Augustus drops to his knees at the body of young Taglio. He wipes the blood and grime from the man's face and goes about performing the last rites for the dead. As he finishes, he says, "Dear Taglio, This I vow upon your death...I will continue your quest to preserve the works of Dante that your passion will not pass from this world forgotten." He secures Taglio's personal effects in order to decide what will be done with them later.
Taglio lifts his head and opens his eyes as Augustus performs the last rights. "Grazie, Brother Augustus, alas I did not get time to confess my sins. Will the Lord absolve me?" A tear runs from his eye.
"Dante's work must live on Brother, Grazie for your vow. But is there no hope for me? It hurts to breath and I am thirsty, so thirsty, but surely while there is breath there is hope?" He coughs violently and lurches with the pain, plastering Augustus' robes with phlegm and blood. "Forgive me father, now I have stained your holy vestment, surely I will go to hell for that?" He tries to cross himself, but with his wounded right arm his wrist is the only thing which moves in a crucifix.
Augustus gasps with surprise. "Taglio! You're alive! I thought it was most certain that you were dead!" The cleric's awkward grin breaks across his face as he shouts to the sky, "Jebohah be praised!"
"The Lord's grace is boundless, my friend...He will most certainly forgive you your sins." Augustus goes about examining and binding Taglio's wounds, first carefully removing the arrows that did the deed, then casting a healing spell on him.
Tag is happy to see that Augustus' power does much to repair his damaged torso. However, struggling to rise, he finds that he is still unable to do so. Apparently the shock of the injuries is too much for him to move about.
Augustus frowns briefly at the bloody mess on his robes, but dismisses it with a wave. "Do not worry about my vestments, Taglio...they are only cloth, and they can be cleansed as well as one's soul."
"Was I dead brother and brought back to life? A miracle, Jerboha be praised. You have performed a miracle in his name. Saint Augustus!!!" A wide grin spreads over Taglio's face, and is spoiled by another coughing fit. "Thank you Brother... err blessed Brother, your care is easing my suffering."
Augustus blinks in surprise at Taglio's words. "No, my friend...you did not die." Augustus continues to examine Taglio's wounds. "I had feared the worst, but to my joy, I was mistaken."
Thinking of what Taglio said to him, the young priest looks shocked. "No! You must not say such things! I am not worthy of such a title...it is my purpose in life to ease the suffering of all who are in need, and the opportunity to serve is honor enough."
"You are too modest, mio amico. If not a saint then at least greatly blessed. I will not forget this, Brother," Tag replies.
After that is completed, Augustus tends to the wounded, also the wounded prisoners...only the humans and the horses.
Augustus finds that the prisoners, two and four-footed, are in serious need of his gifts. He makes the rounds, doing what he can for each of them. His care for the horses brings a smile to the face of the centaur. While he is only able to bandage, salve, and otherwise treat the worst of them, he is able to bring up all of their spirits quite a bit. Sadly, he uses the last of his herbs and salves remaining in his healing pouch to do so. He must restock when such an opportunity presents itself.
Ignoring the centaur Dakath moves over to the still form of Leslie. He stands for a few moments looking down at his dead body. "You died so that others may live, you died a warrior's death my friend." He draws his longsword and uses it as a makeshift spade, as he begins to dig a grave for the brave fallen warrior. Once he has dug it deep enough he places Leslie's body into the grave along with his sword and effects. He then fills it in as best he can, before finding stones to place over his grave to stop wild animals from digging him up.
Augustus goes over to Dakath and begins to help digging the grave. "I do not know if he would accept it, but I offer the last rites to Leslie as well, merely for comfort. Whether it is for his comfort, or mine...I am not sure."
"As far as I'm concerned we'll dig a grave for Leslie and put him to rest on the place where he died. But, please Auggie, don't put a cross on his grave. I'd like something else to remember him, like his sword," Ullar says when Leslies burial comes up.
Augustus nods solemnly, "As you wish Ullar, as I have said before...I do not want to impose my beliefs upon those who do not want to know Jebohah."
Once Dakath is done he finds himself rather quiet and subdued, moving to stand beside Xania "I'm glad to see that you are unharmed, when you entered that cloud of blackness I expected the worst."
Xania touches Dakath's arm. "No, it seems only Leslie paid the price of this effort. What can we expect when ordered to our jobs by a horse man. I like horses, Dakath, but I'm far from worshiping them as some seem to do."
Dakath returns the comforting contact by placing his hand over hers on his arm. "I hate this feeling of being used to further someone else's ends."
He turns to the others "It would seem Stephan lies to the South, but I have a question to ask each one of you, is saving this one man worth all this?" he indicates the freshly dug grave of Leslie. "Are we to risk all our lives for this one man, we have already lost one of our friends, how many more will we lose?"
"Is anything worth losing the life of a companion?" shrugs Xania. "We do what we do and then we die. That's all there is."
Rhune looks at him, "As far as I am concerned yes. Stephan's brother and family aided us as we aided them. There is something more going on here than mere goblins attacking a village. They work in unison and with a plan. They are organized. These, Dakath recognizes the pain evident in her eyes, he knows Rhune is a gentle soul so he bites his tongue just as he was about to explain that he isn't prepared to die for some rescue of a man they hardly know, instead he merely nods in her direction. "Very well we continue to look for Stephan."
Xania merely nods.
"Well," Forte begins, wincing in pain for a few seconds, "we could search for Marika instead." He begins to run his hand through his hair, and then stops when he realizes he is dragging a blood encrusted hand through his hair. Looking at his hand in disgust, Forte tries to wipe it on the ground, which just mixes a little dust and dirt with the dried blood. He closes his eyes again, wincing in pain, cursing under his breath.
"Yes, that is another option that we could do," Rhune agrees.
"Of course we should look for Marika! But do you have any clue were to start? Perhaps in our quest to free Stephen we can find a trace of Marika as well," Ullar replies.
"I am still not sure that searching for Marika is along the path we should be following," Augustus says with a tone of uncertainty in his voice.
Forte's blood continues to coagulate and start to scab over, but just near the edges of his massive wound.
Realizing that he has tended the prisoners, but not his companion, Auggie checks on Forte's wound, finding it quite nasty indeed, one of the worst he has ever seen. Using the last traces of his poultices, he dabs at the great wound, but realizes that he must use the last of his magic to make any difference. Amazingly, he is able to draw the ragged edges of the wound together, though the wound is still raw and bleeds. He finishes by applying a cloth bandage wrapped several times around Forte's midsection. Forte draws himself up with some inner resolve and is able to move around, though painfully.
Once these things are done, Augustus says to the group, "I must have some time to pray...I will not be far, but I must be alone for awhile."
Xania turns back toward Noir. "Shall we continue? If we need to rest, I suggest we move at least a small distance from this place, so that if the stragglers return, we are not where they left us."
"Can anyone cover our tracks?" She looks around at the less wounded party members.
"I can try but I probably won't do a very good job of it," Rhune replies with a shrug as she crosses over to where Forte and Tag are with Augustus. As they don't need any more help (at least any that Rhune can provide), she mounts her horse and nudges it in beside Asif's.
Dakath shrugs "I guess that answers that question then. Augustus, are Forte and Tag able to ride? Xania's right, we need to move away from this area."
He moves over to Stenu and climbs into the saddle and turns to the freed humans, "Where are you headed for now? If you return from where you came your Riverboat is there as is the ferry."
Dakath then retrieves his staff and proceeds to cut a small nick near the top. "From now on this will serve as a reminder of all the friends I lose. It already has one too many," he seems angry and moves off to get ready for their journey.
"I did not think I would grow this fond of others," murmurs Xania softly.
At some point, it occurs to the group that the centaur is still waiting for the horses to be freed from their chains and it is done with expediency. The centaur, clearly pleased with the group's efforts, Augustus' treatment of the horses, and Asif's respectful comments, speaks with something resembling a smile, "My kind owes you much. We have decided to help you return these humans to a safe place. If you use your own legs, it will take much time to get them to safety. Our strong backs will assist your kind one more time before they come to freedom with me," He motions toward those in the camp, horses and men.
He then gestures behind him.
A small man, clearly a barbarian by his appearances ( OOC: barbarian in the historical, Roman sense, nothing like Conan of movie fame), walks into the camp from behind the centaur and the horses. His pace is the deliberate stride of someone trying to casually shift from a run to a walk (perhaps trying to make a dignified entrance). Wisps of long, red hair that have escaped a pony-tail cling to sweat-damped pale skin. He coughs a couple of times, timidly, before beginning in a smooth but odd, Italian,.
"Forgive my intrusion, noble warriors, our four-footed...friend here," he points to the centaur, "mentioned there would be folk of my kind in need of assistance. He was rather rude about my suggesting that his companions assist in my timely arrival and I fear I am late for the real work," he shrugs at the three spears, bundled together, in his left hand. "However, I see there are injured among you. I have a measure of talent in healing; with your permission I would provide what help I still can," His eyes, a striking pale blue - like a clear winter sky - move from person to person, anxiously awaiting for permission. Your impression of his nervousness is confirmed when his eyes fall upon the robed figure of Augustus. The newcomer's eyes immediately turn away, casting a concerned look at the centaur.
Xania watches the newcomer with an expressionless face. She says nothing trusting to the more kind members of the group to provide his welcome.
Augustus does not appear surprised at the newcomer's reaction towards him. But says to him, "Please...I have done everything I can for my friends for a time, I must rest and pray before I can do anything else...you need not attend to me, but please...help them." Augustus walks a short distance away and busies himself checking on the horses wounds, knowing that he cannot do anything else for them.
Forte croaks, in a barely audible whisper as he gestures toward his stomach, "Have at it, my new-found friend," His eyes close without waiting to see if the barbarian approaches him or not.
The small man removes a small pack, bearing an archaic, hide-covered buckler, and places it, along with his bundle of spears, on the ground. He nods quick thanks to the centaur and moves towards Forte.
"We would be grateful, if you could help us," Rhune replies. Noting his expression at Augustus, "Do not worry. He is not like the others that wear the same garments," she says in a reassuring tone of voice. Looking at the Centaur, "Thank you for bringing him here to us. That was most kind of you," she says to him. She waits near Asif while the barbarian tends to Forte and Taglio. She falls in behind Asif when they get ready to mount. For a long time she is strangely silent as she looks around at the forest, the sky and her friends.
A boyish smile of appreciation lights up the stranger's face as he notices Rhune. In a very formal elven he replies, "If so fair a lady as thyself vouches for the man, then surely I needst not concern myself. Any service I can render is yours to request. My resources are more limited than your robed companion; I would suggest I aid those bearing arms first. In these woods, their health is of prime importance."
Rhune's eyebrows go up, "I thank thee for thy complement first of all. If thee can do what thou can, it will be much appreciated," she replies in the same formal elven that he is using.
Asif listens with interest.
"Rhune our friend here speaks your tongue. He is not of elfkind, but is he from this land of the franks? Do many Franks speak your people's tongue?."
Looking at Asif, "No he is not a Frank. He is Italian. There are many who speak my language. Though more Franks than Italians do," she replies as she looks at him with sparkling eyes.
"Italian?? Rhees he speak not like others. His tongue more musical as if akin to your kind. I heard his speak of some place called Eire. Do you know of it?" Asif replies with a confused look.
"Oh, Rhees. I am sorry, Asif. I thought you were talking about Taglio. HE'S Italian. Not sure about Rhees. I have heard of Eire, but have never been there. Understand that it an island that is past where the Brits and Saxon's live," Rhune says embarrassed by her confusion as to whom Asif was talking about.
The barbarian tends to two people who appear to be adventurers and in greatest need of help. Kneeling by Forte, he lays his hands by the man's wounds and intones quietly in a tongue foreign to all of you. The effects on Forte's wound are miniscule at best, making you doubt this little fellow has much in the way of magic at all. He then heads towards Taglio and repeats the procedure. This time the effects are much more dramatic, Taglio's injuries healing over completely. However, the strain of the nearly fatal injuries have taken their toll on his spirit, apparently, as he still cannot rouse himself enough to move without assistance.
"Il dio č elogiato (translation: God be praised)," He looks at the strangers outlandish clothing. "Err Pardone Senior Ap'Mordin, for your deity is not the Lord Jerboha is it! You worship pagan deities do you not. Forgive me but I did not expect such kindness from a Barbarian," He looks at Rhees and then bows his head. "I mean no offense, but in Venice children are scared with stories of your kind and the barbarous acts you commit. Though I am learning not to judge a book by its cover, Si? Are you a Vandal or a Hun?."
"No forgiveness is needed, Signore," Rhees tone shifts, becoming more confident, "whenever men are willing to compare and discuss their differences and admit to their ignorance rather than cross swords over misunderstandings, there is little need for forgiveness. And you are correct, I am not a follower of Jerbohah, or of any one deity - I am but a humble shield man who attempts to live in accordance with the ways of the earth and the sky. As for my heritage, I am a Celt, and to be quite honest, I have seen more frightening and barbarous acts in my travels through your lands than in all my years among my people. But come, I do you injustice, you have just been gravely wounded in heroic combat and I sit and lecture you on the Old Ways. Let us prepare you for travel. If you like, we can discuss this as we travel or as we make camp."
Rhune listens with interest. She has not been around those that might be called barbarian much in her life.
"A Celt..," Tag looks pensive, "I have heard of you, for your people love the harp, do they not? I have studied a little of this and played some tunes on my lute. You are welcome to some wine if you like, but I am afraid we have no babies for you to eat."
The expression on Tag's face makes it hard to tell if he is joking or not.
"Yes," Rhees pauses, letting Tag stew as to which question he is answering, "We have a great love of music - though to say it is all played on the harp would be akin to my assuming all Italians play the lute, based on the one across your back. When I was apprenticed to the bard at the High King's court at Tara, I learned to play the fife and the mandolin - we should play sometime when your arm has recovered. It would be interesting to see how your vision of barbarians has colored our music. As for the baby, there is no need to apologize - I believe Italian would better accompany your chianti," Rhees smiles a toothy grin as he reaches for Tag's bottle.
Tag grins back and hands Rhees the bottle. "I would love to hear some of the music of your homeland, where did you say you were from? It seems not a few of the group has some musical skill, for Asif is quite gifted with the Ud and Rhune has a beautiful voice. We have the makings of quite a band it seems."
Rhees smiles, not sure where to begin, "I never did say, where I was from, actually. Since you asked, and provided such a nice payment," Rhees hoists the bottle of wine appreciatively, "I was born in Derry, in the North of Eire. Since being apprenticed, however, I have lived in the south of the Island, at Tara. My teachers said it was the elves who taught us how to truly make music beautiful, it would please me a great deal to hear Rhune sing - I look forward to the opportunity to accompany you all. Unfortunately, I only have my fife with me - mandolins make poor travel companions in rough country." Hoping to forestall another flurry of questions and comments, Rhees hands the bottle back to Taglio.
Tag nods and takes the bottle back. "Siete benvenuti il mio amico. Viaggiamo insieme e possiamo parlare pių successivamente di tali cose," (You're welcome my friend. Let us journey together and we can speak of such things later.)