Call to Arms - Tainted Love

[Ostheim]

As in the day or two before the assault had even began, Rannie found herself staring at the Velvet Chantry.

From the outside, one could be forgiven for mistaking the Chantry to appear as inviting and splendid as ever. Its entry was a marble-laden affair, with red velvet drapes hanging down from the roof to catch the eyes of passers by, while not so large as to dominate the atmosphere of Songhall. Like any proper Sunite priestess, it simply enhanced and added to the beauty of the entire mountain village. The holy visage of Lady Firehair Herself watched from a banner just above the door, her soft features and flowing crimson hair dismissing any notion of mistaking the building to be anything but what it was in truth.

Rannie glanced up a lot during that vigil. Looking upon Her was easier than looking at the doors. The banner was faultless; untouched. Nothing outside had been sullied; the ward Cass had thrown up had seen to that. Now the doors were warded again, this time by the clinical Warwand who had calmly explained to them that that ward would herald their death if the assault should fail. None would be allowed to escape.

It hadn't been necessary, of course. The assault did not fail. She had never thought for a second that it might. In such a situation, doubts were weakness to shackle the legs and slow the decisiveness of action. Rannie prided herself on never having a doubt in her mind when the rush of combat hit her in full force - when there was nothing left for it but to take up the blade and hack away at the horrific foulness of the world, and of things that slithered into her world to sully it with alien evil.

She had felt that rush on the day before, striding through those same halls that had only recently been noisy with the innocent tittering of her sisters and brothers. Like a greedy wolf seeking additional slaughter, she had snarled and lashed out at every misshapen form that dared approach her or those that had rallied so quickly to see that the unnatural taint would be purged. It was with a true thrill that she had done direct battle with the beating, blighted heart of that madness in the nexus of her new lair, a mockery of a place Rannie knew to be pure, now impure. She had felt its whip upon her, grinned in righteous delight as her blade, pulsating with holy energy from Brightwater itself, sank deep into that daemon's beautiful, gorgeous body.

It felt right. To hate, sometimes. For some, there could be redemption afforded to them. Never would that peace offering be extended to those of such mind-rending evil that they would dare corrupt a place of compassion and artistry.

Yet this battle had not put her heart at ease.

Yes, most had survived, though who could say what horrible secrets they would find when the consecration began? Yes, the evil source was gone, but what of the walls themselves, so inundated with taint that even the furniture felt like it might as well be a foe to run through? Victory was had, but at what price to the people who shared her faith with so much more fidelity than she?

They did not deserve this.

She spent time writing, after. Letters needed to go out, plans had to be made. Artemis had promised help, and she was grateful for it, but it needed to come from one of the faithful as well, far more crucially than from an ally. She would need to rely on her, though; her contacts and connections were a simple fact of life when dealing with the Amnian, and Rannie thanked her luck that the Gods had seen fit to finally make a good one. To Selgaunt, to the Chantry of Crimson Compassion, the place that the faith shared with her own Order of the Ruby Rose and where she had trained for years, she penned a letter entreating for immediate aid. For other sources, she would need Artemis and her connections.

In the meanwhile, until and always after that day when she could feel at ease walking into that place again, she would wage war against the daemons that were slowly and steadily beginning to corrupt Impiltur with their malice.

Cassandra had called her a heroine after the fact. Rannie accepted that; perhaps to some, she was a hero. Perhaps to those she had saved, she was a hero. She and the others who had helped her re-take the place. Elhokar, whose face now bore the scars of combat with the daemon's whip. Gwen and Lori, whose spells dismissed the portals that the she-bitch had formed for a sinister foot-hold into their world. Merney, whose strength had disposed of many a lesser daemon before his will surrendered before the sight of that last, most crucial one. Rannie reflected on this, shifting uncomfortably as she stared upon the Velvet Chantry.

The price of being a hero was too damned high these days.

[OldBear]

Ornak sits before a small fire eating some porridge. His night's rest had been broken multiple times, awaking from the dreams of this various deamons they had faced, only to roll over and fall asleep again. The last dream was not so much of the one, where he could stand but helpless in it's gaze, but of the face of the Sune Paladin. He had rallied to her cause only to be met by hate it seemed. Her thanks afterwards had gone out to some, but not to him. He knew better than to try to help such as her. Her righteousness merely a sham for her bigotry for such as his kind. He had killed several of the demons in the Chantry and aided in the destruction of others. One might think a bit of thanks would have been in order. He mutters over the last spoonful, "still I had to go to aid Lady Artemis and Lady Peveril. Must keep telling myself that is what was important, that I helped them. Miss Ser Jerek, he used to be glad for my aid against undead and other evil foes."

[Astral Fire]

Cassandra took a deep breath, inhaling the mountains fresh air in her lungs, still affected by the sticky, suffocating incense-filled air of the tainted Chantry. She stared upon the group of Sunites survivors with great compassion and understanding. Now they knew the hell she had to endure and fight, and she felt compelled to help them as she was once helped by that kind old man in Calimshan.

She gently caressed the forehead of the only sunite victim that didn’t survive the battle. Closing her eyes as a tear dropped, she passed her thin hand delicately on the cold skin of that beautiful man, praying with all her heart and faith that he’d be forgiven from every sin that corrupted creature made him commit and that, in their mercy, the Gods would welcome his spirit to the celestial realms.

The evening passed very rapidly as she make the pleasant acquaintance of many of the brave adventurers that participated in the battle, sharing with them comforting and encouraging words of wisdom , but she couldn’t help to feel a weight on her bleeding heart, a weight coming from the shadow of the past and guilt, for she felt no horror for what she witnessed, just a great sadness, and the knowledge she was perhaps one of the only one capable of healing the mental wounds that foul creature left to those poor souls.

The next day, she’d mediate and pray as she did every morning. Rannie had already left, but Cassandra decided to stay to help the victims and the afflicted to teach them how to heal from their inner torment. As she’d break down in tears for all the pain and suffering she witnessed, she invoked the power Ilmater “Oh Broken God, I beg you, thy will be done, make it possible that, for every tear that drops from my eyes and from every drop of blood that will come out form the holy wounds You infliced upon me, the pain and the suffering of those poor souls tainted and touched by evil be delivered from their bodies and souls”. She'd then use her hard mental training to calm down and reach inner peace, focusing on her own pain to receive the blessing of her God.

Then she’d pay a visit to the survivors, probably meeting up with Lady D’Assanthe, the Warwand and all the others trying to tend to their wounds and to help the Sunites, using all her knowledge on daemonic possession to test them for any potential residue of corruption and mind-poisoning, as she was taught by her master in Calimshan. She’d approach them kindly with her usual gaze full of compassion, love and determination, using her soft voice, always with that distinguished accent from the west, staring them in the eyes “I know how you feel, I see it in your eyes. It hurts, you feel your mind and soul broken, you start to doubt and think you’re not going to survive. But let me tell humbly tell you: no matter how much you suffered, no matter how much pain has been inflicted upon you, nothing will ever break your soul, for, as one of your Church taught me, true beauty lies in it, not only in the body. As evil has been vanishes, may you vanish the suffering from your heart and bodies, so you can be reborn in the love of Sune to witness expatiated to her immense beauty once again. And I’ll be here with you, to soothe your pain and make you overcome this.”

After that she’d start writing two letters, one addressed to Sister Teresa in Sarshel to forward to the Triadic Authorities, describing the victory obtained that day, asking for a private audience with them and stating the possible need of further assistance for the Sunites, if the circumstances allowed. The other addressed to the House of the Broken One in Calimshan, to Reverend Father Melder Rythtin, containing a full report of the situation in Impulitur.