Forums » Fantasy Roleplay » Rivalries On The Same Side {1 x 1}

The battle had been long, and hard. Spellcasters and melee, ranged and beast-riders all tangled together in a tangle of limbs, weapons and arcane missiles as the two fought. The forces of the lich had been weakened considerably when the smoke and fumes cleared, even if some had possibly managed to survive by giving themselves back to the ground or simply being recalled. The lich himself would be the next target or at least, the beings unnatural phylactery. That would destroy any change it had of escaping back to safety once its body was killed, destroying it once and for all.

Cyric had been in the midst of it, primarily focused on destroying as many of the undead as he possibly could. Driven by the need to restore a balance and to destroy those that were against Kelemvor's ideals, he had fought doggedly, only coming away from the lines for a quick bite to eat and gulp from a hastily-handed over hipflask before charging back into the foray. But now that the fight was over, he still had work to do. While some of the other clerics moved amongst the battle to heal, his priority was to find those near death; to comfort them in the moment of their passing, before helping them across to the other side. A task that weighed heavily on the heart no matter how many times it was done.

Raphaeline had been among those who fought, as well. The subdued woman turned fierce in battle, driven by divine calling to pierce through the Darkness with the power of the Holy Light. She was among the few female paladins of the church, but she could hold her own with the men against the lich's minions. Heavily armored in the Light's colors--pale gold and white--she fought alongside the people of her kingdom to defend against the dark forces. Now, once it was all said and done, she shed her heavy plate armor and replaced it with a cleric's robe, as was custom for her religion before going out to heal.

As she walked among the bodies, choosing out those she could heal, she saw the other clerics and paladins, those of Kelemvor. She didn't understand them. Why did they not do their best to heal the soldiers instead of just dooming them to their death? Sometimes she doubted whether clerics of Kelemvor even had any ability to heal. But she pushed those thoughts aside to focus on the task at hand, going to the wounded soldiers, filling them with Luminary's Light to heal them.

Some, however, were beyond healing. Past the point where the healing would do any good. There came a point, in injury severity, where a healing would simply weaken the area, leading to a risk of re-injury or worse later on in life. Or in the worst case scenario, a healing might well replicate the organs around the damaged area, resulting in contorted organs. It was then the job of those of Kelemvor, to aid them on. One soldier, with severe burns to one side of his body and his organs mostly hanging out, was clinging to the edge of Cyric's robes. "Let me..." And then of course, some did not want to be healed. Whether they had nothing to go back to or the pain was too great, there would always be those amongst the more severely injured who wanted nothing more than to move on.

Pressing his thumb and forefinger to the other's 'brow, he did not enact any spellform of the sort that might be expected. Instead, he simply numbed it; the sensation nulling all pain, moving down his body like the sensation of a wave before his eyes closed.
"Pass on in peace. Fear not that which is natural. See your relatives, greet them, and let them welcome you," he murmured quietly. A faint smile, a nod... and he felt the man go limp and then a moment later, felt the sensation of the soul parting from the body. While normally he would then personally escort the soul over to ensure there were no difficulties, there were a few of the Orders' clerics who were assigned to do just that.

Cyric, being a Doomguide, mingled both clerical and paladin training, with the innate talent for it that seemed akin to sorcery. His armour was plate, although grey and white rather than the white and gold favored by those who more openly worshipped the Light.

Of course, being a young cleric raised baisedly, Raphaeline didn't understand the good that her faith's counterpart did. So she moved along, calling for higher ranked clarics to aid the severely wounded while she worked more with flesh wounds and broken bones (her specialty).

She just so happened to be mending a broken collar bone and shoulder near a claric of Kelemvor. She paused just for a moment, watching him as the soldier in his care passed on. She didn't see the strewn organs. With a slight shake of her head, she went on to press her long fingers against the man's left shoulder.

"Breathe deeply... Let the Light take the burden of your pain," she whispered softly to the man. The soldier groaned in pain as she pressed against his broken bone, but his skin glowed for a few moments, and he let out his breath, panting a bit. In just a couple of seconds he was able to sit up and thank the woman, rubbing his shoulder. Mending bones took careful practice, and few could do it so well at such a young age as Raphaeline. Ever since she began her studies as a cleric she focused on things such as slowing blood flow and reconnecting (or even regrowing) bones properly. However, her skills lacked significantly when it came to any organs (heart, lungs, stomach, and the like), and she could do nothing like replacing a cut-off year (she did manage to reattach a finger once, though, with the help of a cleric who specialized in muscle and nervous tissue).

The woman stood, looking over at the paladin-cleric, meeting his gaze for a moment before turning to find others she could help.

He met her gaze briefly, although his expression was... guarded. Certainly it was not full of warmth or joviality, and there was a suggestion of tiredness around the edges as well, although that certainly could have come from having just actively fought in a battle that had been as arcane as it had been mundane.

Rising to his feet, he scrutinized the surrounding men. Most were either already dead, or with injuries that could be healed. He did look up however, to spot a few of the Light's clerics moving several of the bodies towards pits dug for the mass graves. A frown appeared before he changed direction and made towards them.
"I do hope you are making sure they are purged before putting them in the ground," came the heavy, rasping baritone voice from him. The rasp, due to the heavy scarring at his throat, and the grimace after indicated that raising his voice to that shouting level was nothing short of painful.

Raphaeline's countence copied his own, as she was uncertain and wary of the man who could sense souls. But she moved on quickly, not wanting to holdh is gaze for long.

The head cleric of the group looked back at him. Upon seeing his armor, the man scoffed slightly.

"I assure you that these bodies are nothing but empty shells." His voice was slightly mocking, but if one wasn't paying attention he would just sound disinterested in Cyric's words. The head cleric turned back to watch the other clerics bring the dead soldiers to the mass graves. "They fought well for their kingdom and should have no troubles making it to the afterlife... But if you are ever so troubled by it, feel free to meddle with their souls, mm?"

Cyric's eyes narrowed to moon-yellow slits for a moment as he considered the head Cleric steadily. No anger in his gaze, only a form of wearied contempt. "And you are burying them on ground that is permeated with the magic of the lich. This is... was, his territory and you are presuming that just killing them will rid the land of it? I thought your sort knew of how they can infect the land." Controlling not just the souls and bodies but also, to an extent, poisoning the land. A forest could turn into a withered thicket, a castle into a ruin simply by sheer corrupting presence alone. What he feared, was that lingering poison 'infecting' the bodies, and making them all the easier to rise another time with new souls or just sheer arcane energy alone.

"Please, Paladin, I beg of you, find us a proper place to bury these corpses." The Cleric rolled his eyes. "We cannot transport these bodies. There are not enough resources to do so."

Raphaeline, meanwhile, had been listening while she helped stop a soldier's wound from over-bleeding. She winced slightly at the head Cleric's tone; he needn't be so rude. So she quickly finished and stood.

"Brother!" she called to him, jogging swiftly towards him. "Brother Mikal, please. Need you be so outright with him?" She glanced at Cyric. "I know he does not have the Holy Light, but is it not our duty to take his suggestion into consideration? The Essence says--"

"I know what the Essence says," Mikal snapped quickly, before glaring in Cyric's direction for a few moments. Then he shook his head. "Your people are more accustomed to death. We deal only with living things." He looked at the other Clerics, who had paused their work. "Let them deal with the bodies. We will continue to work with the living. Come." With that he walked stiffly with the others to continue combing through the fields for injured men and women, leaving Raphaeline standing alone near the piles of dead bodies.

Cyric might have tolerated the argument over whether or not the bodies were being correctly buried. It had nothing at all to do with beliefs or deities, and involved more thought of theory than much else. Pure logistics. When Raphaeline suggested that he did not have the Light however... That struck a sore note. Another misconception. While he might not have been of their Light, there were many deities that controlled clerical or paladin access to what they called the Light, to varying degrees. Looking towards her, a subtle aura appeared around his armour, flaring up over the maille shirt and flecking through the ends of his hair and along his sheathed sword. What colour was it? White. A glowing, golden light.
"Perhaps not given by your deity, lady, but our Light is still here. Kelemvor is not of the side of the dark. Therefore is of the side of the Light." Logic right there.

When the Head Cleric surrendered the territory of burying the bodies, he gestured for a few of the other doomguides and Kelemvorian clerics to join him; given the amount of the dead that were present, it was not something that he was going to do alone. Many hands made light work.
"We need to purge the ground, and the bodies." They knew what he was on about. Purging could also be done on living beings as well, although that was a far more unpleasant process.

Raphaeline watched him with a half-stubborn expression before turning to go join the other clerics. Just because one is not a demon does not mean one is good, and therefore just because the followers of Kelemvor are not of darkness does not mean they are of the Light! How ignorant of that man to say such a thing... Luminary rules the Light. Kelemvor has power over Death. Although they were not evil, it didn't mean they had business with the Light.

So she turned immediately from him, fuming inwardly. She had just stood up for his suggestion and he repaid her by telling her he was part of the Light?! Ludicrous! She reminded herself not to stand up for any man of Kelemvor again lest she be criticised. Instead she busied herself with following Brother Mikal around the battlefield, though there were very few soldiers left to heal.