank you for your care, Brother Moreno, but Garn and I are more than capable of taking care of ourselves."

At the mention of the other victim, she nods.  "I assume that you are speaking of the priest of D'hurgen?  The one leading this horde of the living dead?  We slew him ourselves in the hopes of dispersing this lot.  As for your equipment and rest - I would suggest that you see to your gear, then let us find a defensible spot to heal and recover your magics.  Agreed?"

Davena makes no reply to the quip about her smallclothes, though in better light, you might have sworn that a smile touched the corners of her mouth.  "Truly," she speaks, "Garn and I are happy to see you all still alive."  Truth be told, Garn's expression suggests that he could not care less either way, but in your lmited experience, the man has always been either stoic or angry; he may possess no other actual emotions.

She does pause.  "Wait... did you not travel with another young man?  A thurmaturge of some stripe, was he not?"

"Aye," Midge answers huskily.  "Young Atharis was killed by one of the giggling bastards back in Crandel."

Davena nods slowly.  "I see.  I am... sorry for your loss.  The death of a companion is a difficult thing."

She glances sideways at Garn, who frowns, before she continues.  "Garn and I are looking to find the source of this evil.  We have heard that a shrine to the death god may be hidden in a cave system nearby.  We plan to explore there on the morrow.  If it is well defended, we might may find greater favor in numbers.  Would you be inclined to investigate with us?"

 “You were supposed to run, my brave Little Kitten,” Ch’dau rumbled to Kith before sitting them both against a tree.

The roguish woman, silent for a moment, scanned the battlefield and a great weariness seemed to overtake her.  She tilted her head back against the tree, hardly able to keep her eyes open; “Me? Run? Yeah f***ing right.” She rolled her head so that she could look up at him with as little effort as possible, “I was the distraction, Big Kitten. You lot were supposed to run. Saving this gods-forsaken world is supposed to be more important than this gorgeous, thieving ass.” Kith grinned, weakly gesturing to the gore covering her from head to toe.

The cat-man snorted out a chuckle at that, his own exhaustion evidenced in the weakness of the sound. “I would have no world if not for that thieving ass,” he chuffed, his head lolling back against the tree trunk and his eyes closing for a moment, “This battle was for you, not the world.” One eye opened as his shaggy head turned in her direction and his ears flicked with mirth; “Besides, kazari do not run... Kh’ur Kithran.”

((OOC: Anything here&hellip)

Kith’s gaze skipped away, again, seeking out the others and brightening a bit when they are all found alive if not altogether uninjured. Her eyes go wide, though, when they fall on Davena and Garn. “Those two,” she sounded almost incredulous, “they’re the ones who came to our aid?”

“It would seem so,” Ch’dau answered, “yes.”

"That is very interesting,” the she-thief continued, “I suppose I should be grateful, and yet …”

“Mmm-hmm,” the kazari murmured his agreement with her unvoiced thought.

After a moment of the pair’s silent contemplation of their ‘benefactors,’ Kith leaned her head back against the tree again and grinned mischievously; “Do you think Aranwen will remember to give her smallclothes back?”

The quip evoked a full-blown laugh from the big cat and he clutched at his ribs from the pain of it. He was still enjoying and hating the chuckle as Gib approached.

Stopping a few feet away, the battle cleric gave a somewhat remorseful shake of his helmeted head as he regarded Kith; “What was about to be done to you... I am sorry for my part in your falling prey to those ghouls. I believe now that the dangers in these woods require a different approach than simple military strategy and will not be suggesting any further scouting missions.”

Ch’dau didn’t attempt to interject anything into Kith’s own reply to the man’s apology, of course. Shortly thereafeter, though, when the priest of Therassor took a moment to see to the kazari’s injuries, Ch’dau clasped the man’s shoulder and offered a nod of reassurance. “You should not apologize for being a warrior, my fiend,” the cat offered, “It is what we do... What we are. Kithran knows this and knows, too, that you are not at any more fault than the rest of us for what happened here. You did well by Therassor, tonight, Kh’ur Gib, and by the rest of us, as well. I am always proud to fight by your side.”

((OOC: Anything or nothing, here… That’s simply an acknowledgement from one warrior to another. Either way, once, Gib has expended whatever treatments he might have on Ch’dau, the kazari will simply thank him and let the priest go on about the rest of his routine as Brom posted.))

For the most part, the party lingered in their recuperation from the battle’s aftermath with their enigmatic rescuers, Davena and Garn, silently waiting in their midst. As Gib was finishing his prayers, though, Aranwen had found her feet well enough to approach the pair and, as such, the others followed suit and gathered a bit closer.

"Your arrival is certainly appreciated," the priest of Therassor acknowledged Davena and Garn as he drew up. "We had feared the worst when we discovered your absence in Crandel. We did our best to confirm that you were safe and alive. It would seem that our concern was hasty."

“Thank you for your care, Brother Moreno,” the platinum haired woman chuckles in answer, “but Garn and I are more than capable of taking care of ourselves.”

Ch’dau offered a chuff as faint as his nod at the nakedness of that statement but said nothing else.

“We should return to the site of Kith's ambush as soon as we are able,” Gib had turned his counsel to Aranwen, “There was one who was a victim to the horde before Kith even arrived and we've left some valuable weapons there that I would like to retrieve…”

Another grunt and nod of concurrence from the Kazari.

“…Perhaps searching the remains of the undead will also reveal some further insight into this horrific puzzle as well.

I'm spent, as I am sure Cedric and Midge are as well, so if we could manage a period of sustainable rest, that too would be appreciated.”

“I assume that you are speaking of the priest of D'hurgen,” Davena interjected at the mention of the other victim, “The one leading this horde of the living dead?  We slew him ourselves in the hopes of dispersing this lot…”

Ch’dau’s ears piqued, then flattened, then piqued again. The tip of his tail twitched and his eyes narrowed as they framed the woman and her petulant partner. To this point, his gratitude for and suspicion of the couple’s intervention had balanced one another. At the woman’s proclamation that, not only had she and Garn killed the man whose screams had provoked Kith’s ill-fated reconnaissance, to begin with, but, also, the implication that she and Garn, then, had likely been close enough, all along to have intervened sooner… The Kazari snorted in an effort to subdue the faint turning of a growl in his chest, exchanged a sidelong glance with Kith… and the scales tipped a bit more to the side of suspicion.

“…As for your equipment and rest,” Davena carried on, “I would suggest that you see to your gear, then let us find a defensible spot to heal and recover your magics.  Agreed?"

“I agree that we should reclaim our weapons,” the kazari chuffed flatly, his arms folding across his chest, “and that, after this, we could all use a rest.” Following that, he forced himself not to address his building suspicions aloud, though, and decided, instead, to simply watch and listen to the pair more closely for the time being…

((OOC: Okay… I’ll cut it off there. Don’t want to get too drawn out with it just yet and, up until mention of “joining forces” Ch’dau won’t have anything to say, anyway. At that point, suspicions aside, he’ll simply look to Aranwen for the khatun’s decision on the proposed partnership. Other than that, he’s ready to go find his blades and a place to rest for a bit.))

“Thank you for your care, Brother Moreno,” the platinum-haired woman chuckles in answer, “but Garn and I are more than capable of taking care of ourselves.”

Ch’dau offers a chuff as faint as his nod at the nakedness of that statement but says nothing else. The warrior-priest dips his head in simple acceptance of the fact and calmly looks to Aranwen.

“We should return to the site of Kith's ambush as soon as we are able,” Gib advises, “There was one who was a victim to the horde before Kith even arrived and we've left some valuable weapons there that I would like to retrieve…”

Another grunt and nod of concurrence come from the Kazari.

“…Perhaps searching the remains of the undead will also reveal some further insight into this horrific puzzle as well.

I'm spent, as I am sure Cedric and Midge are as well, so if we could manage a period of sustainable rest, that too would be appreciated.”

“I assume that you are speaking of the priest of D'hurgen,” Davena interjects at the mention of the other victim, “The one leading this horde of the living dead? We slew him ourselves in the hopes of dispersing this lot…”

Eyes widening with the revelation from the beautiful woman, Therassor's priest considers this new information. Thinking back to what he had been able to make of the scene, he cannot recall whether he had seen any more fallen corpses and there were the two ghouls that they still had to contend with. Brow furrowing, Moreno's shoulders stiffen. If they were at the scene and had dispatched the priest responsible for that horde, why not then take care of the horde instead of allowing it to wander. Two women experienced horrible acts in the same number of days by these strange ghouls; why would anyone who truly wishes to stop the atrocities allow the undead to continue to roam knowing such a thing was possible? Atharis had lost his life and many of Gib's friends—and he himself—had nearly joined him in the Halls of the Dead!

“…As for your equipment and rest,” Davena carries on, unaware of the rising anger in the warrior-priest, “I would suggest that you see to your gear, then let us find a defensible spot to heal and recover your magics. Agreed?"

“I agree that we should reclaim our weapons,” the Kazari chuffs flatly, his arms folding across his chest drawing a glance from the warrior-priest, “and that, after this, we could all use a rest.” 

If there's one thing Gib had learned from his time in the military, it is that leading with strategy wins more often than not and that haphazard or emotionally-driven responses usually end in disaster. Repeatedly clenching and unclenching his jaw, Moreno refrains from challenging the decisions of the two who had just saved their lives. Breathing in the stench-ridden air through his nose in deep rivers of cool, the priest calms himself and addresses Aranwen once more. 

"Let us be quick about searching these," Gib sweeps his hand across the battlefield, his voice becoming less filled with iron as he continues, "and then set them ablaze somewhere that will not create a further hazard in these woods. We best not leave any corpse lying about lest diseases become another evil we must contend with. Once we are done with that work, we can collect our discarded equipment and do as suggested. I know it is dark and we are all weary, but this is my council, my friend."

(OOC: INTENT - search the undead, pile the undead in a place where they are least likely to set the forest afire and set them burning [if possible], retrieve his crossbow, search the undead there, search the priest of D'hurgen thus verifying that he is who Davina and Garn claim him to be as well as attempting to determine how he died, then finally set watches with the others and get what sleep he can).

*     *     *     *     *

Drugged by a lack of sleep, Moreno is shocked to find himself waking up at his usual time. Habits truly are strong, he ponders as he forces himself to repair from his slumber and organize his gear. Finishing his preparation, he moves to a secluded location near the camp and watchfully takes care of his morning business. Returning to his pack, he retrieves his scriptures and invites any who would like to join him in his devotions and services to Therassor. 

Fervent prayer and devotions are made to the Battle Lord. Moreno knows there is plenty more combat to come as Davina has stated is a possibility. Consideration is also given to the involvement of the priest of D'hurgen. The priest will consult with his Solanis counterpart on what they know of the Church of D'hurgen as well as brainstorming on the reasons behind the unlawful activities. Any of the company is welcome to join in that discussion as most of it will take place over the breaking of their night's fast. Before the party sets off, Gib addresses Davena.

"If I may ask," he begins. "when and where did you learn of this undead activity and the possible location of its center? Any knowledge that you can share now will be highly useful to us as it would appear that we have a mutual goal."

“I would have no world if not for that thieving ass,” Ch’dau says and Kithran attempts to wipe chunks of gore off her face, only to have more bits replace it. She sighs as her friend continues, “This battle was for you, not the world.” One eye opened as his shaggy head turned in her direction and his ears flicked with mirth; “Besides, Kazari do not run... Kh’ur Kithran.”

“I’ve seen you run plenty, Kh’ur Ch’dau, usually into a fray in which I am racing to back you up. I think I prefer that.”

They go back and forth a bit more until Kith is smirking at the Kazari, who is now laughing painfully at her quip about their heroine’s garments, as the shadow of their battle-worn Therassor priest looms over her. Her smirk fades only a little as she nods up at him, a strain in his eyes as though he may have just narrowly escaped some gruesome death.

"What was about to be done to you,” he begins, and the weight of his regret is so palpable a wave of clarity washes away her weary mirth, “I am sorry for my part in your falling prey to those ghouls. I believe now that the dangers in these woods require a different approach than simple military strategy and will not be suggesting any further scouting missions."

“My friend, how dare you attempt to take blame for my ill-begotten plan?” If she could stand, she would have liked to have given the warrior a good shoulder pat, “You’ve done nothing but fought bravely for someone hardly worth five other lives. I am entirely in your debt, in all of your debts. Thank you.”

((OOC: any response))

The warrior then begins to tend to their wounds as best as possible in this place and in his own weariness before leaving to confer with their saviors.

As the others begin to gather, Kith begins her slow ascent back to a standing position. She is exhausted, to be sure, but can claim no more of it than any of her war-torn allies.

She approaches the conversation as Davena mentions the source of all of this horror, “We have heard that a shrine to the death god may be hidden in a cave system nearby,” Death god, Kithran thinks and perks up once more, reminded of the pillaged home of the old mage in Crandel, harboring several pieces of writings about a death cult, “We plan to explore there on the morrow.  If it is well defended, we may find greater favor in numbers. Would you be inclined to investigate with us?”

Despite her interest in a death cult cave, she would await Aranwen’s reply. Curiosity would truly be the death of her, if not by the piles of monsters around her now.

((OOC: after Aranwen’s response regarding whether we go with Davena or not . . . ))

“Davena, have you heard of anything like this before? Rituals concerning a death god or death cult. Anchors? Anything of that sort?” As the words left her mouth she thought back again to the timeliness of their leaving the night of the attack on Crandel, the attack on the mage, and tonight the attack on them. Perhaps Davena knew only what Kith knew, knew only what the wasted mage and his notes told her. Perhaps she too was curious, though for far different reasons.

((OOC: Kithran is just trying to connect some dots, learn what Davena knows/what Davena feels like sharing. Continuing on after this conversation . . . ))

Kithran begins the search for weapons with the others, delicately, and never straying too far on her own. There is a small trail of blood that leads to her shortbow. Luckily it is still in as good a shape as when she tossed it, and decided to simply hold it in her hand for now so as not to cake the strings in too much of the muck she was covered in.

Once all is recovered, she joins Gib’s lead in piling the dead to burn. The feel of their cold, slimy flesh sends chills down her spine as images of these things atop her, touching her, and her inability to do anything to save herself flood her mind. The anger and frustration at those old feelings of helplessnes build again and she feels like stabbing these horrific things a few more times instead of allowing them to burn.

The light of their ghoul fire puts her on edge, but with so many numbers this might be the safest space for miles. The thought helps.

((OOC: if they check out the "priest" guy, Kith will want to look out for any symbols, religious paraphernalia, anything like that on him, as well as his actual appearance--if he's ghoulish like the shambler dudes or otherwise.
Also, if they’re near enough to the river she’ll wash herself off a bit, otherwise, meh))

Sleep begins to overtake her, her back against a tree and close to the rest of her allies. The light of the fire and the figures around it begin to blur, and she hopes her father is safe as she falls into a deep, deep sleep.

As the discussion went on between Davina and Cedric’s companions, the young cleric lay on the ground with his eyes shut and tried to summon some strength from within to be able to get up and participate. This wasn’t the first time he’d drained himself by channeling so much of the power of Solanis through his mortal form that his physique simply couldn’t take any more. Not the first time as such, but certainly the first time in a situation that was so wearing also mentally. The lack of sleep, the fear for the lives of his friends and to a certain extent his own as well as the incomprehensible hideousness of the ghouls and the zombies also added up to the level of exhaustion the young cleric felt. It really was overpowering to him.

Next time he would hopefully be better prepared and well-rested. Next time he would know what to expect. Next time… Cedric really hoped there would not be a next time quite like this one. Having seen what had been done to the woodsman’s wife and almost to Kith as well had hurt the priest deeply inside. He was a deeply empathetic person and the joys and the sorrows of others touched him much more than the next man. Cedric couldn’t even begin to understand what it must have felt like for either of the women, but he suffered with their suffering.

Since Aranwen was their appointed leader and the cleric certainly didn’t wish to take any role in the conversation, he kept his eyes shut and just concentrated on his breathing and listening in. Hearing a shrine for D’hurgen mentioned, Cedric listened more closely than before. It was not a surprise to him. From his studies, Cedric had learned that the craziest of followers always seemed to follow the most evil of the Gods. But the tomes and the teachings of his teachers had never spoken anything about something as terrible as what they had witnessed in the last few days. Although the young priest’s yearning for knowledge on the matters divine and undead was great, the libraries he had had access to had only had so much to share. Some of Cedric’s friends and fellow students of the Light had considered the focus of his studies strange and even dangerous,but the boy had pushed such thoughts away from his own mind. He had always been certain of his goals. Despite of his empathy, Cedric had a fairly black and white view of the World. In his mind D’hurgen, the God of Death was the original and main source of evil in the World and Solanis, though having other Gods helping him, was the sole source of light pushing back the veil of darkness that was trying to devour all that was good.

So as he lay on the ground and gathered the will and the strength to push himself up, Cedric’s thoughts wandered from one end of the spectrum to the other. He was extremely happy of the survival of their group and very, very grateful to Davina and Garn for the timely rescue. But on the other hand the timing did make the young man wonder… Why hadn’t the duo interfered before, if they were aware of the follower of D’hurgen and his little army of undead? Why hadn’t they simply destroyed the evil beings earlier? The cleric rolled the thoughts around in his head for a while and shrugged. He was pretty sure there was a very good reason for it all, so why bother worrying. They all had Davina’s lightning and Garn’s heavy weapon arm to thank for their lives. Whatever the reasons for the delay, it didn’t matter to Cerdic.

As Kithran pointed her question to Davina, Cerdic forced his eyes open and observed the woman’s reaction and answer. He had never heard or read of anything like what they’d seen during and was anxious to learn more. If the strange duo knew more, Cedric wanted to hear everything they had do say.

Aranwen expresses her thanks for the assitance, as well as a willingness - if not eagerness - to accopany Davena and Garn in their efforts to explore the caves, provided no one else has any serious objections.  Davena holds a glimmer of humor in her eyes regarding her smallclothes, though she makes no response or outward acknowledgement of the comment.

The party searches the area and recovers their weapons (though it takes Ch'dau several undignified tugs to pull his falcatta from the tree trunk).  As they move to investigate the dead man, Kithran questions Davena. 

"Davena, have you heard of anything like this before? Rituals concerning a death god or death cult. Anchors? Anything of that sort?"

The blonde woman stares into the distance, as if lost in thought.  "D'hurgen is the god of death; I am familiar with his worshippers, having encountered them in the past.  They can indeed be cultlike in their devotion, caring for goals that do not align with those of society."  She shakes her head.  "I cannot imagine what a death cult would need with an anchor.  I know that a good ship anchor is not a trifling cost; my family owns a vessel or two, and these can be expensive to replace... but I do not see the connection between these and any cultists."

The party locates the body of the man at the edge of the clearing Kith had found.  He is brown-haired, dressed in ebony robes, with a silver skull pendant around his neck.  A neck that has been cut open, spilling enormous amounts of blood upon his chest.  The eyes are fixed and open, the mouth frozen in a rictus of a scream. 

The bodies of the dead are collected and set ablaze.  Eventually, the exhaisted group collapses in rest.

Several hours - though not enough to feel truly rested - pass, and morning arrives.  Garn and Davena work on breakfast and preperations. 

"We will scout the area near the caves, look for signs of travel," Garn explains in curt tones.  "That will give us ideas for the best route to approach, perhaps helps us estimate numbers and the like.  I have no desire to walk into some undergorund fortress unawares."

Davena nods.  "This sounds reasonable."  She then looks around the campfire.  "So, will you be joining us?" she asks.

As Aranwen did her part as khatun and discussed recent and future happenings with Davena, Ch’dau simply sat at Kith’s side, resting and listening as he could. The bladesinger’s obvious eagerness to accompany the strange pair in their exploration of the caves drew little more than a nod of assent from the kazari and, once that decision had been made, the Silver Cat helped his friend to her feet and the troupe made their way to the spot where their most recent battle had been joined. The recovery of discarded weapons and gear had been relatively easy save for the fact that Ch’dau’s falcata was more than a bit stubborn in loosing itself from the tree to which, in his rage, it had been embedded. The blade did come free, though, after more than one snarled curse and an instance of falling back on his own tail in the effort to unstick the thing.

Following the recovery of dropped and discarded gear, Ch’dau aided in the stacking and burning of the bodies of the twice-dead while sharper and more analytical minds examined the corpse of Dh’urgen’s priest. His ears twitched and, some may have noticed, a rather skeptical expression crawled across his features several times during the conversations held over the death-monkey’s cadaver but, through it all, the cat-man saw fit to hold his tongue and, instead, trained his quiet attentions on the words and actions of their unexpected benefactors. In the end, with the corpses burnt to ash and little left to do but wait for the dawn of a new day, Ch’dau gathered Kith up and slept for all the good it did, waking only to serve his watch before mornings light broke over the corrupted forest. Come the dawn, the kazari sat in his place about the fire, eating his breakfast and tending to the care and honing of his blades as the leaders of their recently expanded group talked.

"We will scout the area near the caves, look for signs of travel," Garn curtly explained at one point, "That will give us ideas for the best route to approach, perhaps helps us estimate numbers and the like.  I have no desire to walk into some undergorund fortress unawares."

“Nor do I, rrow’ka,” the kazari chuffed, not bothering, at first, to look up from the stone he ground purposefully over the edge of his worn falcata. He spat on the blade’s edge, then, and, running a thumb over the keen edge, at last, looked up from his work, fixing the big human with an even eye, “If you intend to scout, I would offer my assistance.”

"This sounds reasonable."  Davena nodded, her eyes skimming the faces around the campfire.  "So, will you be joining us?"

Ch’dau’s gaze ticked to Aranwen, first, then to Gib and, given their sanction, the Silver Cat added his own. Nodding as he returned his blade to its sheath and getting to his feet, he swallowed the last of his morning meal. “Let us be to it, then,” he rumbled, his blue-green eyes settling meaningfully on Garn, “Daylight is short enough, here, and the depths of a cave are all the less friendly in the night. I would see this done soon, Khr’a willing and Rrowl at our side.”

((OOC: A few assumptions made, here, of course. If there are any objections to following along with Garn and Davena’s plan and/or if there are any RP opportunities with discussion and such that take place, I will happily edit or add additional post(s) to address.))

Before dawn, Aranwen stood awake near the edge of camp, one hand upon her breast as she looked out upon the wilderness, the other upon the tree next to her to keep her steady. She looked towards the flickers of the pyre burning in the distance. Her gaze was distant, and those distant flickers of orange and red glinted in her viridian eyes. Her hand shook as she replayed the battle in her mind's eye, following her movements and those she remembered of the foes surrounding them. Doing her best to recall her form, and the song of her blade at the time. Up until she succumbed to her wounds, and fell.

If things had been even just a bit different, might she have been on that pyre as well? That was one thing that never changed over all her years. That delicate dance with death.

But the battle had been won, and she had put all she could into her blade, that she might keep safe her allies. She couldn't ask herself of more, so she smiled, and breathed. Stagnant though the air was, it couldn't completely hide the morning dew she came to enjoy in these early hours.

"Adaron, make good what good there is left to take of these worldly forms," She prayed, "That death may give way to renewal, and see life flourish again."

She kept watch until the day broke proper.

* * *

"So, will you be joining us?"

Aranwen nodded, "This is certainly not something we can afford to ignore," She gave a warm smile to Davena, "And if anything, I welcome the opportunity to repay the aid lent by you both."

"Normally, for scouting I'd suggest we cover more ground to quicker understand our adversary," She mused, "But given recent experiences, we place ourselves in greater danger splitting up, even should we keep to groups of two or three. They lose nothing throwing the dead at us should we give them the opportunity, while we stand to lose far more. Naturally, staying together has its drawbacks as well. Those lighter on foot can't make good on their agility, and we're easier to spot. So I feel a blend of the two is more appropriate here - Gib, Cedric, Midge and I will be part of the supporting guard, while Kithran and Ch'dau as the advance lend their eyes to scout and examine the nearby area. We travel together, close enough so the advance can comfortably fall back to the support should they encounter anything, or should anything encounter the support."

(( Making some assumptions here because I'm not completely familiar with everyone's capabilities ))

"Any questions, observations, or suggestions?"

Kithran woke startled. She was hardly refreshed and sorely disoriented. She had slept more deeply than she had in ages, leaving her senses useless in this cursed wood; and she awoke gazing up into what was visible of the early morning sky through the fog. She had sworn she had fallen asleep with her back against that tree and hadn't expected to wake to the world at this angle. Squeezing her hands she was grateful that at least her daggers were where they should be, as well as for the soft murmurs that let her know they had made it through the night.

She slowly brought herself to a sitting position, as every muscle in her body screamed in retaliation, and took a quick inventory. Rolling her neck she found nothing but soreness; stretching and rotating her arms took quite a bit of effort and thus far was the most painful until she twistet her body at her waist. Her wounds, though gracefullly tended to by her companions, still pulled against her skin. She would have to accommodate that pain should they find themselves in battle once more.

Standing was surprisingly the easiest feat to accomplish of the set, and after some more stretching and hopping, they at least felt ready to sprint away from an undead horde if necessary. She pulled the silver skull pendant from her pocket, thinking once more of the terror it sought, before shoving it back and trying to keep her thoughts from wandering too far in that direction.

Joining Ch'dau for breakfast and tending to her own blades, Kith observed the priests in their morning routines; their devotions and scriptures. A long time ago she may have scoffed at such things, but they were the only reason she had not bled out just a few hours earlier in this corrupted forest floor.

Kithran stood up and flipped her daggers around in each hand, admiring their weight and balance and reliability with each catch. They felt good, strong, small but effective. She sheathed them when she noticed the priests finishing up, and made her way toward them. "Good morning, gentlemen, I was hoping you might help me identify something." She reveals the pendant and holds it out to them, "Have either of you seen anything like this before? Do you think it harbors any terrible magicks, or will summon some ungodly beast while we nap?"

((OOC: If it seems inate, she'll hold on to it. If not, she'll take their advice as to how to destroy it))

"Thank you for your counsel, my friends." Kith left them to their preparations and made her way back toward Ch'dau, pausing in her approach to listen to their leaders' conversation.

"We will scout the area near the caves, look for signs of travel," Garn is saying harshly to the group at large, "That will give us ideas for the best route to approach, perhaps helps us estimate numbers and the like. I have no desire to walk into some undergorund fortress unawares."

“Nor do I, rrow’ka,” the kazari chuffed, focusing on his work with the falcata, finally looking up when he was satisfied with the job, “If you intend to scout, I would offer my assistance.”

"I as well," Kith included, plastering a scowl on her face to deflect from any discomfort she may have shown off before. 

"This sounds reasonable."  Davena nodded, her eyes skimming the faces around the campfire before settling again on Aranwen,  "So, will you be joining us?"

Drugged by a lack of sleep, Moreno is shocked to find himself waking up at his usual time. Habits truly are strong, he ponders as he forces himself to repair from his slumber and organize his gear. Finishing his preparation, he moves to a secluded location near the camp and watchfully takes care of his morning business. Returning to his pack, he retrieves his scriptures and invites any who would like to join him in his devotions and services to Therassor. 

Fervent prayer and devotions are made to the Battle Lord. Moreno knows there is plenty more combat to come as Davina has stated is a possibility. Consideration is also given to the involvement of the priest of D'hurgen. The priest will consult with his Solanis counterpart on what they know of the Church of D'hurgen as well as brainstorming on the reasons behind the unlawful activities. Any of the company is welcome to join in that discussion as most of it will take place over the breaking of their night's fast. Before the party sets off, Gib addresses Davena.

"If I may ask," he begins. "when and where did you learn of this undead activity and the possible location of its center? Any knowledge that you can share now will be highly useful to us as it would appear that we have a mutual goal."

(OOC: Posted that part again because Gib was ignored...  Not on purpose, I'd imagine.)

Garn and Davena work on breakfast and preparations. Kithran stands up and flips her daggers around in each hand, admiring their weight and balance and reliability with each catch. They feel good, strong, small but effective. She sheathes them when she notices the priests finishing up, and makes her way toward them.

"Good morning, gentlemen, I was hoping you might help me identify something." She reveals the pendant and holds it out to them, "Have either of you seen anything like this before? Do you think it harbors any terrible magicks, or will summon some ungodly beast while we nap?"

Narrowing his eyes at the sight, Gib glances towards his younger counterpart before looking back to the rogue. "That's likely nothing more than the holy symbol for a priest of D'hurgen. I doubt that it's been enchanted, but Midge would be better capable of telling you that than I... or perhaps even the Lady Davena. Either way, I don't recommend carrying such a representation of evil around. Therassor will likely not appreciate it. Melt it down, cast it away, or otherwise rid yourself of it, my friend. That is my advice."

"Thank you for your counsel, my friends." Kith left them to their preparations and made her way back toward Ch'dau, pausing in her approach to listen to their leaders' conversation.

As the little woman walks away, the warrior-priest looks back to his young friend and raises his eyebrows, shaking his head. Stowing his scriptures, the bearded man hoists his shield and makes his way back to the general group.

"We will scout the area near the caves, look for signs of travel," Garn explains in curt tones. "That will give us ideas for the best route to approach, perhaps helps us estimate numbers and the like. I have no desire to walk into some underground fortress unawares."

“Nor do I, rrow’ka,” the Kazari chuffs, not bothering, at first, to look up from the stone he is grinding purposefully over the edge of his worn falcata. He spits on the blade’s edge, then, and, running a thumb over the keen edge, at last, looks up from his work, fixing the big human with an even eye, “If you intend to scout, I would offer my assistance.”

"I as well," Kith included, plastering a scowl on her face to deflect from any discomfort she may have shown off before.

Davena nods. "This sounds reasonable." She then looks around the campfire. "So, will you be joining us?" she asks.

Aranwen nods, "This is certainly not something we can afford to ignore," She gives a warm smile to Davena, "And if anything, I welcome the opportunity to repay the aid lent by you both."

"Normally, for scouting, I'd suggest we cover more ground to quicker understand our adversary," She muses, "But given recent experiences, we place ourselves in greater danger splitting up, even should we keep to groups of two or three. They lose nothing throwing the dead at us should we give them the opportunity, while we stand to lose far more. Naturally, staying together has its drawbacks as well. Those lighter on foot can't make good on their agility, and we're easier to spot. So I feel a blend of the two is more appropriate here—Gib, Cedric, Midge and I will be part of the supporting guard, while Kithran and Ch'dau as the advance lend their eyes to scout and examine the nearby area. We travel together, close enough so the advance can comfortably fall back to the support should they encounter anything, or should anything encounter the support.

"Any questions, observations, or suggestions?"

"I like this plan, Aranwen. I don't mind going ahead alone, as odd as that may seem after last night, but it will be nice to have another, much larger target near me should we become attacked again. I am ready when the rest are."

Moreno shakes his head and presses his lips together tightly, frowning. They've barely survived the encounters they've had with the undead minions of D'hurgen; he finds himself seeing the faces of his friends on the corpses of the dead, the stench of the burning bodies from the night before still lingers in his nostrils. Aranwen has no need of his council, it was flawed the night before when he'd suggested sending Kith to her death... he must reconsider his value. Therassor, give me strength.

Ch’dau’s gaze ticks to Aranwen, first, then to Gib and, given their sanction, the Silver Cat adds his own. Nodding as he returns his blade to its sheath and gets to his feet, he swallows the last of his morning meal.

“Let us be to it, then,” he rumbles, his blue-green eyes settling meaningfully on Garn, “Daylight is short enough, here, and the depths of a cave are all the less friendly in the night. I would see this done soon, Khr’a willing and Rrowl at our side.”

Cedric felt a wave of terrible agony, something like he had never experienced before, run through his abdomen as the needle-sharp claws of the grinning ghoul cut cleanly through his robe, shirt and skin. The pain spread around his body and and quickly turned into an icy cold that slowly froze his limbs and stopped him from moving a single muscle in his body. He could feel the cold take a grip of his frantically beating heart and the terror he felt almost made him black out. But even if he would have accepted the unconsciousness and ignorance gladly, such relief never came. Instead, the drooling, grinning, foul-smelling, (oddly enough he could still smell the stench of death) monstrous rotten face of the ghoul appeared right next to his, licked his cheek and to the young priest’s surprise, spoke with a soft and deep male voice:

“Do not resist, my beautiful. Let me bring your sweet, bright soul to your new Lord willingly. Let me introduce you to real power… To the darkness of the Devourer; the Walker of Shadows. Embrace the might of D’hurgen and accept your fate.”

Cedric didn’t have to guess what the other option was, but as he fought against the cold, he concentrated on the light of Solanis - the touch of the Blazing Lord. Little by little the icy grip of the ghoul’s touch gave way to the warmth and love of the Radiant Father. He could hear the velvety voice turn into a piercing shriek as the power of Good fought and pushed away the shadow more easily and stronger with every beat of his now vibrant heart. He could feel the frozen scream on his own face melt and become a smile of confidence, of trust and and of love. 

The ghoul exploded in a blinding ball of light and its screams became familiar voices. The foul smells were replaced by the sweet scents of trees and flowers and burning wood.

… and Cedric opened up his eyes. He was still lying down on the forest floor in what seemed to him like the same position and posture he fallen asleep in. But the cold sweat on the back of his shirt and in his hair spoke of a restless rest; the nightmare he had abruptly woken up from. Pushing himself up, the cleric found the robe he’d been using as a blanket in a messy pile next to him and definitely not where he usually found it in the morning. It took the young man a few minutes to stop shaking and to be able to get up on his knees, dress up and finally stand up. Although Cedric had been totally out for a good number of hours, he felt like he hadn’t slept at all. He took a gulp or two of water from his wineskin, but didn’t feel at all like eating. Just a thought of putting something in his mouth made him sick. Instead he poured some more water on his face and rubbed away the filth of the imaginary undead tongue.

Starting to feel slightly better, Cedric walked to Gib with a question in mind. But before he had a chance to voice it, Kith appeared and pulled out a pendant of a grinning skull. Seeing the unholy symbol gave him the chills and not in a good way. Cedric took an instinctive step back and unconsciously reached for the golden disc hanging on his own chest. It was the first time he had ever laid eyes on a physical symbol of the Death God in his life, even though he’d seen more than few versions of it in books and scrolls before. Gib was clearly less impressed by the pendant and after glancing at Cedric, gave his opinion about it. The younger man of the cloth merely managed a couple of nods in agreement. 

As Kithran thanked the priests and turned to leave, Cedric reached to touch her shoulder. “I… Can I have a closer look at it?” When Kith handed the pendant over, the priest did his best in trying not to flinch. He closed his left hand around the skull while the right squeezed the symbol of Solanis. Looking at the brightening sky, Cedric exhaled and inhaled slowly to help him relax and concentrate. 

“Lord of Light, my Master in life and in death, share some of your radiance and eternal wisdom with your humble servant. Let me see through this item most hideous, the symbol of everything wrong in the world. Allow my mortal eyes recognise any unholy magic hidden within it.”

Having said the prayer, Cedric turned the pendant around in his hand and then shrugged. He hadn’t actually prayed for such powers before and wasn’t completely sure the spell had worked. He did sense the familiar connection with Solanis, but the amulet looked in no way different from before. Both Kith and Gib could see the younger priest lift his eyes from his hands and turn towards Garn. His gaze passed the large swordsman quickly, moved on and then stopped at Davina. Cedric stared at the beautiful woman for a while and the wondering look on his face changed to something of surprise. Blinking rapidly a couple of times, he looked at Davina for a few heartbeats longer and then returned to Kith. “No. There is no magic in the evil amulet. And I agree with friend Gib, I would get rid of the thing… But your call of course. If you decide to part ways with it, perhaps simply throwing it away is not the best way… I am sure the elders at my college would be interested in doing some more research on the amulet. But at the very least, destroy it by melting it in a forge or something.”

Cedric lets Aranwen, Gib, Kith and Ch’dau discuss their future actions with or without Davina and Garn. He is still shaken by the nightmare and doesn’t feel like participating in something he has very little experience of. The young man is happy to hear the group will not be divided into two though or at least not completely. He doesn’t feel fear so much for his own safety as he does for this companions. For although Cedric doesn’t have much faith in his own fighting skills, the lead team is lacking in healing powers with him and Gib both bringing up the rear with Midge and Aranwen. Moving out according to their leader’s plans makes a lot of sense to him. The less warrior-types, excluding Aranwen herself of course, will not be disturbing the scouting party’s work. And yet at the same time they will be close enough to help in case the others run into trouble.

And even though Davina and her sword swinging friend did undeniably help Cedric and his friends survive last night, the cleric still feels uneasy about the idea of trusting the duo completely. 

Gib asks about Davena and Garn's knowledge of the undead.

"If I may ask," he begins. "when and where did you learn of this undead activity and the possible location of its center? Any knowledge that you can share now will be highly useful to us as it would appear that we have a mutual goal."

Garn glances at Davena, but allows her to do the speaking, as is his custom. 

The blonde woman answers.  "We heard tell of the walking dead as we traveled the road, and were persuaded to investigate.  As for the center of the activity... the dead man you searched is not the first priest of the death cult that we have encountered.  I believe their information to be accurate."

Garn wears a bit of a sneer.  It is not voiced, but the implication is that information was extracted - likely via torture or the like - from these priests.

Davena shakes her head.  "I have heard tales of human sacrifices before.  I am surprised, though, that these cultists would be so bold as to send wandering packs of the dead to terrorize the countryside.  I do not see the benefit." A ghost of a grin touches the corner of her mouth.  "But then, I do not pretend to know the mind of such a cultist."

Her gaze falls to Aranwen.  "Tell me, brave warrior... I hear that your folk are immune to the grave paralysis of these ghouls.  Is this true?

------------------------------------------------------

The morning passes without incident.  The sticky fog hangs oppressively still, the forest remains deathy quiet.  No animal, bird, or insect sounds can be heard. 

Sometime after midday, you reach the edge of the woods and come upon a series of cliff faces.  "I expect that our caves will be there," Garn observes. 

As the group scouts, Ch'dau finds a trampled track leading down into the caves - from the looks of it, this is a commonly used pathway for several people. 

The sylvari maid was pale - somehow paler than her normal milky complexion.  More of a gray cast, come to think of it; a pallor that suggested deep rooted unwellness. 

And my, was she frail.  More often than not, young mothers developed a "glow" about them once thier bellies began to firm into roundness, but such had not been the case for this flaxen-haired lass.  The violent morning sickness had never truly subsided, even though her second trimester was well underway.  She stayed utterly exhausted, able to walk not more than a score of paces before needing a rest, it seemed.  Her breath stayed shallow, she felt lightheaded all of the time.

Barely a woman, just past her first century, the maid should have been strong, vibrant.  Instead, it seemed as though a stiff breeze would cast her down at any moment. 

A look of disquiet crossed her features... her smallclothes were suddenly damp.  Reaching a hand down, she recoiled at the copious blood that coated her fingertips.

Her eyes went wide, and she called frantically for help.

The midwife arrived quickly, accompanied by a priest... but there was little help to give.  The maid collapsed with a groan, her violet eyes rolled back into her head, and momentarily, the convulsions started.  She writhed in obvious agony for several long minutes before falling perfectly still in a growing pool of blood.

As the midwife tsked over the corpse, the priest frowned.  The Mistress was apparently correct - the sylvari and their cursed connection to life seemed to reject the babies, no matter what.  The hope had been that the greater brightness of their life force would enable them to survive better, to support them though the birth and infancy... but the opposite had proved to be true.  Rather than being more suited than humans, sylvari apparently were completely unable to serve as conduits to bring the anchor into the world. 

They would just have to keep trying with other subjects. 

Even knowing that he was confirming her theory, the priest was loathe to share news of the latest failure with the Mistress.  She was certain to not be pleased.

Gib’s inquiry as to how Davena and her man had come to first learn of the abominations was met with a reply which, to Ch’dau’s mind, was as enigmatic as the blonde woman and Garn, themselves.  

“We heard tell of the walking dead as we traveled the road, and were persuaded to investigate,” Davena had said, “As for the center of the activity... the dead man you searched is not the first priest of the death cult that we have encountered.  I believe their information to be accurate.”

Answers without answers, the kazari chuffed to himself as he took note of Garn’s sneer that punctuated his mistress’ statement. Found the death-monkeys, themselves, and tortured the information from them, likely.

“I have heard tales of human sacrifices before,” Davena continued following a shake of her head, “I am surprised, though, that these cultists would be so bold as to send wandering packs of the dead to terrorize the countryside.  I do not see the benefit.” A faint but still telling grin of her own touched the corners of her mouth, “but then, I do not pretend to know the mind of such a cultist.”

And you know nothing, then, of why these ghouls would be forcibly mating themselves with living women, either, would you, woman?! The chuffing welled into something of a low growl as Ch’dau’s eyes flitted to Kith and he recalled the fate that had nearly befallen her. Something in the cat-man’s gut desperately wanted to raise the question (or would it have been a challenge) but, before he could do so, Davena addressed Aranwen, once more…

“Tell me, brave warrior... I hear that your folk are immune to the grave paralysis of these ghouls.  Is this true?”

…At this moment, Ch’dau’s honor prevented him from intruding on his khatun’s conversations and, in truth, his own curiosity as to how Aranwen might answer diverted his focus on the query he might have posed. He hadn’t thought about it until this moment but, as he considered things, he did recall the Bladesinger having been struck more than once by a giggler and, in none of those instances had the woman succumbed to the grave’s hold. Interesting.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

With the morning’s preparations and conversations behind them, the recently expanded party set out through the wood with Kith, Ch’dau, and Garn scouting slightly ahead of the rest. It struck the kazari as unsettling, not for the first time in recent days, how quiet these timberlands were. Not even in the brightest heart of Capasha’s Twilight Forest could such a deafening silence be found. Had the trees not still shown signs of their greenery, he might have sworn that death had laid claim here long ago. Khr’a reclaim it, he had muttered more than once in the course of their travel. Midday found the group, at last, making the edge of the woods, emerging at the foot of a broad cliff face.

"I expect that our caves will be there," the usually reticent Garn remarked.

A faint snort and nod of agreement was the only reply the kazari offered before he, Kith, and the big monkey set about surveying the expanse of the bluffs. After a time, Ch’dau managed to find traces of a path which led down into a cavemouth. “Here,” he called, motioning to Kith and Garn, as he crouched beside the track and scrutinizing the prints and trampled earth which defined it. “It looks well and recently used,” the Silver Cat offered, sniffing the ground, then turning his eyes, ears, and nose toward the opening in the rock face, “by several folk, at least. I cannot determine exact numbers but, I believe that this is the path we seek…”

((OOC: Depending on how far back Aranwen and the others are, Ch’dau will either recommend that Garn go back and pass on their find or, otherwise, wait for them to catch up. Once we’re all gathered together again, the stratejiving can commence in earnest.))

Aranwen looked around at the assembled group, gauging what she could see in the faces of the others. In Gib she thought she saw hesitation. She tilted her head a bit in query, but didn't ask. Not in the full group. If something had weighed on his mind, perhaps it was best to ask about it if they had a quiet moment. And Ch'dau, she could see the tightening of the muscles around his jaw. Something was setting him on edge. She had a suspicion what it might be.

I hope these suspicions are unfounded, she thought solemnly, but they have given us aid, and I must return the favour.

Davena's gaze falls to Aranwen. "Tell me, brave warrior... I hear that your folk are immune to the grave paralysis of these ghouls. Is this true?

Aranwen lifted her arm, withdrawing the protective bands of leather to reveal the skin underneath. For being Sylvari, her skin still seemed a good sheen and almost unmarked. Almost. The scars of battle lingered on even a Sylvari's body, and she traced one in particular with a fingertip, where one of those giggling monstrosities had landed a sure blow.

"In training, we are taught about the limits of our bodies," Aranwen spoke finally, "Or more accurately, we are taught of the importance of being fully aware of ourselves. The awareness of body and blade together, limits, strengths, and those undefined traits that make each of us unique. In learning of our own potential, we learned of those that came before. There was the occasional odd tale of a bladesinger having fought ghoulish creatures, their corruptive touch unable to bend Sylvari body to their will..."

She paused before she nodded slowly, "Well, I have taken numerous strikes from those creatures. That I have yet to succumb to their touch after so many blows, I can only presume that the story I heard was true."

(( If anyone expresses surprise/curiosity at Aranwen's wording that implies she didn't believe what she had been told she also adds these lines ))

"It's not that I had reason to disbelieve these tales," Aranwen chuckled, "But I remember, at the time, feeling like this learning of others' tales served a different purpose, to ignite within us the resolve to become just as if not stronger than those we learned about. That certain things may have been exaggerated for the sake of having that effect."

"And yet, here I am, standing here on the remnants of battle on a scale I wouldn't have imagined in my younger years. I know this path ahead will lead us to more battles, and a more cautious soul would be well inclined to shy away from it. However, the danger is there, and not just to us, but to whomever gets caught in its wake. And we are here. I would sooner drop my blade than let what befell us fall upon others who would not survive."