Vyra was not sure how to feel about all of this.

The battle was over, if it were even appropriate to call it a battle.

What the Demi-Human had born witness to was instead something more akin to an act of cruelty, a senseless slaughter of guards whom were too young to realize what they were doing, whom they worked for, or what was in store for them, carried into a gross action of violence that led her as much wondering too, what was the point.

Under the false guise of Barothy soldiers, the cultists that Vyra had aligned with on behalf of Veronica Barothy had effectively pillaged the village, not causing violence and cruelty in what the term may have otherwise described it to be, but instead by staging what were multiple fake instances of kidnapping, taking those least capable of fighting – and in some cases the people who mattered most – all in hopes of prompting some sort of cruel response out of the people.

It sickened her to her core.

She had little doubt that it would not prompt an angry response out of the people, but Vyra found herself wondering if it was worth it. To promote a war against her father, sure, it would probably wholly satisfy Veronica Barothy’s goal. But for the Demi-Human, who found herself put in a very undesirable position of having to be the one that carried out this as a sort of middle man, it left her feeling terrible.

She thought of Alisa, of her Guild Master, and how she may have felt being in this position.

At times she would have used that as the sort of metric towards things, knowing if it would be something that she could have lived with, but for something like this, even though it may have led to Veronica being in control now which may have been better for the people as a whole, was it something that she would have felt good towards?

A part of her seriously doubted it.

[337/2000]

The return to the church was one that she relished in, if only for the sake that it was a time that she was by herself.

There were no cultists. There was no Ser Gholston hunkering over her like a shadow that persisted.

It was just her.

Her and the tears that began to flow down her face.

A sense of guilt overwhelmed the Demi-Human as she continued along, each step making her wonder where she went wrong, how she could have made the mistake that she did. She wanted to just pretend that none of this had happened, that she had never found that staff, that she never went on the vacation in the first place, everything about it was just something that she wished she could have turned back.

The cries from before, the sounds of mothers being pulled from their children, of people crying out in sadness, as it eventually disappeared in favor of the sounds of calmness, the silence of night, she could not help but smile a little. It did not erase the tears that still remained, but it would at least help her mask it, if only for a short while.

More time passed and she continued along on her walk, struggling to fully recognize quite where it was that she was going. The path was loosely set, the routes and shortcuts that she and Ser Gholston had to take earlier, albeit a bit confusing, were not as apparent and frequent as she may have first thought it to be. In truth though, she welcomed the chance to be able to walk around and just reflect. The longer it would have taken to forget about what happened, the better.

[622/2000]

By the time she had reached the church, the night was still in bloom, but it was only a matter of time until the dawn would be upon them and the summer sun would cast over the lands once again. In the meanwhile though, the Demi-Human would hope to take advantage of what she could and sleep. Surprising enough, what little sleep she had gotten earlier from the nightmare-induced panic had seemed to hold her over well throughout much of what had been going on.

And even in spite of the events of earlier, she was still awake, albeit wishing that she were asleep instead. She couldn’t help but wonder if things were even just a bit different, if she had slept through the nightmare and not ventured out to find Veronica in the church if things would have been different.

Likely not.

The more she thought about it, the more Vyra came to believe that whether it were that night, the next day, or a day or two later, it would be a case that she would end up selecting the Blue Pegasus Mage. There were just too many factors that made Vyra appealing to her cause; her not being a native of the North, being a victim of her father, having encountered the staff. It would be hard to imagine that this scenario, the circumstances earlier, that it would not have happened. If not last night, instead it would have been the next night instead.

Something to reflect upon in the morning though. Sleep was overdue.

However, that didn’t even come to happen as she entered inside, finding both of the Sisters there, seated within the pews closest to the back of the church, as though waiting for Vyra to arrive. The Demi-Human did not even realize that they were there until Sister Mara had said something, calling out to the girl. By the time Vyra processed the Sister’s presence, the woman had reached out and grabbed Vyra within a tight hug, the first sign of genuine affection that they had shown towards her.

“Is everything OK?” Vyra asked, taken aback by the gesture. Though appreciative, it did lend to the question of what prompted it. A part of her feared that something may have happened here, perhaps panic set in over the reality of what Veronica Barothy was planning.

“We just… We just wanted to make sure that you were OK,” Sister Mara said, her hand softly grazing the blue hair of Vyra, a look of concern upon her face as her gaze shifted from her to Sister Talia, similarly seated and watching Vyra. “The Countess… What she did and forced upon you… Few would not come away without scars.”

“In one form or another,” Talia added, standing up unexpected and proceeding towards Vyra, whom looked on with a slight bit of shock that she seemed to know exactly where she was. Like Mara, Talia held her hand out, not towards Vyra’s hair, but instead reaching for her hand, snatching it with the proficiency of a pickpocket than that of a blinded Sister, “Your skin, you’re trembling…”

With no warning or any indication, the blinded Sister had lunged forth, Sister Mara moving back allowing her fellow Sister a chance to move forward unopposed. In no time, both of Talia’s hands were upon Vyra’s face, eyes covered behind the blackened silk covering staring right upon Vyra’s own. “You’ve seen it, the horrors….” At first Vyra assumed her to have meant what happened earlier; the incident surrounding the cultists, but what she said next took Vyra by absolute shock. “You’ve seen the Nightmare…”

[1226/2000]

“How… how did…” Vyra was not sure how to respond, how to appropriately react. How could the Sister have known, unless… Was there something that she had kept hidden herself, in the same right that Vyra had tried to by her own accord?

“It’s all about you,” Sister Mara said, still standing away from Sister Talia and Vyra, but moving closer towards the Demi-Human, calmly separating the two women. Placing one hand upon Vyra’s shoulder, the Sister looked at the girl with sadness in her eyes, sadness not towards Vyra herself, but rather her plight in all. “From the moment you arrived, it’s been within the air around you, the sensation on your person.”

“You walk the road of the Nightmare…” Sister Talia now interjected, grabbing Vyra and pulling her into a caring embrace, not unlike that of the way Alisa would hold her in the past. The Demi-Human was not entirely sure how to respond. Saddened at how they described her situation? Absolutely. But in that sadness there was also genuine care and care to her, something that save for Alisa she had seen her seldom too often.

The three remained there for some time, general silence filling the air as Vyra simply appreciated the company of the two Sisters.

“I’m so sorry, my child…” Sister Talia whispered, just loud enough that Vyra could hear it over the sound of the world around them. The tears began to trail down her face as she kept her eyes closed, the visions of what she had dreamt colliding with the memories of what she witnessed only a short time ago. In both instances, horrors that Vyra wished to have never seen, but between the two, there was something slightly more welcoming to the eye as the brutality of the cultists than what the Nightmares conveyed.

There were a solace to be taken within the quiet of night, Vyra reflecting in the comfort of the Sisters while they permitted the Demi-Human the respect and peace one would hope be customary.

But a sound approaching from the distance seemed to ruin that moment.

[1576/2000]

Horse trots.

Plenty of them, moving quickly towards the church.

The neighs and trotting, the sound of armor clanking against itself being a clear and apparent alarm for not only Vyra, but per the Sisters too. Mara reacted first, proceeding towards the doors of the church, peering loosely out, not wanting to make it too obvious of things, but certainly hoping to get a better look.

“What is it, Sister?” Talia asked, not horribly worried by the sound of her voice, but certainly mindful.

“A small troop, perhaps less than a dozen in total.”

“Not the worst thing that he could have sent,” Talia shrugged her shoulders, the sense of worry not seeming to be conveyed upon her at all.

Vyra though, was admittedly concerned, the shaking in her body seeming to be calmed down by a gentle hug by the blinded Sister. “Fear not my dear. The Lord Barothy sends them to make a point, but little does he realize that he has sprung the trap.”

The cryptic message made little sense.

“What?”

Mara stepped back into the church, giving a look to Vyra like that of a conspirator herself, “The Countess envisioned a small company would be sent to find her, thus the urgency of your meeting. Listen…”

Vyra tried to isolate the sounds of the horses making their way, for a moment hearing something, something faint.

Chatter maybe.

Angry expressions certainly.

After some time, it seemed to pick up, the bits of chatter evolving into that of angry cries, the language of an angry mob. Growing louder and louder, closer and closer, Vyra could not help but look out the cracked open church doors, seeing what looked to have been hundreds of people gathering, making their way towards the church.

As fate would have it, their arrival would almost directly match against that of the few men on horseback, dismounting as soon as the mob came into sight, hoping to deescalate a situation that they could not have at first imagined running into.

The one who led moved forward, each step very mindful of the mob that had been coming towards them and had since started to spread out around them. He looked upon them, his eyes carefully watching while his hand remained upon the hilt of his blade, everyone seeming to fixate upon that, waiting for what he may have done next.

From out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Vyra, peeking her head out of the church door, watching all of it. The man screamed something inaudible, drowned out by the mob before him. Vyra was not sure what even happened next before the man unsheathed his word, setting forth a series of events that were beyond unexpected.

First it was a rock, not one that was too terribly heavy, one that likely could have fit within the palm of an adult male. It soared overhead, being lost within the blackened sky, striking the man upon his chest, a clanking sound echoing as it braced against his armor.

But that was enough.

Within seconds, the mob descended upon the man. Makeshift weapons, torches, and in some cases actual weapons, all at the ready to rip the soldier apart, alongside those whom were behind. Four of them had dismounted and either found themselves in varying states of withdrawing their weapons or trying to remount their steeds, but all met the same similar fate as the guard captain.

The two whom were still upon their steeds fled, but a sudden twang of arrows being pulled filled the sounds. Small dusts of smoke and dirt flooded the pathway ahead, indicative of arrows that missed their mark. As the two escaping guards began to further head out of sight, eventually one suddenly fell as their horse collapsed upon itself, a victim of a stray arrow. With their new target in sight, the mob rushed upon the man, already half collapsed by the weight of his fallen horse.

Now having exited the church fully, Vyra could only watch now as the mob moved on, hundreds of people, all of them having been effectively united against the Lord Barothy thanks to the actions of the cultists, now descending upon the long route towards the Barothy Keep.

Veronica had wanted this. An army to fight her war. And Vyra had delivered it to her.

[2300/2000]