Narration 30, Part II
Saturday, 11 April 1571 P.C.E
Nones

      Doran takes in the young mage’s words and saying nothing to him, turns away.  With a wave of her hand, she catches Travana’s eyes and jerks her head away from where the group is currently congregated, indicating for her to follow.    “Let us walk some distance away from these pig-headed males, sister, “ she murmurs to the half-elfess.  “I have something of import I wish to discuss.”  Taking a lantern, they move far enough away as not to be easily heard, but yet close enough to remain in sight of the group.

      Folly’s offended little snort, sets the Wardleftenant and Sir Calimar to chuckling.  The two do little to soothe the ruffled mage and in fact, their snickering, whispering, and pointing of fingers only eggs him on.  He looks about for some sympathy but finds even Castus grinning ear to ear.  Grimacing, he turns about on one heel and moves off to a spot near the fount to begin rummaging through his satchel.
Meanwhile, Father Martin gathers the WardChaplain and Brother Castus together and entreats them.  “I recommend that we pool our efforts to prepare for this confrontation.  To begin with, there may be help to be found among the holy items that Folly found; I would also like to collect some water from the blessed fount, after which we should raise our prayers in unison to the PaterOmni.”

      Taking one last draw of his pipe, Brother Castus lets his face grow serious before responding.  “Father, I agree with you…we should prepare but I would be of little help.” He exhales and frees a large, slowly drifting smoke ring. “ I am but a simple monk…a lay person without ordination or training.  Yet, I will provide what help I may.”  The portly monk casts his eyes to the nearby fount.  “I’ll see if I can go about and gather skins to carry the water from the fount.” He sets off to begin his task but pauses for a moment.  “You might seek to question Brother Rumil and Sir Talen directly-I cannot speak for Rumil but I know Sir Talen is in good standing with our master, Monsignor Saerpens and is soon to receive his spurs as a Church Knight.”

      Letting the monk leave, the WardChaplain moves closer.  “Let us examine the relics found by your friend and see what help they might bring to the coming battle before beginning our prayer.”  The older priest looks very grave.  “I have worked both parish and battlefield…but this will be the first time I have faced dark foes as I fear await us.  Let us gather strength where we may.”

      During this, the mage had finished his rummaging and moved towards the conversing clergy.  Still slightly disenhearted, he had listened intently.  As the WardChaplain finishes, he suddenly brightens and beams at the crestfallen chaplain.  “Now, now, don’t go selling us off as lost already, dear man.  I have an idea that may help out a bit.”  The mage reaches into his cloak and pulls out a small pouch. “People who are conjuring generally have to read a great deal of the rites they use from some book or other, requiring the presence of some amount of light…and it is extremely hard to read in the midst of a huge bank of fog.”  He lofts the pouch and catches it with a rattle.  “ This contains the material component for such a spell.  It also has other uses including making a tasty soup with some ham hocks and a bit of marjoram.”  Folly’s green eyes grow dreamy for a moment, but then regain clarity.  “I digress.  Now, naturally, it is also rather difficult for men such as us to exchange blows in such a fog, but it may disrupt their conjuring long enough for us to get in a few good missile hits…though you will have to take aim before the spell goes off, and remain still until it takes effect.  If nothing else, it will stall them a bit.”  He looks down and notices a ladybug on his sprig of herb, gazes at it, and lets it crawl onto his finger.  He blows on it and it goes flying back the way the party came.  He watches it fly until it is out of sight.   It makes one wonder how in the world a person can have the mind of a battlemage and the eyes of a child in the same body and still make sense.

     The mage’s eyes return from the insect only to be caught up by something else, Doran and Travanna making their way towards the spider nest.  Starting to fidget a bit, he holds up one finger as if to continue but drops it.  “I must be going.  I shall rejoin you later to further our preparations.”  With long loping strides, he follows after the two women and leaves the priests wondering what sort of allies they have.

      Sir Talen seeks out Brother Castus.  He finds the monk motionless with one hand resting on the marbled edge of the fount.  His eyes seem miles away and quite unaware of the knight.  Smiling, Talen lays one hand on the monk’s shoulder.  “The time for rest will come soon enough, Brother.”    Startled, Castus jumps as if to grapple him and he responds in kind.   Recognition floods into the monk’s face and he steps back, his face flushing red.    Regaining his composure as well and acting as if nothing has just passed, the wiry paladin says,” In the meantime, I suggest we make preparations in case a hasty retreat is in order.”

      Castus’ eyes widen in mock surprise.  “A warrior of the AllFather considering retreat?  I’m impressed, Sir Talen.  You show more imagination than most paladins I know. What do you have in mind?”

      Talen frowns, trying to fathom whether he’s been insulted or not. After a moment’s consideration, he lets the comment pass.  “Brother,” he says.

     “Have you ever had the occasion to use dried cow pats as fuel? For instance, when encamped in an area lacking in trees or other inflammable growth?”

      “On occasion,” Castus replies, curious.  “What has that got to do with anything now?”

      “Do you recall the hallway filled with bat droppings that we passed through before, Brother?” Talen asks.  The paladin pulls a flask of lamp oil from his belt.   “With a proper accelerant, a well-placed torch, and the blessings of the PaterOmni, we might be able to bring Heaven’s light to these Nefandites in a way they never expected.”

      Castus grins widely.  “What a lovely plan, lad.  That’ll be a nasty surprise for them!  Let’s just hope things go our way, so we don’t have to use it.”

      Rumil, who had been standing nearby, is all for the plan.  “Yes! Burn the impurities out.  We shall prevail against the sacrilegious parasites that have infested this place…burn them!  Crush them!  Smash their demonic altars and drown out their horrific moaning with the flames of righteousness!”  The paladin strides away, apparently on a quest for oil.  His outburst having drawn everyone’s attention and eye him uneasily.  His normal fervor is apparently augmented by the proximity of evil beings.

      Unperturbed, Talen says, ” I shall make preparations then.”  With some wariness in his movements, he follows after Rumil to aid in the collection of the oil.

      After several minutes at their work, Martin approaches Rumil and Talen.  "Good knights, please join us in our preparations to face these nefandites.  Lifting our prayers together in unison will strengthen us for the battle that lies ahead.  Additionally, there may be items in the sack that Folly found that will be useful to us against the forces of darkness." Motioning towards the WardChaplain and the pile of items in question, Martin awaits.

      Rumil says, "Yes, we must always be happy to lead those who have gone astray to salvation...."  The paladin lets his words trail, leaving something unsaid.  Too quickly, he dumps his collected flasks into Talen's arms and with a gleam in his eye; he draws his sword and begins polishing it absently.  His thoughts obviously elsewhere.

      "I also agree with your idea, good Father," Talen says. "We must be prepared for whatever the AllFather chooses to test us with."  He hefts his armload of oil flasks.  "Begin your examinations.  I will return shortly."

      Martin nods in response, and with Rumil in tow, he moves to join the WardChaplain who is laying out the items recovered by Folly on floor just beneath the fount.  The older priest has spread the age stained altar cloth out on the marbled floor and is deliberately setting each piece in its place.  The massive altar cross is joined by a pair of silver communion plates and a silver chalice-all are tarnished by the passage of time.   Next, he adds the altar bell, vases, and a small tarnished silver coffer for the Host.   A pair of brass triple candlesticks, assorted candles, and an elaborate snuffing bell are counted among their number.   Additionally, two crystal decanters, one filled with holy water and other appears to hold wine, stand next to a heavy aspergill (holy water sprinkler).  He finishes the display with a censer on a chain and incense for it.

      Rumil nearly sputters in shock at the tarnished relics.  He kneels near the altar cloth and begins polishing pieces with his tabard while muttering prayers intermixed with some rather disturbing metaphors for what he would like to do to the perpetrators.  “Filthy vermin…”

      Standing with Father Martin, the Wardchaplain ignores the vociferous ramblings of the paladin and instead focuses on what might me done.  “I believe we should use some of these things to help our defense.”  He picks up the aspergill, having to nearly tug it from Rumil’s hands.  “I believe I should fill this from the fount and perhaps bless the far doorway.  It might stop or at least slow any supernatural foe that comes.” He looks to Father Martin.  “You might fill the censer and burn some of the incense.  The fallen do not seem to take to sweet odors.  Lighting the candles in the candlesticks may provide some aid as well.”   Pursing his lips, he comes back to the earnestly polishing Rumil, who sits humming hymns so tedious that even Martin avoids those particular songs.  “Brother, why don’t you continue with what you are doing as well as offer up prayers for our good fortune and safety?”

      “Most certainly, Father.”  Rumil pauses from his polishing.  “Might I also suggest that we bathe these items in the water from the fount. They may carry some taint and it may restore their purity.”  The large paladin has to raise his voice as the nefandites beyond grow momentarily louder.

      At the paladin’s words, the WardChaplain looks back to the other priest before moving towards the fount with the aspergill.  Martin holds his crucifix tightly for a moment.  His eyes closed as if offering up a prayer.  “I sense nothing on them of evil nature.”

      “Perhaps, I should check them as well, Father, …so as to soothe our comrade’s fears.”  Sir Talen has just returned and hearing what the other paladin has said, offers up his services.

     “If you like, my son, but I fear it’s a waste of time.”  Father Martin moves aside to allow Talen access to the displayed items.

      The wiry knight strains in momentary concentration.  “Verily, it is true.  I sense noth….”  Sir Talen lets his words drift off, interrupted.  Interrupted not by increasing sound, but by sudden, resounding silence.  The horrid chanting of the nefandites has stopped.