Draping her white hood over fiery red hair, Arria fell in behind her Templar Havarr, soft leather boots echoing ever so slightly off the floor as they moved up the stairs and prepared to exit their sanctuary. Sisters would not fight, so in such matters she had to defer to Havarr’s judgment. The night before she had questioned it, wondering how many others had been locked outside when they sealed themselves in the inner sanctum. She didn’t bring it up, though. If they had opened those doors, they probably would have died. According to everyone around her, Arria’s life was somehow worth more than the others, for her gift. For a long time she had been tempted to agree with them. Not any longer, though.

When Havarr opened the door, the Sister was able to lay her eyes on the aftermath of what had occurred. There were so many bodies, most of them too torn and ravaged to even return as enemies. And there was [i]so[/i] much blood. Arria had often gazed at terrible wounds, severed limbs, opened bellies and horrible diseases, and she had learned not to flinch at such sights… but this was another matter entirely, and it hit her heavily. The blood of children covered this floor, and her fellow Sisters. She felt sick.

“Goddess, no…”

Unable to stop herself, Arria braced herself against the wall, doubling over and clutching her stomach as she heaved. There wasn’t much to spill, considering that she had not eaten well the night before, but she coughed and sputtered all the same.

The sound, as well as that of opening the door, was enough to draw the attention of the still walking corpses in the room. Havarr would have to deal with them. Even if she were in a better condition, Arria did not fight. To do so would be to compromise who she was as a person, and taint the gift that had been imbued in her by the Goddess.