The situation would have looked almost comical, had their lives not been in grave jeopardy. Brisa, hanging on for dear life to Dreknor's boot like a cat clinging to a tree limb, was being violently shaken up and down. So far, she had managed to keep hold. Her devotion to the Argurios must be that strong.

Aiden's dagger had buried itself in Dreknor's back, but it seemed to have no effect. In fact, the man didn't even stop to remove it. He simply backhanded the boy sending him sprawling backwards. Jatan winced. He himself was still reeling from being thrown to the ground. Dreknor would kill them all. This was where it would end.

Jatan gasped as he was violently wrenched up onto his feet. Someone had lifted him by yanking sharply on the top of his robe. As he turned to look, the man grabbed Jatan's face to make sure Jatan held his gaze. "Listen closely Jatan, and do exactly as I say, and you just might live through this." He shoved a glass vial containing a strange, tan liquid into Jatan's hand. "Spread this on your injured friend's leg. There isn't much but it will have to do. Then, head straight to the docks; do not stop for anything. Get on the boat and leave. Do you understand?"

It was Kevar, second in command at the monastery. He had come to save them! 

He slapped Jatan's cheek, "Jatan! I asked you if you understand?"

He couldn't focus. Everything. Happening. So. Fast.

His body was moving. Kevar was shaking him. "It's not hopeless Jatan. It never is. You need to remember this: everyone, even Gods have enemies."

[i]Gods have...enemies? What does he mean?[/I]

Someone shrieked in pain. Turning, Jatan saw Shaben, another instructor at the monastery clutching a broken leg. Shaben had pulled Dreknor off Brisa and Aiden, but Shaben was about to suffer for it. Jatan clamped his eyes shut as Dreknor's fist flew towards Shaben's face, but it didn't block out the sickening crack of bone shattering. The nausea bubbled within him. "JATAN! NOW!" He felt himself pushed towards Argurios and Brisa and he stumbled forward a few steps but his eyes were still locked on Kevar. Kevar was holding something...something Jatan couldn't lift his eyes off…

The quarterstaff, it was magical. The most powerful, and beautiful possession in the monastery. Not that the monastery had many valuable possessions; monks lived frugally, after all. But this staff had been blessed in holy waters and had been enchanted by a powerful cleric of Torm. Surely, Dreknor was doomed.

Like a pole vaulter, Kevar sprung forward with the help of the staff, soaring into the air over Dreknor. He brought the staff smashing down into Dreknor's shoulder. That caught Dreknor's attention, and he winced in pain. Kevar's eyes fixated on Jatan for just a moment or two, but that was all it took. Jatan saw fear. For Kevar to be afraid, he must know that the situation was hopeless. It was a sacrifice. Kevar was just buying them time. Jatan wouldn't waste that gift.

Steeling himself, he sprinted to Argurios and Brisa. Even though he didn't know the half-orc, he had to help him. His leg was broken. "Hold him still," he directed Brisa, hoping she could stay calm long enough to help. He would apply whatever medicine or potion Kevar had given him to Argurios' leg. Then they could leave. Anywhere, literally anywhere, had to be better than this cursed town.