[right][h3]The Old Priory[/h3][/right]

"Should this place have a way in from behind, I might have a plan" Vanguard said in hushed tones. "If Tayronus's... raven locates such an entrance, I suggest we divide our number into two groups. One containing those who are strong and could last in extended combat or possess healing magic, and the other holding those who are stealthy or less able in open combat. While the first group engages the goblins here, the second group could slip in though the back and free the captives while the foe is distracted. This plan, however, assumes among other factors that there is a way in from behind. So this plan may not be viable should scouting efforts turn up no back entrance."

Tayronus looked over at Vanguard as he gave a slow nod as he thought about it. "I like the idea," he said as Rake turned from a raven to a spider and jumped to the ground, turning invisible as it crawled towards the building. "But I think one or two of our stealthiest would be sufficient to herd the civilians out while the rest of us cause a distraction. I fear a route if we're stretched too thin."

"A fair point," Vanguard agreed. "If our attacking force is routed too soon, the captives would be more likely to come under fire as they're led to safety."

Harold crept forward towards the conversing members. "I could probably sneak around if an alternate entrance is found. The problem I possibly see is if the savages know of that entrance and are guarding it as well."

"That shouldn't be a problem," Vanguard said. "So long as the distraction is loud enough, we'll most likely have the goblins' full attention, leaving you a clear path to the captives."

Tayronus turned towards Herald, his form shifting slightly to keep the ache from his knees, wincing when he heard small pops along the joint. “My familiar can look for an entrance for you,” he returned in a hush tone, “if it finds something I’ll let you know. But, for the moment, I’ll be seeing through my familiar’s senses so I’ll be effectively blind and deaf while with you.” 

Then, turning towards the priory, he felt something tug on his conscious. A small pull that slowly got stronger, like a tidal wave increasingly threatening to overwhelm him. Then, he was gone, his mind tumbling through a vast empty space of darkness before opening his eyes.

“Glad you could join me for the party,” Rake said.

“I’m not. Let’s try to get inside the building with the broken window without drawing attention to ourselves, yeah?”

“I’m an invisible spider, what attention could I possibly draw from goblins?”

“Just go,” he said as they climbed over the wall, and stopped just inside of the broken window.

The imp found itself in a vestibule, empty. Another pair of double doors, sealed, marked the entrance to the church proper. Crawling under the door, Rake was able to make his way inside. A quick glance around revealed that the interior doors were barred with a heavy wooden beam. From there, it was a simple task for the imp to scale the wall, and at ten feet above the floor he was able to gain a clear view of the church.

There was nothing particularly unusual about the church. The central aisle, flanked by a dozen pews on either side, ran up to an altar, which sat before a great white marble statue of Gyaal-as-Man, weathered by the years of neglect. Behind the statue, great panes of stained glass presented the story of Saint Neymour and his knights, the first members of the White Brotherhood, receiving the Nine Blessed Blades from the smith Ainthwe and the Moon Elves of Luthin, the Citadel. 

A closer inspection would have to wait, however. Gyaal-as-Man stood in silent watch over a gruesome scene below.

Four bodies of men and dwarves lay strewn down the central aisle, laid in seeping pools of their own blood. Before the altar, two goblins were at work on a fifth, an elderly man. His throat was slit, and the two greenskins were making a point to bleed him out before the altar. The crimson blood flowed, spilling out over the stone steps before the altar. A third goblin, armored in chain and armed with a fine crossbow leaned on his shoulder, seemed to oversee the work being done. He pointed a finger and barked a harsh Or'cat word, and the last two goblins, on the far right side of the church, went to work. 

The last two captives, an auburn haired woman and a moon elf, knelt before them, hands bound and faces caked with blood. The goblins, each bearing a crude iron scimitar in hand, seized the woman. She gave no resistance. If she feared their blades, she did not show it. Whether she had steeled herself in the face of death or had merely consigned herself to her fate could not be said.

Back at the treeline, some ten minutes had passed. Captain Harrad waited expectantly. "Well?" he asked. "What's going on in there?"