VEYL: First Campaign Thread

Rory has seen such things but only a few times, his face contorts when he sees the condition of the Firbolg woman called Mirana.  He hears Toil's words, the offer for them to camp, and he darts a sharp look at the tiefling.  His fists squeeze imperceptibly tighter.  He watches the assessment and diverts his eyes from the Hollowed, knowing what must come next.  "Sometimes, death is a kindness, a release.  A transformation of sorts.  I'm all about healin someone if we are able... but this is too far gone."  He speaks the words softly and to himself.  

When Harper starts to sing his song, he gives a small smile, for just a moment, but when Cork speaks up, Rory agrees and he says so.  "I agree with that.  Not safe to prolong it.  Doesn't help her, or anyone else.  We can help if you wish it.  I don't think you'll like the direction of this, if you let things linger..."  Rory puts his hand on his sword hilt, standing there at attention, waiting to see what will happen.  

The roadkeeper frowns when Cork says the obvious part out loud, but says nothing in response.  Instead, he looks back at Mirana, and then motions with his chin toward the fire, indicating to the Orc to help his sick charge sit.  When the Orc sets to motion, the roadkeeper steps away from the party, making a summoning motion with his hand as he beckons his traveling companions to circle up around him.  There's a few minutes of hushed whispers, nodding heads, shaking heads, and hand gestures, before finally the silver-light toting pilgrims step away and the roadkeeper returns to the party to discuss next steps.  

"We do not wish to stay."  He said calmly, his voice low and morose.  "My comrades have no desire for the sight of blood, especially not blood that belongs to someone who was one of our own not so long ago."  

He paused for a moment, reaching up to scratch his nose and rub at his eyes.  

"I do not wish to be rude, or to seem eager to leave Mirana to her fate..."  He said finally, stepping back toward the rest of his group.  "But the silver candles must march on while their is still darkness to show their brilliance.  "Would you have anything of us before we go?  Would you like us to carry your names?"  

As he says this, one of the pilgrims steps forward, handing him two rolled parchments.  He offers one to the party.  

The Orc sitting next to Mirana looks distressed as he watches this exchange.  He hasn't left her side the entire time. 

"you are not being rude, that is not your intent, nor is it ours." Toil begins. Turning within the group of pilgrims so that his back is to the dying woman, so that he is not smiling directly at her frailty and her situation any longer, he continues "...but if you have resigned yourselves to this duty, to her, until the point comes that she is not longer in control and may devour and turn the rest of you, then what point would there be to carry our names?

Perhaps I have misunderstood what your plan for her is, what it is that you truly offer to us now...

The things we have offered you, they range from simple comfort to a release of burden at the cost of discomfort. You are of course free to reject all offers, we cannot help in a way that undoes what is done, for that I am sorry.

But is there not one or two of you who would leave this group, to save yourselves from from demise and continue your duty? Sometimes splitting the group ensures the survival of the mission does it not?"