Macaroth rode back to Akrassa, followed by several dozen of the farmers that saw him now with their own eyes, they gathered their belongings and their families and just left the field with no regard, placing their futures entirely in the hands of their saint. It was a heavy burden, taking care of these people and their faith in particular, he has to pretend to be a saint, well it was not all bad. The adoration one gets when being good is different than when he is worshiped as an overlord, the loyalty and admiration is real and sincere.

He shook his head of such thoughts and focused on his next move, the mages will no doubt want to nip this in the bud as fast as possible so he had to make a plan for when their attack would come, inevitably ruthless and hard. He rode into the keep that now stood where once there was naught but a chapel and garden. The gate opened smoothly and he followed a road up to his chapel that was his heart and dismounted, entered and started to plot his defense and then his counter attack.