Mara had already weathered so much in her time with the Sacred Blades. There was only so much a healer could do for grievous wounds, and in the heat of the battle, all it took was one well-placed blow to end someone’s life. The losses were beginning to take their toll on Mara, who had been even more silent than usual in the past couple of days. She could only bid herself to nod and weakly smile whenever her gaze happened to meet another’s. Silently, she repeated the names of the fallen in her head, wondering what their lives would have been had things been different. Had she saved them... 

The cleric brushed aside strands of her silky brown hair as she peered at Ylisstol in the distance. She did not enjoy the thought of returning to the city, a place full of painful memories, but the prospect of having more recruits and a chance to rest was quite enticing. This was an opportunity for Mara to stock up on healing supplies and to repair her healing staff, which had seen more use than she would have liked.
---
The voices had grown silent. Why? What now? Verin tried to fight back his rising anxiety as his eyes remained closed. His usefulness would come to an end if he could not supply any more “divine insight”; it had already been a week of silence now, and there were no signs of change. Verin had tried everything to bring back the dark whispers. He pleaded, cried, and tried all manner of sacrifice and atonement. Nothing. Nothing at all. 

The room smelled faintly of incense, which had long since burned out. The young prophet had been meditating for countless hours, and had requested others to not bother him while he was within his quarters. While they had complied, Verin secretly had wished for an excuse not to continue pursuing this useless agenda.