Light comes through the branches in thin columns through the trees, spilling over the grass in a small clearing beyond the watch tower just outside New Haven. The day is hot and humid in the wake of the rain that persisted the last few days.
Theron sits on the ground, wearing the red and black of the Order. His staff idly lays near him, partially on his lap and crooked in his arm, and a small book with a pen in his one hand. His hair more under control today to match the reflective look on his face.
Looking off to his right he examines the pile of ash where just hours prior Gromit's remains had burned. Where Baph had declared "I reject you" and plunged the last of countless blade wounds. Where Legionaries had piled the wood, Aleena had blessed many candles and the hands of a Crow, a Valorian, a Noktalite, an Ash and others had cast the fire down to burn the fiend's body.
Theron closes his eyes and breathes. Trying to remember some words Carro had told him once about meditating. Doubtless getting them wrong.
For now he just breathes and waits.
Eventually, the soft scuffs of her boots could be heard trudging through sand and crunchy groundcover as Zyvian approached that same clearing. The mud and blood cleaned from her, hair refusing to fully dry in the humidity that clung thickly in the hair, she seemed refreshed and ever with a bratty smirk on her lips.
From a vial she dripped a few drops of some liquid down, uttering a few words from her book in a ritualistic manner, though if looked at closely, it likely wasn't her book. More business than play for once, though that didn't stop her from muttering in between her duties to tease Theron from his sitting.
"Note.. observations of wyld elves.. " Mumble mumble
Aska thought getting to the pyer early would mean she had some sort of privacy. There was something she had to do, but the presence of the familiar black and red was definitely going to hinder her. Unable to hide the sounds of her skirts jingling as she traversed the forested terrain, she put on a smile and continued forward.
"Ah good, Zyvian. I was hoping you'd-" He stops and narrows his eyes at her. "What about Wylde Elves and observations?"
Seeing Aska, he breaks the line of inquiry. "Aska, there you are. Would you sit with us a moment?"
She nods and bounces up in her usual overly energetic manner. Plopping down next to him she pulls out her book and writing stick so to be ready to answer any questions that she couldn't just motion about for.
Zyvian continues her work, whatever it was, walking about the area and dripping the solution into the earth at various points in the area.
She does however give Theron a sidelong glance, and keeps relatively close and within earshot.
Theron hands Aska over the book he had been holding. "If you'd be so kind, we'd like to keep what you answer for review later. Though, you'll have access to this should you ever wish it for later. I promise." He says calmly.
His arms ached as they worked against gravity, his third set of push-ups causing them to scream nearly aloud as Brand focused on his breathing, mentally reciting a warrior’s litany as he did so.
“I am the hammer. I am the shield. I am the wall. I do not break. My armor is contempt. I am the anvil. I am the forge. I am the tempering. I do not fail. My soul is steel. I am without doubt. I am without pain. I am without remorse. I do not fear. My heart is flame. I am just. I am honest. I am vigilant. I do not tire. The Sword lives in me.”
Most of his prayers came this way now, since he finished his Rite and fully joined the Knights Transcendent. Since that fateful night he’d done little but pray and train himself, far harder than he had at The Sword in days long since past.
Brand gulped air as he rested on his knees, staring at his modest bunk and the small locker that contained his effects. Atop his bed lay his belt, with its pouches brimming with occult accoutrement and wards, and in its sheath lay the sword bequeathed to him by Garren Ulfgar, a potent physical reminder of his position as Chaplain.
A sword that had once again tasted abyssal blood.
Brand’s throat had almost fully healed from the events of that night: howling possessed, crushing crowds, demonic facets, and the extradimensional horror that had tried to subsume the will of Baph and push its way into the world. He and the other Knights had very nearly failed, but snatched victory from the gaping maw of hell itself. Brand only wished Garren had lived long enough to see their stunning victory.
“The Sword lives in me,” he whispered aloud. The Chaplain took comfort in the words, and in the miracles he’d seen.
He pushed himself up, Brand’s thighs burned with invisible agony from his earlier run. He opened his small locker and withdrew his towel and bathing effects, followed by a small block of sacred incense for meditation. He needed to be focused.
There was a Chaplain’s work to do.
* * *
He smelled of cloves and smoke, rosemary and wild roses, garlic and wolfsbane, salt and iron. His crimson and black tabard was worn with age and battle, his armor scrubbed of rust and polished to a near mirror gleam, the golden crepuscular rays reflected as thousands of tiny suns from his mail. His left hand rested on the pommel of his blade, while his red right hand clutched the ritual pendant of his forebear, beads woven between his fingers.
Clad in faith more impenetrable than the armor he wore, Brand Redhand— Chaplain of the Knights Transcendent— marched around the corner of the watchtower to approach his battle brethren. Where once a green prior librarian stood, there now marched a warrior priest of The Cleansing Flame, blooded in the war against the Abyss and every fiend it would ever vomit forth.
Without pretense of stealth he strode forward, wet sticks cracking and sodden leaves crunching beneath him. He waved at his Brother and Sister, as well as their companion that had joined them, beaming wide.
“Praise be the Hallowed Tome! May it ever guide us in our actions.”
Brand turned his gaze to Aska, smiling gently.
“And greetings to you, too, Aska. I was hoping to catch up to you sooner or later. How have you fared over the past few days?”
Aska took the book with a nod, figuring that she would soon be questioned about the night of the exorcism.
She waved and returned the smile, though hers was more apologetic than a smile of greeting. She hung her head somberly, recalling how she had been compelled to attack Brand during the ritual.
"As the Cleansing Flame lights the way." Theron answers with less formality in his tone than his brother.
He watches Zyvian out of the corner of his eye, before watching Aska's expression.
"If you're concerned with there being hurt feelings, don't be." He says to the halfling. "We expect the worst to happen in all we do. If blame is assigned, it falls on me for not being more cautious. Given your... connections with the Abyss. But it was a chance I chose to take. And misjudged."
He indicates the book. "Just to get started, please just tell us what you do recall of that night. If you have any particular emotions or thoughts tied to it, they are relevant."
“ ‘And though I sat with weighted chest in darkness/I found no comfort in the shadow of my heart/till your kindly face spoke of forgiveness/and our journey found a new start.’ Terry Merrowbuck, from his collected poems. I think that was from ‘The Forgotten Garden’, but it’s been some years since I’ve read it. Fret not, you’ll find the past stays there. I strive for amicable, especially in these strange times.”
Brand motioned towards Theron then Aska.
“But don’t let me interrupt. I talk too much, and I need to learn to be patient.”
Aska looked at the book, what was it she felt back then? She recalled one overwhelming feeling, one thing that was strong enough to have her fight her own friends.
Her brow wrinkled as she tried to put it in words.
"Pure." The word fell from her lips in a thick accent. Startled by her own voice she looked about confused. Could she talk? She opened her mouth to say something else but only an airy weeze came out.
Theron remains calm. Mostly. Eyes slightly narrow as he seems to ponder for a beat, chin resting on his hand.
"Interesting." Is all he offers at first.
"Maybe there is a connection. Are you feeling or experiencing anything when you spoke just now that reminds you of the exorcism?"
She nods, writing in the book; "Recalling the exorcism, when Gromet walked the land; everything felt right? Like that was the way things should be."
She shows what she wrote, still very confused.
Impassively Theron regards her for a moment.
"Is that how you truly feel?"
She shakes her head from side to side, then begins to write in the book.
"Fiends probably killed my brother and have taken everything from me, even my voice. Why would I think of them as as such?"
“Because they command you to.”
Brand’s voice was even, monotone, and devoid of damnation or compassion. He gestured with an open palm towards Aska.
“Not a pleasant thought, for any of us, but one we have to potentially consider. Thankfully we have methods for testing to ensure you aren’t possessed, and the appropriate ritual garners truth as easily as a child collects berries in the woods.”
The Chaplain shifted his weight, and faced Theron and Zyvian.
“Not that I’m suggesting we try the latter now. A little faith goes a long way, and we’ve yet to have reason to distrust Aska.”
Brand pushed the thoughts of the halfling’s words from the exorcism from his mind, and didn’t focus on the blows to his armor he’d had to have repaired. In his heart, he prayed that his trust wasn’t misplaced.
And his left hand never strayed from his pommel, in case it was.
"We know the experience is troubling, Aska. Unfortunately, so too can the questions be."
He leans in slightly. "We have to be prepared for any possibility. But remember we are on your side, and against any Fiends that are plaguing you."
Somehow Theron's words didn't make her feel any better. She nodded in understanding and began to write.
"I don't mind you keeping an eye on me, but please remember that I am for lack of better terms human. I still have my life I live and will not tolerate anyone trying to control me, a Fiend or the Knights."
Brand smiled wide upon reading Aska’s words.
“That’s a good thing to know. A driving passion for freedom and the right to create one’s own destiny is inimical to the Enemy and all their powers. Self actualization is bitter venom upon their tongues, passion vinegar in their wounds, and hope a blade in their chest.”
The former librarian felt tension roll away from his body, and he visibly relaxed. Brand turned to Theron.
“Primus. I know you likely have questions, as do we all. I have at least one test I’d like to perform, if you’d permit such. I’d like to try psycho-cognitive and psychic-conditioned association feedback—“
The Chaplain turned to Aska, raising an eyebrow.
“— if our compatriot agrees to such.”
She visibly relaxes when he smiles and nods in agreement to the test.
"I don't know how true your tests will be with me having to write answers..." she scribbles down then shows Brand.