The days have been short, as common with this autumnal season. The nights, longer, each minute and hour stretching on, scratching at the doors and windows. Bonfires keep all hours illuminated, a small radiance piercing into the ever-present darkness in defiance. They are said to keep the vampires at bay, but nowadays, many a word is said. For the last two years, the wards defending humanity have weakened, and continue to weaken still. Holy sigils that protected the buried bodies of the dearly departed wane against the perverse magic of necromancers. Wards that protected outlying villages from vampire and werewolf attacks no longer hold their efficacy, leaving the inhabitants defenseless and to be preyed upon once more. What's more, is that the presence of angels has dwindled. In fact, you can't remember how long ago you last saw a gathering of Avacyn's host, or Avacyn, herself, for the matter. In times before this ascension of darkness, a warrior angel of Flight Goldnight would accompany every group of cathars on a journey to slay the monsters in the dark, a nurturing angel of Alabaster would soar the skies to renew the protective wards of settlements, herself, an angel of the Herons would bless every newborn, and plant the first seeds of a farmer's crop. The powerful defenders of humanity have become scarce, it seems.
But the dawn always rises after dusk, the church exclaims. Maintain your faith, do not falter. For quavering faith is what causes Avacyn's and her host's power to feign. You must be steadfast in your belief, then will the sun rise over the horizon and the dark hide for another day. Then, will the seasons change and good forever triumph over evil.
Today is as any other in the Nearheath, the surrounding lands outside the high city of Thraben, capital of Gavony. The families wake and attend to their work. The overseeing of cattle, the rearing of children, the toil of the ground, and the growing of farmed goods. The local cathars ready their equipment, hoping not to have to drawn them to anything more than petty thievery. Some are humble artisans, cleaning up their shops and tools of their trade, preparing for eventual customers. Even fewer, residing in walled manorial estates, fret over what luxurious garb to dawn, what prepared meal to lavish, and what parts of town they wish to gift with the generosity of their presence.
Our players find themselves in one of three parishes in the Nearheath, the Effalen Parish. It is a rocky, windswept area dotted with low shrubs and jagged outcroppings that borders the countryside known as the Moorlands. Villages here a somewhat scattered due to the landscape, but the Outer Wall of Thraben can be seen in the not-so-off distance to the west, the peaks of the taller buildings seen above even it, including the great Cathedral of Avacyn. Down a cobbled street that breaks center of the village and leads to the High City, a commotion is stirring. The sound of civilians prying and suspecting, whispers surround a flocking group of villagers. If you cared to take notice, they are obscuring most of your view, but you can tell someone, perhaps more than one person, is making their way through the crowd, shouting, "Make way! Back to your business, make way!"
Evaine had gotten the note almost a week before, clutching it to her chest like a lifeline. This would be her chance to have her own place. Fiona would be able to have a space of her own, she would finally get a bed to herself. And best of all, she would get a chance to make a real difference. Her hands wouldn't be tied by the church, she could have her own temple and her own autonomy. As Nearheath was where Fiona had originally been from, it wasn't a hard sell.
They had spent the better part of that week packing up their meager belongings. How many times could you repack the same locket, set of armor, dozen books, and shard of crystal? The answer was too numerous to count. But eventually the day came, and they shouldered their packs and headed from the bustling city of Thraben to Effalen Parish. "Perhaps you can give me a tour," Evaine had suggested to her little redhead with a smile.
When they arrived in the town, Fiona had been a decidedly less than patient tour guide. The fourteen year old darted through the crowd, Evaine losing her pretty much constantly. With a sigh, the cleric decided to find her own way. She was confident the teenager would come back to her when she was ready to settle in. The blonde looked around curiously, excited to see what Effalen Parish had to offer. The crowd caught her eye, and as she was never one to really follow instructions, she decided to look at what everyone else was looking at.
Fiona didn't really want to give a tour to Evaine. What she wanted was something to eat. But at the suggestion, the dirty girl with the ratty red hair dashed off through the people. She knew this place well, not that she could call it home. No, home was outside, in the forest. But since meeting Evaine, she'd been sleeping in a bed again, under real blankets, eating actual food. It was nice. Strange, but nice. Wanting to do something for Evaine, Fiona rushed off, task in mind. She came wandering back to Evaine soon after, munching on a fresh red apple. She shoved another into Evaine's hand. "Gotcha somethun!" Her eyes turned toward the crowd, and she positioned herself slightly behind her caretaker.
Sturm had only recently arrived in the Effalen Parish, the thought circling his mind that this was a fools errand. Why would any of these people help a wild man from the dangerous wildlands when they were comfortable sitting on their cushions eating... a small red-headed girl ran past him with a strange fruit... large cherries. She handed another woman one of those cherries and they both began approaching a large crowd that had gathered. Sturm could hear yelling from the crowd to make way. These people were so bored with life that any little thing could draw their attention.
Sturm stands back from the crowd, but watches to see what comes of the ruckus.
Gael had only freshly arrived in the Parish to discover some sort of commotion about. Exactly what he needed, now, something that could put people more up at arms than they already were these days. With a shuffle of his feet--Gael noted bitterly he'd have to find a new pair of shoes, these seemed to be going rather south all things considered--he kept his head ducked low and the rags that constituted his clothes for the moment wrapped about him as if to ward off whatever deeds were going on down the way. He tried his best to be unobtrusive in the only way he knew how--small towns were inevitably nosey but the few years in isolation--and after everything before even that--meant that Gael had learned the art of none of my business.
With a tired sigh he scratched at his stubble, glanced at the way of the commotion, and tried to return his focus to finding some work.
“We’re going to do something nice to whoever you took his from,” Evaine said to Fiona pointedly. The cleric could see two cathars with a young man held between them. She even recognized one of the holy men, a soldies who had graduated from the Church a few seasons ahead of her. Fiona let out a little growl and moved as if to go after the boy. Evaine grabbed the girl by the wrist. “Let me handle it,” she murmured.
“Darren!” Evaine pushed her way through the crowd. “Darren! It’s me, Evaine! What’s going on here?”
"Evaine?" The man raises his hat to get a clearer view of his sister-in-arms. His face appears worn and aged beyond his actual years, a common affliction of those that witness the world beyond the walls as normalcy. "Evaine! What are you doing out here? Do you not work within the High walls?"
He stops the other cathar and prisoner for the brief exchange. The young man's eyes are sullen, a darkness resides within them that fringes on the edge of wild anguish. He's muttering under his breath as his fixated gaze darts among his surroundings.
"This man is suspect of illegal act. He is to be brought forth to a judicial hearing where he will be tried before an angel of Goldnight, as customary. I cannot say more. If I may?" The man moves beside you to continue his corse. "Avacyn guide you."
“They gave me a place of my own, right here,” Evaine explained, a touch of excitement in her voice. The smile faded as she looked at the feral boy. He reminded her of Fiona. “Darren,” she grabbed the soldiers hand, looking him in the eye. “I know this isn’t my place, but if I may I’d like to pray with him, speak with him. If I’m to look after this city, I need to understand. Please, I need to help.”
Fiona stared at the boy, ignoring everything else around her. He was saying something. What was it? He was speaking frantically. "No, no, no. Not yet. Shouldn't have been yet.. They'll see, they'll soon see. The Skirsdag, the.. they'll kill me. I-I-I.. I have- I have to.. show them."
Skirsdag. She'd heard that name before, somewhere. She didn't know much, but she did know they didn't get along with the Church. She tugged at Evaine's arm, hard. Making sure nobody else could hear, she whispered, "Skirsdag?"
"Just for a moment, Evaine. I would rather not let too much time for idle mouths to run rampant. Superstition harms the people just as much as the darkness does." Holding the young man tightly by his arm, Darren brings the prisoner forward. He's ragged and distraught. His breathing is labored by anxiety and he looks to the ground, muttering still.
"What happened? Please, help me understand so I can help you," Evaine murmured to the boy, grasping his hands in her own. "May Avacyn's light shine upon you," she said, more loudly. The whole crowd could hear her prayer, offering a small amount of cover to the boy. "May the judgement of Angels brighten the world with their mercy."
"Avacyn's light?" He snickers and gazes at you with sudden clarity. "Do you not take notice, cathar? Her light is fading. Avacyn is not on a holy missive. She has abandoned us, left her children to the teeth and claws in the dark."
From the left of the crowd, a man tosses a rock and it strikes the young man on his side, a deep thud resounding from his ribcage. "Get that demon-licker out of here!"
From there the crowd exclaims as the two arresters peer through the chaos to find the assailant.
Sturm can't contain himself, a man near to him hurls a stone at the prisoner just as the crowd parts and the stone connects right on the kid's forehead. Sturm bellows with laughter as those around begin to stir even more with their religious fervor. We may be sheep, Sturm thinks, but these walls merely hold a buffet. He begins to think he's wasted his time coming to this civilization. The people here were all soft. They'd have been given to the mountains at birth, he was sure of it.
As chaos erupted around them, Evaine grabbed Fiona, saying, "There's nothing more I can do for him." Fiona broke free of Evaine's grasp, thinking to herself, No, but I can! She dashed to him, grabbing him, and continued to run. He tried to escape her grasp, but she continued to drag him along. Through the crowd, and down the nearest alleyway they ran, and continued running, winding through the streets. She finally spotted an abandoned looking house, dark and boarded up. Encroaching weeds and other noxious plants grew up around it, obscuring its windows. Fiona found a window with a loose board, and managed to squeeze herself in, pulling the boy after her. "Stay still, stay quiet. If we're really lucky, they won't find you, and you can sneak out in the dark of night."
"Fiona," Evaine swore under her breath, taking off at a very loud run after her charge. She was able to keep up with the petite redhead, noting that she had run into what looked to be an abandoned and boarded up house. "I swear to Avacyn, that child will be the death of me," she muttered under her breath. Evaine tried the door, but it wouldn't budge.
Seeing the shiny worshiper of angels take off as if she had a clear indication of where she was going made Sturm curious. It seems the prisoner they had escaped, and this woman knew where he was. At the very least he'd be able to gain favor if he brought the idiot back to them. He decided to follow her.
Sturm stumbled through the crowds to keep up, but eventually found her standing in front of an abandoned building. The place actually looked pretty decent... a few new boards and some mortar and it'd be right as rain. Sturm walked up and past the cleric, the crackling of lighting appearing in his hand. With a roar and a great lunge, a handaxe made of pure crackling mana manifested in his hand. With all his might he swung it, exploding the door inward. It takes a moment for his sight to adjust and the dust to settle.
"Holy- who are you?" Evaine gasped, taken aback. She hadn't seen the burly man follow her, and the display of strength and lightening had surprised her. "Why did you-" Her questions were interrupted by a scream from the upper floor of the house. "Shit, I have no idea who you are, but I have to go... help," Evaine started to run into the house. Get out get out get out. "Thank you so much for your help!" She called back over her shoulder.
Sturm gives it a moment, waiting for someone to run out of the house, before deciding to step up to the the threshold and peer inside. He sees the Avacynian cleric standing over an injured woman, an arrow in the woman's arm. A small blade lies next to them. "Where'd they go?" He asks, peering through the darkness.
Evaine ran up the stairs towards the sound of screaming. She found a crazed, ragged woman, teeth bared and clenched, her fists in white-knuckled fists. The woman turned to the cleric, shrieking. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE, GET OUT-GET OUT!!!"
”I’m so sorry to disturb you... ma’am. Did you happen to see a little redhead?” Evaine asked, her words measured in an attempt to be soothing.
"GET THE **** OUT!" She stepped toward Evaine in an angered demeanor, grasping a small bladed object from a desk drawer, continuing her forward motion.
“I will, I will, I just need to find my friend... she has red hair, a boy with her?”
Her breath heaving, saliva seething from the sides of her mouth, she raised the reflective blade and began to rush toward the cleric. "WHY WON'T THEY LEAVE?!"
Evaine held up her shield and said, "I don't know, but I am trying to get them to do just that!" The woman rushed forward, attempting to stab Evaine, but she was able to block the blows with her shield. Out of nowhere, an arrow flew forward and embedded itself in the attacker's arm.
The woman fell to her knees sobbing violently. "They hurt me, Ehram! They hurt me!"
"I'm sorry, please, let me help heal you," Evaine spoke softly, getting out her healing kit and slowly moving forward. "And then I will take these people out of your home." The crazed woman's eyes darted back and forth, but she allowed the cleric to heal her arm. Just then, the barbarian who had helped her with the door barged in.
"Fiona, come out with your new friend," the blonde called to the corner. "Let's get out of this nice woman's home. We can deal with your new friend together."
Fiona had another arrow nocked and ready to shoot when Evaine told her it was time to go. She slowly released the tension on the bowstring, but didn't put the arrow away. She reached into the pantry, grabbed the boys hand, and pulled him out with her. Keeping him behind her at all times, she pulled him to the door. "This is my friend. You'll be safe with her, I promise."
Hunter's Moon, day 12
The days have been short, as common with this autumnal season. The nights, longer, each minute and hour stretching on, scratching at the doors and windows. Bonfires keep all hours illuminated, a small radiance piercing into the ever-present darkness in defiance. They are said to keep the vampires at bay, but nowadays, many a word is said. For the last two years, the wards defending humanity have weakened, and continue to weaken still. Holy sigils that protected the buried bodies of the dearly departed wane against the perverse magic of necromancers. Wards that protected outlying villages from vampire and werewolf attacks no longer hold their efficacy, leaving the inhabitants defenseless and to be preyed upon once more. What's more, is that the presence of angels has dwindled. In fact, you can't remember how long ago you last saw a gathering of Avacyn's host, or Avacyn, herself, for the matter. In times before this ascension of darkness, a warrior angel of Flight Goldnight would accompany every group of cathars on a journey to slay the monsters in the dark, a nurturing angel of Alabaster would soar the skies to renew the protective wards of settlements, herself, an angel of the Herons would bless every newborn, and plant the first seeds of a farmer's crop. The powerful defenders of humanity have become scarce, it seems.
But the dawn always rises after dusk, the church exclaims. Maintain your faith, do not falter. For quavering faith is what causes Avacyn's and her host's power to feign. You must be steadfast in your belief, then will the sun rise over the horizon and the dark hide for another day. Then, will the seasons change and good forever triumph over evil.
Today is as any other in the Nearheath, the surrounding lands outside the high city of Thraben, capital of Gavony. The families wake and attend to their work. The overseeing of cattle, the rearing of children, the toil of the ground, and the growing of farmed goods. The local cathars ready their equipment, hoping not to have to drawn them to anything more than petty thievery. Some are humble artisans, cleaning up their shops and tools of their trade, preparing for eventual customers. Even fewer, residing in walled manorial estates, fret over what luxurious garb to dawn, what prepared meal to lavish, and what parts of town they wish to gift with the generosity of their presence.
Our players find themselves in one of three parishes in the Nearheath, the Effalen Parish. It is a rocky, windswept area dotted with low shrubs and jagged outcroppings that borders the countryside known as the Moorlands. Villages here a somewhat scattered due to the landscape, but the Outer Wall of Thraben can be seen in the not-so-off distance to the west, the peaks of the taller buildings seen above even it, including the great Cathedral of Avacyn. Down a cobbled street that breaks center of the village and leads to the High City, a commotion is stirring. The sound of civilians prying and suspecting, whispers surround a flocking group of villagers. If you cared to take notice, they are obscuring most of your view, but you can tell someone, perhaps more than one person, is making their way through the crowd, shouting, "Make way! Back to your business, make way!"
Evaine had gotten the note almost a week before, clutching it to her chest like a lifeline. This would be her chance to have her own place. Fiona would be able to have a space of her own, she would finally get a bed to herself. And best of all, she would get a chance to make a real difference. Her hands wouldn't be tied by the church, she could have her own temple and her own autonomy. As Nearheath was where Fiona had originally been from, it wasn't a hard sell.
They had spent the better part of that week packing up their meager belongings. How many times could you repack the same locket, set of armor, dozen books, and shard of crystal? The answer was too numerous to count. But eventually the day came, and they shouldered their packs and headed from the bustling city of Thraben to Effalen Parish. "Perhaps you can give me a tour," Evaine had suggested to her little redhead with a smile.
When they arrived in the town, Fiona had been a decidedly less than patient tour guide. The fourteen year old darted through the crowd, Evaine losing her pretty much constantly. With a sigh, the cleric decided to find her own way. She was confident the teenager would come back to her when she was ready to settle in. The blonde looked around curiously, excited to see what Effalen Parish had to offer. The crowd caught her eye, and as she was never one to really follow instructions, she decided to look at what everyone else was looking at.
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Fiona didn't really want to give a tour to Evaine. What she wanted was something to eat. But at the suggestion, the dirty girl with the ratty red hair dashed off through the people. She knew this place well, not that she could call it home. No, home was outside, in the forest. But since meeting Evaine, she'd been sleeping in a bed again, under real blankets, eating actual food. It was nice. Strange, but nice. Wanting to do something for Evaine, Fiona rushed off, task in mind. She came wandering back to Evaine soon after, munching on a fresh red apple. She shoved another into Evaine's hand. "Gotcha somethun!" Her eyes turned toward the crowd, and she positioned herself slightly behind her caretaker.
A dwarf with a canoe on his back? What could go wrong?
Sturm had only recently arrived in the Effalen Parish, the thought circling his mind that this was a fools errand. Why would any of these people help a wild man from the dangerous wildlands when they were comfortable sitting on their cushions eating... a small red-headed girl ran past him with a strange fruit... large cherries. She handed another woman one of those cherries and they both began approaching a large crowd that had gathered. Sturm could hear yelling from the crowd to make way. These people were so bored with life that any little thing could draw their attention.
Sturm stands back from the crowd, but watches to see what comes of the ruckus.
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Gael had only freshly arrived in the Parish to discover some sort of commotion about. Exactly what he needed, now, something that could put people more up at arms than they already were these days. With a shuffle of his feet--Gael noted bitterly he'd have to find a new pair of shoes, these seemed to be going rather south all things considered--he kept his head ducked low and the rags that constituted his clothes for the moment wrapped about him as if to ward off whatever deeds were going on down the way. He tried his best to be unobtrusive in the only way he knew how--small towns were inevitably nosey but the few years in isolation--and after everything before even that--meant that Gael had learned the art of none of my business.
With a tired sigh he scratched at his stubble, glanced at the way of the commotion, and tried to return his focus to finding some work.
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“We’re going to do something nice to whoever you took his from,” Evaine said to Fiona pointedly. The cleric could see two cathars with a young man held between them. She even recognized one of the holy men, a soldies who had graduated from the Church a few seasons ahead of her. Fiona let out a little growl and moved as if to go after the boy. Evaine grabbed the girl by the wrist. “Let me handle it,” she murmured.
“Darren!” Evaine pushed her way through the crowd. “Darren! It’s me, Evaine! What’s going on here?”
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"Evaine?" The man raises his hat to get a clearer view of his sister-in-arms. His face appears worn and aged beyond his actual years, a common affliction of those that witness the world beyond the walls as normalcy. "Evaine! What are you doing out here? Do you not work within the High walls?"
He stops the other cathar and prisoner for the brief exchange. The young man's eyes are sullen, a darkness resides within them that fringes on the edge of wild anguish. He's muttering under his breath as his fixated gaze darts among his surroundings.
"This man is suspect of illegal act. He is to be brought forth to a judicial hearing where he will be tried before an angel of Goldnight, as customary. I cannot say more. If I may?" The man moves beside you to continue his corse. "Avacyn guide you."
“They gave me a place of my own, right here,” Evaine explained, a touch of excitement in her voice. The smile faded as she looked at the feral boy. He reminded her of Fiona. “Darren,” she grabbed the soldiers hand, looking him in the eye. “I know this isn’t my place, but if I may I’d like to pray with him, speak with him. If I’m to look after this city, I need to understand. Please, I need to help.”
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PBP: Lera Zahuv in Whispers of Dissent
PBP: Evaine Brae in Innistrad: Dark Ascension
PBP: Cor'avin in Tomb of Annihilation
Fiona stared at the boy, ignoring everything else around her. He was saying something. What was it? He was speaking frantically. "No, no, no. Not yet. Shouldn't have been yet.. They'll see, they'll soon see. The Skirsdag, the.. they'll kill me. I-I-I.. I have- I have to.. show them."
Skirsdag. She'd heard that name before, somewhere. She didn't know much, but she did know they didn't get along with the Church. She tugged at Evaine's arm, hard. Making sure nobody else could hear, she whispered, "Skirsdag?"
A dwarf with a canoe on his back? What could go wrong?
"Just for a moment, Evaine. I would rather not let too much time for idle mouths to run rampant. Superstition harms the people just as much as the darkness does." Holding the young man tightly by his arm, Darren brings the prisoner forward. He's ragged and distraught. His breathing is labored by anxiety and he looks to the ground, muttering still.
"What happened? Please, help me understand so I can help you," Evaine murmured to the boy, grasping his hands in her own. "May Avacyn's light shine upon you," she said, more loudly. The whole crowd could hear her prayer, offering a small amount of cover to the boy. "May the judgement of Angels brighten the world with their mercy."
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PBP: Lera Zahuv in Whispers of Dissent
PBP: Evaine Brae in Innistrad: Dark Ascension
PBP: Cor'avin in Tomb of Annihilation
"Avacyn's light?" He snickers and gazes at you with sudden clarity. "Do you not take notice, cathar? Her light is fading. Avacyn is not on a holy missive. She has abandoned us, left her children to the teeth and claws in the dark."
From the left of the crowd, a man tosses a rock and it strikes the young man on his side, a deep thud resounding from his ribcage. "Get that demon-licker out of here!"
From there the crowd exclaims as the two arresters peer through the chaos to find the assailant.
Sturm can't contain himself, a man near to him hurls a stone at the prisoner just as the crowd parts and the stone connects right on the kid's forehead. Sturm bellows with laughter as those around begin to stir even more with their religious fervor. We may be sheep, Sturm thinks, but these walls merely hold a buffet. He begins to think he's wasted his time coming to this civilization. The people here were all soft. They'd have been given to the mountains at birth, he was sure of it.
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As chaos erupted around them, Evaine grabbed Fiona, saying, "There's nothing more I can do for him." Fiona broke free of Evaine's grasp, thinking to herself, No, but I can! She dashed to him, grabbing him, and continued to run. He tried to escape her grasp, but she continued to drag him along. Through the crowd, and down the nearest alleyway they ran, and continued running, winding through the streets. She finally spotted an abandoned looking house, dark and boarded up. Encroaching weeds and other noxious plants grew up around it, obscuring its windows. Fiona found a window with a loose board, and managed to squeeze herself in, pulling the boy after her. "Stay still, stay quiet. If we're really lucky, they won't find you, and you can sneak out in the dark of night."
A dwarf with a canoe on his back? What could go wrong?
"Fiona," Evaine swore under her breath, taking off at a very loud run after her charge. She was able to keep up with the petite redhead, noting that she had run into what looked to be an abandoned and boarded up house. "I swear to Avacyn, that child will be the death of me," she muttered under her breath. Evaine tried the door, but it wouldn't budge.
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Seeing the shiny worshiper of angels take off as if she had a clear indication of where she was going made Sturm curious. It seems the prisoner they had escaped, and this woman knew where he was. At the very least he'd be able to gain favor if he brought the idiot back to them. He decided to follow her.
Sturm stumbled through the crowds to keep up, but eventually found her standing in front of an abandoned building. The place actually looked pretty decent... a few new boards and some mortar and it'd be right as rain. Sturm walked up and past the cleric, the crackling of lighting appearing in his hand. With a roar and a great lunge, a handaxe made of pure crackling mana manifested in his hand. With all his might he swung it, exploding the door inward. It takes a moment for his sight to adjust and the dust to settle.
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"Holy- who are you?" Evaine gasped, taken aback. She hadn't seen the burly man follow her, and the display of strength and lightening had surprised her. "Why did you-" Her questions were interrupted by a scream from the upper floor of the house. "Shit, I have no idea who you are, but I have to go... help," Evaine started to run into the house. Get out get out get out. "Thank you so much for your help!" She called back over her shoulder.
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Sturm gives it a moment, waiting for someone to run out of the house, before deciding to step up to the the threshold and peer inside. He sees the Avacynian cleric standing over an injured woman, an arrow in the woman's arm. A small blade lies next to them. "Where'd they go?" He asks, peering through the darkness.
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Evaine ran up the stairs towards the sound of screaming. She found a crazed, ragged woman, teeth bared and clenched, her fists in white-knuckled fists. The woman turned to the cleric, shrieking. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE, GET OUT-GET OUT!!!"
”I’m so sorry to disturb you... ma’am. Did you happen to see a little redhead?” Evaine asked, her words measured in an attempt to be soothing.
"GET THE **** OUT!" She stepped toward Evaine in an angered demeanor, grasping a small bladed object from a desk drawer, continuing her forward motion.
“I will, I will, I just need to find my friend... she has red hair, a boy with her?”
Her breath heaving, saliva seething from the sides of her mouth, she raised the reflective blade and began to rush toward the cleric. "WHY WON'T THEY LEAVE?!"
Evaine held up her shield and said, "I don't know, but I am trying to get them to do just that!" The woman rushed forward, attempting to stab Evaine, but she was able to block the blows with her shield. Out of nowhere, an arrow flew forward and embedded itself in the attacker's arm.
The woman fell to her knees sobbing violently. "They hurt me, Ehram! They hurt me!"
"I'm sorry, please, let me help heal you," Evaine spoke softly, getting out her healing kit and slowly moving forward. "And then I will take these people out of your home." The crazed woman's eyes darted back and forth, but she allowed the cleric to heal her arm. Just then, the barbarian who had helped her with the door barged in.
"Fiona, come out with your new friend," the blonde called to the corner. "Let's get out of this nice woman's home. We can deal with your new friend together."
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PBP: Lera Zahuv in Whispers of Dissent
PBP: Evaine Brae in Innistrad: Dark Ascension
PBP: Cor'avin in Tomb of Annihilation
Fiona had another arrow nocked and ready to shoot when Evaine told her it was time to go. She slowly released the tension on the bowstring, but didn't put the arrow away. She reached into the pantry, grabbed the boys hand, and pulled him out with her. Keeping him behind her at all times, she pulled him to the door. "This is my friend. You'll be safe with her, I promise."
A dwarf with a canoe on his back? What could go wrong?