The Morning's Repercussions

16 DECEMBER 3460

As a result of their exhaustion, they manage to sleep through the dawn chanting of the Librarians and leave their beds just before 9.00 in order to say their final farewells and to make their final preparations before starting on their journey to Opava.

Winnacer is up slightly earlier than the others, and heads out of his room in order to knock on the other's doors, so that none of them oversleep.

While knocking upon Aithne's door, the LawBringer is stunned to see the door to Rowan's room, a little further down the corridor, open and his sister's face appear from within. Her hair is tussled and her face is a bright crimson color, as a result of guilt and embarrassment.

"I'll be there in a minute..." Aithne murmurs sleepily...

Winnacer stands still, his jaw hanging slack for a few seconds as he sees his sister departing from Rowan's room. Once the surprise has passed, he notes that his jaw is rigidly clenched and his fingers are pale white and wrapped around The Ripper's hilt and has been jogging down the hall to find Rowan. He catches himself, takes a deep breath, and returns the sword to its leather. His teeth still remained tightly clenched despite this.

Not seeing Winnacer coming down down the corridor, Clarissa quickly heads out of the room, adusting her crumpled white robes as she heads to join the other Librarians at prayer.

The others join the priests for breakfast, which is, once again, simply unsweetened porridge. Winnacer notices that Clarissa is not eating with the other Librarians, but continues to chant her matins alone. Her eyes are closed tight, her flushed expression unchanged as she chants silently and passionately to herself before the altar.

Aithne looks around cheerily, watching the others eat and eating her own meager meal.

"Must not be morning people," she thinks to herself, smiling softly.

Winnacer sees Rowan at the breakfast table and starts to head over, again catching himself. He is obviously livid as he turns away to walk over to his sister.

Winnacer takes to a knee next to Clarissa and waits for her to take note of him. The LawBringer notes that her eyes are flickering towards him, but that she is continuing to chant, her countenance continuing to redden the longer that he kneels at her side. She has her hands clasped before her as she continues to make her devotions, her knuckles white, and Winnacer sees that she is shaking like a leaf.

Eventually, she can stand her brother's presence next to her no longer and she bows deeply towards the altar and awaits her brother's inevitable questioning.

"I saw you this morning, Clarissa," Winnacer starts, trying to sound calm, but not quite able to pull it off, "coming out of Rowan's room, face flushed with expired lust and familial shame. Please tell me my eyes were deceiving me."

Clarissa's eyes continue to stare at the floor before the altar, unable to look into her brother's eyes:

"I ... I don't w-w-what came over me, Winn," she stutters, her voice sounding broken and full of shame. "Th-th-that's just not like me at all. I-I-it all h-h-happened so quickly. I don't really remember what happened. It's just that h-he was so ... so ... incredibly persuasive."

"May Kitry forgive me for what I have done," she finishes, shaking her head sadly.

Clarissa holds her head in shame and remorse.

Had Clarissa been looking up at her brother's expression, she would have seen that it was fixed in a similar manner to how it had been when he was about to face the GermSpreader which had just killed off Gronk and Bennett.

Without saying a further word, he rises and starts to make off. Clarissa's hand reaches out and she puts it upon his shoulder. Finally, she turns around and faces him, her face a picture of regret:

"D-d-don't hurt him, Winn," she beseeches him. "It's not his fault. He is a man, with a regular man's desires. It was my fault. I was weak. I should have tried harder to resist, but he's just so ..."

She can look at him no longer, and her gaze returns to the floor.

As Rowan goes to assemble the rest of his gear before heading off, Winnacer follows him.

Rowan turns at the sound of someone else's footsteps in his chamber:

"Ah, LawBringer... what can I do for--"

He stops short upon seeing Winnacer's expression:

"Ah."

Winnacer closes the chamber's door behind him and walks over to Rowan, grabbing him by the shirt neck. Winnacer brings his face inches from swashbuckler's own, the LawBringer's visage one of unrestrained anger:

"You Bastard. You arrogant, lecherous, bourgeois bastard."

"Bourgeois?" he repeats, as if offended.

Winnacer tosses the man backwards, letting the man find his feet, and commences to pace around the room, giving his hair a hearty push away from his eyes:

"Your selfish and base desires have stripped my sister of her honor. You have disgraced her name and the name of the family she carries. You have brought shame upon the Stradheim family, upon MY family name. All for a moment of passion. You bastard."

"'Moment of passion,' indeed," Rowan replies, fingering Chanticleer's hilt. "What would YOU know of such things? Less than Clarissa, it seems..."

Winnacer again steps into Rowan's face, slapping the swashbuckler's sword hand away from its perch. The heat of his breath on Rowan's face pales to the heat of the anger in his voice.

"Provoke me if you must, you craven coward, but it changes nothing. A feckless lothario like yourself knows nothing about true passion and love, as they are too busy running away from it. A real man lives in continual rapture with his passions instead of the depravity of your overstuffed, arrogant existence."

Winnacer continues to pace.

"I hope you realize what you've gotten yourself into. You better pray to whatever pathetic god that would let you worship it that my fathers and brothers never meet you. My vows to Spravedelna are perhaps all that keeps you alive right now how it is, but my family cares not for such higher thoughts. None who have disgraced the Stradheim line have lived to tell their tale for over thirteen generations. They will find you and tear you limb from limb, despite any word on my part or Clarissa's part."

At this, Rowan replies:

"I have had to defend myself in such matters before, and, as you can see, I've lived to tell the tale. Perhaps your relations should be warned not to underestimate the rest of the world."

"Puff your chest out in your mockery of confidence to assuage your frail ego if you must," Winnacer replies. "Such false confidence will make them laugh before they rend you into pieces, as they have with your kind before. It is only Spravedelna's Law that keeps you alive now."

"You've also ruined my sister's life simply for a thrill. The High Clergy of Kitry take a vow of celebacy. She may find herself out of Kitry's favor and back to the Stradheim manor, where she will be forever a spinster due to your violation of her. You may have destroyed the life of the one person in my family that I feel close to. All because you are a vile bag of shit with no feelings for those you embrace nor any respect for those whose company you seek to keep."

"Vile bag of shit? No feelings?" Rowan questions. "I have split blood for less than this, sir. If Clarissa took a vow of celibacy, you should realize it is up to HER to enforce it, not me-- and if she does not do so, perhaps she should not have taken it in the first place. Not all of us wish to be narrow-minded oppressors such as yourself."

"I would say you do not know her as well as you think you do," he adds.

"I care not for your spurious justifications, dog," Winnacer retorts. "A decent man would have left it well alone, in respect for the woman and her family, despite whatever powers of coersion he could bring to bear. And if it you truly wish to spill blood, go ahead."

Winnacer steps forward, his eyes blazing with holy fury, his jaw set in self-righteous anger. Again, there is little Rowan can do but keep himself from shaking where he stands or turning tail to run, never mind drawing arms. As Winnacer looms over him, there is little he can do but step backwards.

"Adulterous coward," Winnacer snarls.

He steps away and continues to pace and then, after a long pause, continues:

"You also better pray that she is not with child, for then I, by Spravedelna's command, will be forced to intervene. And soon after you and I would be brothers-in-law...as appalling as it sounds. Pray hard, because I certainly will."

"Do not assume that I have no experience with such matters, and do not assume matrimony is the answer," Rowan replies. "I do not think that either of us here would say that I would make her a good husband-- it is simply not in my nature to remain cloistered in such a manner. She is an attractive, intelligent young lady, but one night together does not necessitate a LIFETIME together, although the former can be as beautiful and meaningful as the latter. Sadly, you seem to know nothing about these matters, so I will not bother discussing them with you any further."

"Now get your stuff together, because you are coming with us," the LawBringer demands. "I'd not let my eye off my sister's despoiler. And perhaps Spravedelna will give you the opportunity to work off your sins under my supervision."

Winnacer turns his back and walks out, his armored feet clinking angrily on the floor as he calls for Milan.

Rowan walks out into the hallway and watches him stomp off. How many times had he been through similar arguments with offended relatives of beautiful young women? Too many to count, he decided. Most had ended in one of two ways-- fight or flight-- and his had always been the upper hand. Maybe things would turn out differently this time.

Maybe not.

It is of little consequence one way or the other, he decides. Any man not quick enough on his feet to protect them without armor could hardly be a threat.

Everyone else heads to their rooms also in order to retrieve the rest of their possessions, which they hand to Milan to pack into their saddlebags. They then all return to the main room of the Library in order to say their farewells to Padre Kokal and Tadeus, who will not be accompanying them upon journey.

As they return to the Library, they notice Vice Patriarch Nechas and a couple of other Librarians nervously opening the door to the crypt. They emerge some five minutes later with Will following behind them, looking sheepish, as opposed to wolfish, which is how he looked throughout most of the night. Will is wearing some white robes of Kitry, lent to him by the priests.

As the others are making their inquiries to Will regarding his state of health, an acolyte comes up to them all:

"You have a visitor," she says.

She steps aside and the party see that there is a man accompanying her. He is aged in his late thirties, balding and wearing a loose fitting white linen shirt over white linen pants. As opposed to the open book symbol of Kitry, they see that the man's clothing is adorned with the serpent and staff symbol of Lechit.

He bows his head to them in greeting:

"Greetings to you all," he starts. "I would like to introduce myself to you. My name is Doctor Yosef Burian from the Great Hospital of Lechit. I was asked by Surgeon General Pasternak to introduce myself to you and to ask whether it may be possible to accompany you on the journey that I believe that you are making to Opava today."

"The Church is very concerned with the loss of the FaithHealer and the three Doctors sent to investigate the mysterious outbreaks of disease in the area. Although the Church's resources are stretched to breaking point at the moment, the Surgeon General has asked me to accompany you, if you will have me. He sincerely hoped that I may be able to help with the return of Lechit's followers to the Hospital, where they are both sorely missed and needed by the people of the city."

Winnacer answers for the group:

"The eye of Lechit upon our mission would be much appreciated. Facing the combined piety of Spravedelna, Lechit, and Prirodna, the Nemotz' days are numbered here in Bohavia."

"Will there be anything you need before we head out?" Winnacer asks the Doctor. "Perhaps we can help fill out your equipment. We have in our possessions that may be best utilized in your trained hands."

The Doctor smiles warmly and replies:

"No, thank you, our Lady will provide all that I require."

The Doctor then pauses for a moment, closes his eyes and shakes his head:

"Alas, it appears that more tragedy has befallen our Church, as my instructions from the Surgeon General were the last that he was to issue. It is with great sadness that I have to report to you that Surgeon General Pasternak was murdered in his offices last night. His body was found there this morning, horribly mutilated."

Doctor Burian crosses himself and mutters a silent prayer:

"May Lechit bless his soul."

Shocked by the Doctor's revelation, they all stand around discussing the tragedy among themselves, trying to work out how one night could have given rise to so much chaos.

As they are doing so, there is a soft knock at the temple doors. A robed attendant glides to the doors and pulls them open, revealing the form of a dejected and pale-looking half-elf with strawberry-blond matted dreadlocks, wearing a white robe. He looks sick, and sheepish, and he holds his stomach with both hands. He stumbles inside.

Clarissa rushes to his side:

"Yaz!" she cries, "what's wrong?"

Yaz's robe bears the serpent-and-staff symbol of Lechit. He clutches his new Prirodna tree-brooch tightly in one hand. His wrists are red and badly abraded. He peers up at Clarissa and grimaces:

"I feel... full..."

With that, he drops to his hands and knees and wretches uncontrollably, heaving vast quantities of dark red vomit on to the marble floor. Clarissa steps back sharply, just managing to avoid getting sprayed by the crimson chunder.

After some minutes, and with the aid of a comforting arm from Clarissa, the druid struggles to his feet, looking pale and frightened. He leans on her fully:

"Fuuuuuck..." he moans. "Oh, Lady, I wish I knew what... I don't remember nothing but... Shit, what did I eat?!"

Rowan remains seated throughout this display, raises an eyebrow and turns to Aithne:

"Friend of yours?"

"Ah, hmmm. Yes. He's an initiate of the 7th circle." replies Aithne. "A servant of Prirodna. Er, a druid. The honorable Yaz. He usually doesn't puke like this, honest. Well, at least I don't think he does. I've only known him a couple days really."

She smiles at Rowan in a rather bemused fashion.

Yaz responds in a dull voice, looking at the floor tiles blankly:

"5th," he corrects. "Not a druid yet. Not ever, if... F***."

Yaz's eyes move to Aithne's boots, then to her knees:

"And lately I been puking more often than you know. Temple dungeons of disease do that to a guy, I guess..."

"Oooooh" says Aithne, putting two and two together and making four. "Now I get it. Well, I guess between Rowan and Yaz, we really don't have to worry about those Bodyguards anymore," she shrugs.

"Not sure they needed to be eaten though, but whatever works."

At Aithne's words, Rowan's calm exterior breaks:

"Eaten?"

He rises, clearly shaken:

"EATEN?!"

Dazed, he takes an unsteady step backwards, then strides swiftly over to the retching wretch, drawing his blade en route.

Yaz watches the man come at him dully, then raises his arms above his head protectively in an uncharacteristic display of pathetically half-hearted defense, in no shape to do otherwise.

Winnacer steps forward into Rowan's way, his eyes taking on an otherworldly light as he sees Rowan draw his sword.

"Stand your ground now," the LawBringer says in a commanding tone.

Aithne murmurs, almost to herself:

"I really don't understand paladins....only want to fight their prospective allies..."

She moves to stand between the two/three possible combatants:

"Please, gentleman, put up your swords. I'm sure there is a logical explanation for all of this."

Her expression showed that she thought no such thing.

Porter had seen a lot in his days crossing Bohavia in search of bounties. As his mind slowly puts together the pieces of the puzzle, he silently mouths:

"Holy shit!"

He was having serious second thoughts about accompanying this ragtag group, but Fae had insisted that he go, and she was such a good friend of his...

Winnacer's face is horrified as he stares at the meaty chunks of human sinew and bone covering the clean tile floors.

"I would gather you ate the Surgeon General," the LawBringer summizes. "And a couple of Bodyguards."

Yaz feels faint. He lets Clarissa help him to the floor, where he sits limply:

"The Surgeon General... yeah, I must have eaten him, I guess... I was hoping maybe I just chewed him up a bit, but... Bodyguards?"

He looks up at Winnacer, a little frantic:

"A couple? How many's a couple??"

Winnacer looks as if he's about to bite Yaz' head off, but he takes a deep breath to compose himself.

"You picked a hell of a way to give up vegeterianism, Yaz. And you have a lot of explaining to do. Which seems to be the theme of this past 24 hours."

Porter looks incredulously at Winnacer:

"Explaining to do? You gotta be kiddin' me! Seems to me like you need to put the poor bastard out of misery. I can tell you right now, I ain't makin' camp with a freakin' werewolf!"

Aithne says:

"I was hoping maybe he was just a real wolf, that got a bit out of control. Would that be better or worse?"

She smiles brightly at Porter.

Porter now looks at Aithne as if she's nuts:

"What? Have all of you lost it? It's bad either way! This guy just puked up a freakin' human being. He's a goddamn cannibal! You people act like it's normal."

Porter begins walking in a tight circle:

"Aw shucks, I got wasted last night and got a little carried away. Instead of screwing the hooker, I ate her. Now I'll have to be scolded by Winnacer, and have to 'explain myself.'"

The rogue ceases his melodramatics and concludes by crossing his arms:

"Well, I know one thing. I ain't cleaning that crap up."

Aithne frowns, pondering Porter's words:

"Hmmm. Good point. I suppose we better hear what Yaz has to say then, hadn't we?"

Rowan looks impatient with the whole discussion:

"Words, words, words! I care not if he's eaten Bodyguards or Surgeon Generals, as long as that is not my cousin there on the floor!"

He squats down and looks Yaz in the eye:

"Tell me, druid or monster or whatever you would call yourself, is she somewhere there, in your gut, slowly being digested? Or is this her lifeblood spilled upon the floor? Or did you just tear her limb from limb and leave her to die, your hunger already sated by a handful of victims?"

His eyes roam over Yaz's body, scrutinizing him:

"I see no wounds on you... she would have wounded you before she succumbed-- but could her weapons have harmed you?"

He rises, tapping his rapier irritably on the stone floor:

"Perhaps I should see if Chanticleer here could... for future reference-- LawBringer or no...."

Winnacer's eyes flash again as he again stands in the way of the foppish man. As they do so, the normally overly confident Rowan feels the taint of fear, and it takes all of his effort simply to stand his ground before the LawBringer, who seems to possess goddess-given powers of intimidation at this moment:

"It seems you did not heed my words," Winnacer says, his voice seeming to have dropped an octave as he bellows out across the Library. "You have a choice, either put your blade away or leave this place. You shall not harm this man."

Winnacer crosses his arms as he levels his look at Rowan, his face all business.

"S'okay, Winn," Yaz says tiredly. "I'm gonna give him a woody he'll never forget, if he tries anything.

"Not that I don't deserve to die today. I can't believe I ate meat..."

He shakes his head.

Porter was about to interject more comments but shuts his mouth instead and keeps his thoughts to himself:

"Meat? I ate meat?" Porter thinks to himself. "You ate people, for cryin' out loud!"

Then out loud, he says:

"Man, I need a drink."

"Eat all the 'meat' you like," Rowan spits, sheathing his blade, "but stay away from my cousin."

"And if he has, LawBringer," he continues, "justice will be had, one way or the other."

"Who the f*** is your cousin?" Yaz asks, glaring, and reaching unconsciously for his ganja pouch, which isn't there. "And who, by the way, the f***, are you?"

"Rowan Farelith," he replies through clenched teeth, "a human being -one of those things you're so fond of killing and eating. As for my cousin, pray you meet her anon."

He is clearly containing a strong rage, and turns his glare momentarily in Winnacer's direction for good measure.

With Rowan now having been calmed down, Winnacer turns his attention to Yaz once again:

"I really think that now would be a good time for you to tell us EXACTLY what went on last night."

He stands back with his arms folded, waiting for Yaz to provide a full explanation.

Yaz is silent for a few seconds, then draws a deep breath, and rises to his feet unsteadily. Once up, he straightens his back, and looks straight at Winnacer, then Fae, then Will, Kokal, Tadeus, Milan, Aithne, Rowan and Porter.

He exhales sharply:

"I guess you remember when we fought the werewolves near Bosco's Tower and the Smurtian death-town," he begins, obviously never intending to tell this story, but forced to by circumstance. "Well, I took it pretty good from them that day, as you know, and the next full moon, I found out I caught their disease. The rest of the group spent the night at a temple, just in case. Smart. I went with Sylva and Horvath the Mage-guy out into the forest, on our way back to the Tower, I think. And when night came, I let my horse lead me out into the forest, dizzy and blindfolded, so if I turned into a wolf I'd have less chance of finding the camp and killing the horses, and Sylva and Horvath. Although come to think of it, maybe that would have been better... Sylva caused us a lot of trouble. But anyway."

"So I kinda really wanted to change. I mean, a wolf shape! For so long I'd wanted to be able to change into a wolf shape! Here was my chance! I knew it was dangerous, but... Shit, I couldn't resist, y'know? To take the shape of one of Prirodna's highest forms of life... a blessing!"

Yaz spits and scowls:

"Yeah, well, I didn't count on not remembering. Not one f***ing thing! Nothing! And I didn't count on running around like a maniac eating animals. I killed a deer that night!"

Yaz looks genuinely pained; moreso, even, than he did at the notion of eating the High Priest of Lechit:

"I woke up by a river, no clothes, and just this little fairy guy staring at me. You remember Trinder. Right?"

"Anyways. So that was that, and me and Trinder made up some story about his macrame habits to explain my shredded clothing. Was good of him not to tell you... We made a deal, I told him he could join us for a while if he promised not to tell. Then he got himself killed, of course... but probly saved our asses a couple times, too. But now... Well, now the story's out, and the circle is complete."

Yaz sighs:

"I snuck off last night because I knew I was gonna change again if I didn't get help. So I went to Lechit's place for healing. The Surgeon General shackled both my arms to the wall, then started casting spells. Everything started going fuzzy, and I thought it was working, until..."

The druid stops for a moment:

"Until I woke up this morning in the park. Barely any clothes, cold as shit, manacles and chain hanging from my wrists, and a stomach ache like I'd eaten... Well, you know what I'd eaten. I guess I must've pulled the chains right outta the wall, then attacked the old geezer and ate him. I don't know what this bodyguard shit you're talking about is, but my muscles feel like they ran 80 miles last night..."

"I went to Lechit this morning and told them everything. They gave me this robe."

He lifts the robe weakly, then lets it drop:

"And my pin thingy."

He shows them the brooch:

"And let me wipe the shit and blood off my face. I went to the 'One Elm' but you weren't there. The innkeeper said you were here. So..."

Yaz exhales slowly:

"So now you know everything."

He looks around, past the acolytes and priests gathered in the hall to hear the story, all of them looking terrible shocked, but none as much as Doctor Burian.

"Where's my stuff?" the druid asks. "I need a serious smoke in the worst way..."

"Oh dear," says Aithne softly, backing up a step from the lycanthrope.

Doctor Burian comes over to Yaz, shaking his head but remarkably calm considering that he is approaching the one who has just eaten the head of his faith. The Doctor helps Yaz over to a seat, where he begins ministrations upon him. He puts his hand to Yaz' belly and then reaches into his pouch and produces a handful of herbs:

"Chew on these," he says benignly. "They should help heal your upset stomach."

Seeing Yaz looking up at him morosely, the Doctor puts his hand upon the druid's shoulder:

"Don't cast yourself down too much. We must attempt learn from life's difficulties and become the better from them."

Winnacer shakes his head back and forth, obviously unhappy with Yaz's words:

"I have a lot of words which I feel like sharing with you, but I don't see how that is going to help things. If you told the Clergy of Lechit about your actions and they do not feel as if you are to be blamed for your actions while under the influence of the moon, then I cannot take issue with it."

"What is done, is done," Doctor Burian interjects. "We of the Faith of Lechit have a very different ethos from that of Spravedelna, LawBringer, as it is our belief that two wrongs do not make a right. While we are all dismayed at the death of Surgeon General Pasternak, Lechit tells us that hatred and revenge are not the answer."

"However, you have a tremendous debt to pay off to the Lechitions," Winnacer continues, "even if the deaths of last night were done under magical duress. Wiping out the rest of the Nemotz would be a good start in fixing the 'Balance' shift your werewolf actions caused. I will make sure you have the opportunity to make some amends."

Aithne again looks at the paladin incredulously. She seems about to speak, but Winnacer gives her no chance.

"But your actions show clearly that you are unable to be responsible for taking care of your Lycanthropy on your own," the LawBringer continues. "Perhaps you have learned a lesson about playing with corruptive magickal forces, but only time will tell that. Your problem is now my problem, Yaz, and I take it upon myself to control your lycanthropy and find a cure in the future. It is Spravedelna's desire."

He turns around to look at the entire party:

"Again, see where secrets and personal assumptions leads to? Not trusting the group to do what is Right has only led us to pain and death again."

Winnacer levels a glance at Rowan and Porter:

"One cannot hide from their actions, as they always come to light. And by then, things are so much worse than they would be if addressed right off."

"Yes, and you let me join you knowing things about these people that you did not feel necessary to share," Aithne interjects angrily. "You obviously knew that Will was a werewolf. Why was this not brought to the group? I guess I want a definition of 'group', Winnacer. It seems to me that one can either be a part of it or an outsider looking in. If I am to fight by your side and entrust my life to you to some extent, I want to be included on your little secrets. Is anyone else likely to do something odd at some time and kill me in my sleep? Gnaw off an arm maybe? For though it seems to make you feel better to say, 'oh if he kills some Nemotz, the fact that he killed several innocent folks is OK'. But, um, I'm sorry, that's just wrong."

"Yes, I knew," Winnacer replies. "But he also was taking care of his affliction with full knowledge of the party. Yaz, Faewen'il, Milan, and Padre Kokal all knew this well. He certainly did not hide the fact at all, speaking openly with Clarissa about it. If we haven't had a free minute to fill you in on all the details, I apologize, but things have been a bit hectic with necromancers, disease cultists, and Bodyguards all running amock. If you are unhappy about being out of the loop, it is as much the fault of the others as it is mine. You must also realize that we thought it was a problem basically resolved, knowing that Will was to spend the full moon in capable Priestly hands. Will's lycanthropy was no little secret of mine to keep, simply an oversight by the party in general."

"We had an entire evening and day together," Aithne replies, "I would think it would be important enough for you to drop some hint of it, especially with the full moon approaching and all. However, it is enough that you tell me you did not deliberately hold this back from me. It is hard for me to work with those that I distrust or that distrust me."

"Also, Will has never killed any innocent folks," Winnacer continues. "And it seems that you have never been duped under foul sorceries, or else it may be a bit easier to understand their plight. I know it well enough."

"I never said I did not empathize with their plight, nor do you know of what has happened to me in my own past," Aneira adds. "I guess the casual acceptance you make of it is more shocking to me, than their own actions."

Aithne seems troubled:

"Look, paladin. I've offered to throw in my lot with you, because I thought you were a simple band of adventurers looking to rid our land of evil. But I can't be a party to wanton death and destruction of innocent people like this. I can see that this druid is your friend, and that what he has done was not done by his own volition, but it still horrifies me. Is this how we define an action then? If it is a wrong done by our friend it is OK; with some sort of penance--more bloodshed. But if it is a wrong done by a stranger--then what?"

"It certainly is not that simple," Winnacer responds. "What has transpired here is horrific, but could have been much worse. It is the circumstances that moderate how we must act - and in this case the circumstances should point us to leniency. Yaz obviously tried to take the correct measures to prevent the deaths of innocents by seeking the aid of Lechit. Precautions were there to keep him restrained as well; unfortunately they were inadequate. It was the inadequacies of the restraints where the problem lies, and is that Yaz' fault? It is likely he thought the Surgeon General of Lechit would be able to handle his affliction. Are we to blame the Surgeon General for not being more careful, or punish him for letting a man under his care escape and do harm to innocents? I think it is a bit late for that."

"Just because something is horrible does not mean that immediate and drastic actions need to be undertaken," Winnacer continues. "If a stranger was caught telling the same story as Yaz, I would also give him the benefit of the doubt, as the tale smacks of effort and remorse. And I would then give the afflicted man another chance at a cure, and a chance to make amends for his actions as best he can."

Aithne nods:

"Yes, I can agree with that, I suppose."

"We can't undo the damage done despite best intentions," the young Lord continues. "But life's casual Injustices cannot be answered with Punishment. Instead, it is best to assuage those hurt, to remedy the underlying problems, and to make amends the best one can."

Winnacer looks at Yaz:

"I trust that somebody will do their best to make right what they made wrong, to bring balance to their personal actions."

Aithne shudders, stepping back another step from both Winnacer and Yaz:

"This troubles me. You seem to take these things too lightly. And the sharing of secrets seems to only go one way. If I am to become one of your allies, you must trust me also. If you cannot do that, tell me now, because it is better that I search for allies elsewhere then."

Her hands trembling slightly from the effort of unaccustomed severity, she faces the paladin and stands her ground.

"I do not take them lightly, Aithne," the LawBringer replies. "But I see the futility of trying to Punish those unwittingly tainted by evil. To simply punish Yaz instead of allowing him to continue to work for the greater good is to condemn more innocents than have already been lost. His conscience will Punish him greater than anything you or I can think up. Her Law looks favorably upon this pronouncment, although some recompense must be made to the families of the slain Bodyguards in the future."

"What would you have me do, Aithne?" the young Lord asks the half-elf. "What insights into Justice or measures we can now take would alter what has happened or be more fair? The work of Spravedelna is hard, as there are no easy answers, and often one must tolerate minor Injustices to prevent major ones from taking place."

Aithne looks at him and shrugs:

"I don't know. I would have to think about it. I am not guided by the gods to have immediate solutions to difficult problems. I must use my own judgement in its stead."

"As for the party, and secrets, I agree with you," continues Winnacer, nodding his head. "I have no horrible secrets, and those I've ever had were forced upon me for the Greater Good. Will's situation was common knowledge; you would have been told had you been with us longer than three days. Yaz' situation was unknown to all of us. I have not held anything back from you, Aithne, willingly, and feel that your words are quite unfair."

"Perhaps ignorant, as I do not know about your past or your friends, but unfair? I don't think so," Aithne replies. "I think they needed to be answered. I need to know where I stand with you and your friends. I need to know that this kind of thing doesn't happen all the time. What if I had run into him unknowing on the street? I might have slain him, or he, me. No, fair or unfair have nothing to do with this. It was not 'fair' that Yaz ate a few people tonight--it is forgiveable yes, but fair? No. For you to say my questioning of you is unfair--well, that is, forgive me, ludicrous."

Winnacer looks at all of the others:

"There are plenty of secrets within the party. None of them are shared with me."

Winnacer looks back at Aithne, his face quite earnest:

"Spravedelna smiles upon you, making it easy for me to trust you. I cannot speak for the others, nor can I tell you their secrets. Take the issue to where it belongs, the holders of the secrets."

Winnacer pauses reflectively, reciting something he has read:

"The Paladin of Law shall always be beset by minor Injustice, which is his curse. He must persevere in the face of pettiness and rough natures in order to prevent great Injustices."

Aithne shakes her head:

"You are all the holders of secrets. There is none of us that has shown all we are to each other. But all I ask is that you do not chide where you have not been open. If you have not had time to tell us of things, then how could Porter or Rowan, who have been with you even less time, have had time to tell you of themselves?"

"I am sorry you think me petty or unjust, Winnacer," she continues. "Perhaps, by your standards, I am, but I do not ask a man or woman to do things which I choose not to do. And, I can accept that you forgot to tell me Will was a lycanthrope. And that you did not know of Yaz's affliction. But to tell me you have had no time to discuss any private matters and then complain that others have not told you...well, that seems hypocrisy to me."

"The pasts of those two men will come to light," Winnacer interjects, "as it is impossible to outrun one's roots and one's deeds. It is not of their secrets I speak of..."

"I was raised to give people the benefit of the doubt," Aithne continues, "to be wary, but not expect all to be evil or untrue. And, not having the power of gods at my aid, I can only trust in my own perceptions. And in a man's deeds. Porter was ready to fight with us at the inn. Rowan, almost magickally, convinced the bodyguards to leave the inn, thus aiding us, even indirectly if they were not truly after you."

Winnacer nods:

"They are here with us now. Despite the severity of my words and God-given vision. They are being given the benefit, even if my words may not reflect it."

"I swear to you now, that if there is something within my knowledge that could harm you or your friends, I would tell you," Aithne continues. "And I would hope to get the same from you. All of you."

Will still looks rather meek and sheepish in his clean priest gowns, but as Yaz' story unfolds, he feels relieved that his bastard Kitrian friends were able to constrain him the previous night.

He bows slightly to Aithne and makes apologies to the group:

"I must apologize for my beastiality not only this night, but the past few days. I have been poor company at best and in my anger and anguish at the passing of good friends and have not dealt well with my feelings. Tadeus, Milan please know that I meant you no harm."

Aithne walks up to Winnacer and lays her hand on his arm, looking up at him with earnest brown eyes:

"If you think this is unfair, I apologize, but all of this is new to me. From the necromancer that destroyed my rest to your friends that are other than they seem. And it is shocking and horrifying to me. And I tend to think with my heart rather than my head sometimes."

She slowly takes her hand from the LawBringer's arm.

"It is these horrors that are a common occurance upon the tough road we walk upon," the young Lord replies. "I have tried to warn all of you that the risks we incur may be a bit more than those without devotion to an ideal want to chance."

Aithne then walks over to Yaz:

"If there is anything within my power to aid you, ask and you will have it."

Yaz looks her in the eye, then turns away and walks down the hall, toward wherever the party's stuff is kept.

Aithne watches him walk away, a sad look in her eye.

Winnacer shakes his head and turns to Clarissa:

"It's been this way since I left, of outrageous evils biting at my heels. I need your help, sister, in researching a way to improve the chances of healing our two inflicted comrades. We will be back here by the next moon to remedy this problem once and for all."

Clarissa had been jolted out of her self-doubt by the appearance of Yaz and his confession. She manages to look her brother in her eye as she responds:

"I have spoken to Vice Patriarch Nechas concerning Yaz' condition. He told me that, just because Yodathlion's efforts upon Will were in vain, does not mean that he will be unable to assist Yaz in ridding himself of this curse. He tells me that the curse of lycanthropy manifests itself in different ways for different people and so he believes that he has a good chance of helping Yaz overcome his sickness."

Yaz returns several minutes later wearing the new clothes he bought at the market, which he has not had time to dye yet. The pants are off-white, the tunic natural burlap colour, and the cloak a dull brown. He looks like a whitewashed canvas. He wears two pouches on his belt, a scimitar at his hip, a brooch on his breast, and smokes a pot-filled clay pipe in his mouth.

His everpresent scowl is back on his face. He speaks mostly to Faewen'il, not suffering himself to look at any of the others for too long:

"Winn says I ate bodyguards last night. How do you know they were bodyguards?"

Yaz thinks for a minute:

"They were after you guys, at the inn?... D'you think they could be wanting revenge for us blowing up their arena thing? We prob'ly kablooeyed a bunch of 'em, there..."

The clock on the tower strikes the hour of 10.30 and Winnacer lets out a long sigh:

"We will have plenty of time to discuss more of these matters on the road, as it will be the best part of three days before we make Opava. We should take our leave now so that it does not take us any longer than this."

Not having spent long enough in the party's company to have formed the same bond with them that Winnacer, Yaz and the squires have, Aithne slips away from the farewell ceremony and seeks out Vice Patriarch Nechas, whom she finds in his office. He smiles up at her as she enters:

"Good morning," he greets her. "Is there something that I can help you with?"

"I believe that the man Porter has been ensorcelled by the witch, Fae," Aithne responds. "Is there some means of removing this enchantment from him? Is this within your power? I would rather travel with those using their own minds. And of their own free will."

"Would this be possible?" she asks.

"Oh dear," the Vice Patriarch replies with a sigh. "Those Kozlites and the tricks that they get up to; sometimes I think that they are more trouble than they are worth."

He shakes his head:

"Well I agree with you, we can't stand for it. It's almost akin to slavery."

"I should be able to help you with the situation. Let me meet you in the stables and try and cure him of his condition as I say my farewells to you all."

Aithne thanks the Priest and heads back to join the others in the Library.

At hearing Winnacer's words, Padre Kokal advances towards Winnacer with his hand outstretched:

"So, Lord Winnacer, it looks as if 'ere is where we shall take our leave o' each other. I 'ave t'say that it 'as been an 'onor for me t' fight at ye side. It has nae been t'easiest three weeks o' me life fightin' wit' ye an' ye comrades, but I believe tha' I am a better man f'r it."

"Good luck up'n ye mission against th' abominations in Opava. I will ask Radegast t' watch o'er ye while ye're there."

Winnacer smiles at the cleric in response:

"I too would like to thank you for all of your assistance during the time we have spent together. I hope that your time in Olmutz will be well spent and hope that you prove to be as much as an asset to the city as you have been to us during our journeys."

Kokal continues to shake everyone by the hand, even Yaz. As he does so, Tadeus comes up to Winnacer:

"Errm ... Lord Winnacer ... thank you for being so kind," he says. "I hope that you and Milan and the others don't die or anything."

Winnacer smiles in response:

"We shall try our hardest to ensure that does not happen, Tadeus. Good luck in your new calling as an acolyte of Radegast. I am sure that Xavier would be very proud of you to know what you are doing. We shall remember all your hard work fondly and will see you again when we pass back through Olmutz in a couple of weeks or so. Goodbye."

Tadeus bows nervously and then continues to say his farewells to the others. There are tears in his eyes and those of Milan as the pair of squires, who have close to be so close during their time on the road, say their last farewells.

Winnacer watches Padre Kokal and Tadeus head out of the door and then turns to the others:

"Very well, let us now make our departure."

The others notice that Will has made no preparation for departure whatsoever. He is still in the same dour mood as he has been since the clearing of the Nemotz temple.

He comes to Winnacer and speaks:

"I would like to wish you well on your mission, Winnacer, but I am afraid that I will not be able to continue along with you."

Will looks to Winnacer as he says these words and moves to speak to the group:

"What Winnacer said earlier is true. The mission that this group has engaged upon is one fraught with the brutality and horrors of war and death."

He sighs deeply and then continues:

"Since the passing of our noble companions, I have searched my soul deeply for a reason to continue this noble battle that we have conducted."

His jaw firms and he continues once again after a short pause:

"I find no reason to continue in this course of sadness and destruction. Hear me out, the cause is noble but one doomed to grief and sorrow. A small group such as ourselves cannot win this war no matter how noble the intent or strong our few spirits may be. We as mortals bleed, fall and are carried away to another life. I do not wish to leave this life before my country is free once more. To continue on the course we have persued is risky at best and suicidal if the dice fall wrongly."

"Believe me when I tell you that I have not come to this decision without great duress of heart. Do not think me the coward, if I could save my country by laying down my life, then I would gladly do so. But I cannot. This war must be waged and won by the people of Bohavia as a whole unified effort. I can best serve that end by rallying the citizenry to the cause as I have done so in the past."

"When I first came to be associated with you, I told you of my kinship with Yiri of Podyebrad. The words I spoke were true. He is a paladin ordained by Kitry Himself. Yiri is the true heir of the royal line. He was a firm freedom fighter who was overthrown in a betrayal. He remains in safety the last time I spoke with him. I go to him now because I now see what he has seen since his betrayal. No one man can save this country, not Yiri, not you Winnacer, nor I, nor any combination of a few hardy souls. Yiri loves this country and would lay down his life for it; he is noble by birth and by deeds and a man without blame. But he understands that the country is made up of its individual citizens, and without their support, it can never stand whole again. He awaits the day when he can stand with his fellow men and drive the slavers from this land. I too await that day."

"But here is where our paths must diverge. Do not mistake my meaning. You are doing good and worthy deeds, and I challenge you to continue in doing good. But I also warn you to take note of what will win this war. The people will make the country anew if it is to ever be done. Choose your battles wisely and fight on your own terms when the victory is worth the cost."

"I too will continue to do my best to do what is right, may the good gods aid me. Mayhaps I can regain the lightheartedness that I once knew and inspire our fellow country men to take heart and overthrow this evil regime."

Winnacer nods sagely at Will's words. He clasps the bard firmly by his hand and wishes him all the best of luck in his future travels. Will then goes around the rest of the party, giving each of them his individual blessings. He then heads out of the Library, with Min running by his side.

Faewen'il then looks up from the book that she has been reading throughout the morning, seemingly disinterested in the whole matter of the Surgeon General's death:

"I nae be goin wit ye neither," she says simply.

She closes the book shut loudly and the expression upon her face tells everyone that they are all very soon going to learn the reasons why not:

"I be tellin ye time an time again tha I cannae be runnin round tha country livin in cold tents an continuin to be ye pet little mage tha is always runnin by ye sides like tha bard's dog. I be needin to learn some new spells an I cannae be stealin spare minutes in camp to be completin ma learning no more."

"I always be tellin ye that I be needin to spend some time to copy ma spells, an Olmutz is as good a place as any for tha task. I also be needin the time to prepare for escortin the Master Mages after ye gets back, as I cannae believe ye'll be able to handle it on ye own."

"So ye's on ye own on the trip to Opava, so ye better start thinkin on other ways to bail yeself out of trouble an not relyin on me all tha time."

She then promptly ignores them all other than Porter, whom she beckons to come over to her:

"I nae be havin time for ye neither while I be makin me studies," she whispers to the rogue. "Go wit them to Opava an try an find that dwarf to get our money off'n him."

Porter's eyebrows furrow at Fae's words. He bends down to her, whispering to her in hushed tones. The magess waves him off with her hand, insisting that he go to Opava. Looking almost like a lost dog for a moment, Porter relents and nods his assent.

"An if'n they come across anythin that be magick that nae be weapons an armor, then ye're to make sure that I get it," she adds with a wry grin.

Aithne rolls her eyes.

Finally, Clarissa comes up to them all. Her eyes fall to the ground as she passes Rowan, her cheeks turning pink.

Porter notices Clarissa's flushed features, then remembers how irritated the LawBringer seemed that morning. He mumbles to himself:

"Nahh."

Clarissa then comes to Winnacer:

"It's been good to see you, Winn, even after ... what happened. Please take great care of yourself in Opava. It all sounds very dangerous to me. I shall be counting the days until you stop back here upon your return journey. I'll miss you."

With that, she gives her brother a peck on the cheek and then says her farewells to the others. As she comes to say her goodbyes to Rowan, she finally manages to look up at his face and smiles weakly at him. She shakes him by the hand and whispers to him nervously:

"You take care too, Mr. Farelith. It's been very ... educational ... to make your acquaintance."

"It was truly a pleasure to make your acquaintance, m'lady." He replies.

He then smiles, kisses her hand gently, and reaches out to brush his hand against her cheek:

"You will be in my thoughts."

Aithne finally connects Winnacer's anger, Clarissa's embarrassment, and where Winnacer's anger was directed. She coughs to hide her sudden inclination to laugh.

The farewells having now been completed, Winnacer, Yaz, Aithne, Porter, Rowan and Doctor Burian take their leave of the Library and go into the stables, where they find that Milan has prepared the horses for the party's immediate departure. With all of the spare horses as a result of the deaths of the former party members, there are plenty of horses to go round, with several to spare. Porter takes Xavier's mount, Barbarossa, while Rowan takes Bennett's old mount, Maire. Doctor Burian mounts the spare horse that Bennett rode from Vysoke Myto until he was reunited with Maire. In addition to their own horses, the two draft horses that previously pulled the wagon have been laden with the necessary tents and tools for the trip, the wagon that they formerly pulled remaining in the stables along with the spare mounts.

Just as they are mounting up, Vice Patriarch Nechas walks into the stable:

"I'm sorry that I wasn't able to say goodbye to you earlier," he says, "but I have been rather tied up with paperwork this morning."

"I just wanted to come and give you my farewells and to give you all the blessing of Kitry to help you on your journey."

With that, he starts to utter an incantation while gesturing all around him. Immediately that he has finished, he advances upon Porter:

"May Kitry protect you against all malevolent influences that may come upon you," he says, while shaking the man's hands enthusiastically.

Porter notices that the man's smile fades as he does so, however.

The Vice Patriarch moves on to the others, shaking them all by the hand in turn until he finishes with Aithne:

"I'm sorry," he says sadly, while shaking her hand, "but the magess' magick is stronger than I thought and my attempt to dispel her work has failed. My apologies, madam. I can only suggest that another priest that you meet performs the task for you."

Aithne sighs:

"It is the strangest group of adventurers. I suppose the LawBringer authorized it, so it must be OK. Maybe I'll have a chat with him about free will."

"My thanks for trying though. I appreciate it," Aithne smiles at the helpful man.

The Vice Patriarch then waves them all goodbye before he returns to the Library.