Private Tales Choosing my Religion

A private roleplay only for those invited by the first writer
"They mostly didn't make it," Brok said, looking towards the door. There might have been some survivors back in the hall. He supposed they should have checked.

He felt selfish for checking himself for wounds first. It was as his ranger mother taught him, make sure you are not wounded before tending to anyone else. She had been a survivor.

"Where are we?" he repeated, brain catching up. His own heart was still racing, more for the fear than the physical exertion.

"Did that stone steal your memories?" he asked, looking up from nothing more than bruises and grazes down the outdide of his arm. Part luck and part being a huge and robust pile of muscle.
 
Faith shook her head. "Stone?" she looked aside to the glittering bowl and a horrible image flashed in her mind, causing her to turn away abruptly. Almost immediately the image faded from her memory, but the feeling of dread remained.

"No," she sighed. How best to explain this? Given the state of the two of them (and the fact that they were apparently lone survivors) he deserved the truth. "I am two people, in one body. I think my sister woke up when I was hit on the head. Only one of us can be awake at a time, you see." She checked to see if any of that made sense, and would not be surprised if it hadn't.

She felt a terrible wave of guilt. She had failed in her one duty to this group: to protect them. Melody could not heal nor guard, but then all the more reason why Faith should have been stronger, should have stayed. Maybe some of them could have been saved...
 
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Brok frowned, trying to work out if the words she had said had morphed into some other meaning inside his head.

They hadn't.

Hearing a sound from the hall, he turned sharply and lifted his sword. Roland was definitely dead. His spine ripped crudely in half, broken ribs protruding from his back.

Either there were some others alive or the gargoyles were still animated..

"What do you mean?" he asked over his shoulder, walking back towards the main hall.
 
She couldn't help but laugh softly to herself. What did she mean?

"I wish I knew," she said. The fact that he had chosen to ask in his confusion, instead of outright dismissing her as insane, was refreshing. "Some people think we were cursed... others blessed. I don't really think it matters, it doesn't change anything." This hardly seemed like a priority right now, but if she kept talking about this she wouldn't have to think about where they actually were, nor the nagging terror in the back of her head.

"My sister's name is Melody. She normally only wakes up at night but... well she tries to protect me. I am grateful, really." If only her sister didn't get them into such trouble seemingly every time she was in control.

"Do you have any siblings?" Anything to keep her mind off the stench, and the sucking squelches of her boots on congealed blood.
 
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That was an interesting question. He had never met his father. There was, he supposed, every chance that he had half-siblings out in the wild.

"None that I've met. And no others in my head too," Brock replied. It was rather blunt, but there was nothing hurtful in his tone.

Even with the stamina that came with his orc heritage, the fine two-handed sword was feeling heavy. He let the flat side of the blade drag across the floor.

No one stirred in the church's main hall. There were shattered gargoyles around the room. One of them had fallen still, perhaps as the magic had fled with the monster they cut down. Its hands remained frozen in place around the neck of its last victim.

It was almost as horrific now as the place they had just left.

A shape flitted past one of the stain glass windows.

"There is someone outside."
 
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Faith allowed herself a weak smile at Brok's reply. It was nice to have someone so... accepting. He might not understand, but he believed her. That meant a great deal, whether he knew it or not.

She looked on the carnage upstairs with crushing guilt. "I should have been here..." she knelt next to the body of the youngest man in their group. His limbs broken and his head turned a quarter past breaking point. The divine light was brighter in here than it was below, but not by much.

She snapped her head up and stood at Brok's warning and backed up to him as she, too, saw a flicker outside. She grit her teeth and picked up a sword that had been abandoned on the church floor. It shook in her hands. "Creator protect us."
 
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"I'm not waiting for whatever is next," Brock declared. He wasn't going to lock himself in with the blood and gore just for the chance of living another few minutes. It just had to be more monsters outside.

He shoved the doors back open. The courtyard beyond the church was empty. Movement caught his eye and he raised the sword. His shoulders shook from its weight now.

A shape on a roof. Then another and another. Dark crimson robes, masked faces.

"They're human..." muttered Brock. There had to be at least twenty.
 
Faith followed closely and felt a wash of relief as they left the church's doors and she could feel the divine touch once more. The ground still felt unsteady, and the air was still wrong, but a familiar warmth came through her fingers and toes as the magic automatically set to work healing her bruises.

Their observers looked ominous to say the least. Were they more monsters? Villagers? Both? She didn't know if she should try to speak to them, but she didn't have any other ideas.

She lifted her hands in a sign on peace. "Our party was ambushed," she said levelly, "We do not mean anyone harm."
 
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An older man stepped out from ground level. The ring of onlookers remained above them. Brock caught sight of the small crossbows and curved swords they were carrying.

"I am Presbyter Grove and I know why you are here," he said. There was no sympathy in his tone, but no anger either. It was smooth and even.

"What happened inside?" he asked. He addressed Faith directly without even sparing Brock a glance.
 
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Faith looked to Brok and then back at the man. "Presbyter?" He was with the church? Why had they followed so quickly after? Were they to here to help?

"The people... corrupted. Cursed or bewitched. We tried to spare as many as we could but they would not stop attacking." She felt the old queasiness return as she reimagined the monstrous priest-demon.

"There was a demon. He looked like a man, a priest, but he turned into... a horror."

She took a step forwards. "You can see for yourself inside, but do be careful. There is an unholy aura within."
 
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