Conclave Fidelis (Scene 3)

[Stix]

Travel time:

[dice=4]hours[rand=359726200938181463608382556624734750619146783686731505983854289565]

[Stix]

The considerably larger group soldiers on into the Elysian night, guided by fireflies and the songs of the thrushes across a great plain dotted with pear trees. Though the lawmen's map showed a series of rivers to ford, the travelers come across none until a small settlement is visible in the distance.

Conclave Fidelis, the religious center of Principality, sits at a fork in the river where two tributaries meet to feed into the distant Lake Aonia. The monastery sits on a low, gently-sloping hill, surrounded by pastoral land lit even in the late night with brilliant globes of light overhead. Grain fields and vineyards stretch all the way to the footbridge.

(Must return to work, feel free to start from here if you like, I'll have more to add later.)

[john]

John lumbers towards the monastery, skull-like face concealed under the vulture helm, the raw flesh feeling gentled a bit by the general pleasant nature of Elysium itself.

[Stix]

The closer the group draws to the monastery, the better able they are to hear a chant echoing from within: "Li aruth halá," the voices drone in perfect pitch.

The broad, stone footbridge is attended at the far end by four figures in full armor and concealing helms, each standing stock-still with a halberd at rest. They resonate with the song from the monastery, seeming to carry the music through them without voicing it themselves.

[TheGratefulNed]

Gl'Fnak often leads the group, scouting around for any signs that the bebilith had been this way ahead of them. He wears a genuine smile on his face, enjoying the serenity of Elysium and feeling the Cadence of the Planes flow through him.

Spying the monastery, the tiefling immediately approaches the four armored bashers on the bridge, hands nowhere near his weapons. "Hail, cutters," with a nod to the guards, the Baatorian waits for them to address or acknowledge the approaching group before saying anything more.

[john]

John follows after Gl"fnak, bearing the litter with the various wounded upon it with brute strength. (Assuming that wasn't taken away from him), and scowling deeply under his vulture helm at the guards, not angry or confrontational, but ever more worried about the possible death of the Deva to whom he owes a life-debt.

[exile]

Hadrian's mood waxed and waned over the hours marching, one moment verbose, the next quiet, soon morose, and then dazed. He walked on as though in a fugue, his face inscrutable and whatever thoughts he had (if indeed any) closely guarded or else utterly unattended to. As the column drew to a halt the aasimar plodded into the back of the Baatorian before himself ceasing his step.

[TheGratefulNed]

Gl'Fnak falters forward a step as Hadrian unexpectedly collides with him from behind. Quickly regaining his composure and posture, the Baatorian glances over the guards, looking for any obvious insignia of faction, guild or faith.

[Stix]

The guards straighten up mechanically as they are addressed. After a short delay, they part, two to each side of the bridge, allowing passage. Passing nearer each "guardsman" reveals nothing where the eyes should be visible behind the visors of their helms -- each is only an empty steel shell, animated by the sacred song of the monastery. Each breastplate bears a shallow engraving of three concentric circles.

A dirt path leads the party and its wounded charges through low, cultivated fields: rice, fed by simple irrigation from the river, plus wheat, flax, oats, rye and barley. At the inviting archway halfway up the hill (which passes for the monastery's gate... not that it could keep anyone out, being unattached to a wall and having no door) stands a middle-aged aasimar with tonsured silver hair, dressed in a sackcloth robe with a simple white vestment and rope belt. He holds an unflickering bullseye lantern aloft, lighting the way with a salutatory wave.

[john]

John will move to the tonsured aasimar and say,
"We've wounded, can you heal them here?"

[TheGratefulNed]

Gl'Fnak gazes for only a second at the empty suits of animated armor, he'd seen stranger things. The Baatorian nods in response to the light-bearer's wave and is briefly amused at the appearance, no doubt intentional, of a silvery halo resting on the aasimar's ears. As they reach the gate and John speaks, the Cipher steps aside and motions for the wounded to come forward before the holy man even replies.

[Stix]

The aasimar silently beckons for the group to follow. He leads the way into a large, simple building, padding barefoot over its tile floor and past simple painted frescoes, their saintly characters displayed with outstretched hands and faces turned to the heavens. Sconces line the walls, but no torches light the passages, leaving the silent monk's lantern the only illumination.

The repetitive droning of the chanting monks is very audible in the halls, gentle and relaxing. The aasimar monk opens a door off of a long hallway into a great square room, leading everyone into the monastery's hospice wing. Dozens of cots line the room, made up with clean sheets. With a sweeping gesture, the monk instructs everyone to make themselves at home.

[john]

John will sit down by a cot, lean his blade across his knees, look to the Aasimar and says, "It is not taboo to sharpen my blade in this place, is it?"

If it indicates it is, he will keep it sheathed, if not, he will sharpen away with a whetstone. Whsst, whssst. Not knowing what to do, just knowing his best bet is to await the arrival of the others. The Hardheads.

[TheGratefulNed]

Gl'Fnak lets John lead all of the wounded in before bringing up the tail of the group. His green-shod hooves clack a crisp, consistent staccato on the tiled floors as they're led to the infirmary.

When they've all entered and most of the others have sat or laid down, the Cipher sits cross-legged on the floor. His crossbow beside him and his two blades crossing his back, the tips of their scabbards just resting on the tiles. Hands casually resting in his lap, the Baatorian closes his eyes in meditation.

[Stix]

The monk gives John a nod and a gesture with one hand to indicate that he may do so.

(Finally catching up the other group, so unless anybody has anything to add here, we can go right ahead with the next chapter.)

[john]

(go ahead! I'm good.)

[Stix]

(I believe the Chapter Three board should be up and running; the story continues there.)