[center][url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4917204][img]https://i.imgur.com/VnEEPN0.png[/img][/url][img]https://i.imgur.com/lT9z2vK.png[/img][/center][hr][right][color=dimgray][b]Somewhere[/b]
Dawn[/color][/right][hr]
	In all the old stories, it is said that crowns lie heavy on the head of those who wear them.

	The stories failed to mention how heavy they would be while lying in the floundering pack of one lone nun.

	Candle didn't know how long she had been running for. All she knew was that they had crept up on her while the world still lay dark and dead. Now, the faintest tendrils of Teid's warm sun began trailing across the sky, guided by Parrel's careful touch. Her legs ached. Her lungs burned. All she wanted to do was to lie down and rest and take a drink of her stale water. Luckily her marathon would soon be at an end, either by the death of her assailants or her own. The stiffening of the hairs on the back of Candle's neck was all the warning that she received of something lunging at her. It was all she needed.

	In one smooth motion, her next step turned into a pivot as she turned to face her enemy, using the extra weight of her backpack to help complete her half turn as she gripped her ashwood spear in both hands, bracing it on the forested ground. Iron, hardened by faith, met flesh covered in Filth as the short, stubby creature impaled itself onto the tip of her weapon, momentum and gravity forcing it yet further down onto the haft. The feel of it reminded her of a knife sliding through fat, not at all like the tough shuddering of meat and bone. Grimy, pustulous claws swung just mere inches from the nun's grim and impassive face, her ears assaulted by the grunt's death throes as it gurgled into nothing, the creature melting back into the Filth from which it was made.

	Her victory was short lived as another grunt quickly made its presence known as it burst from the brush, characteristically and unnervingly silent compared to its bubbling companion. 

	Candle dropped her spear, mired as it was in Filthy tar, drawing instead the longsword at her hip with a dull [i]hiss[/i] of metal on leather. Individually, however, the Filth's grunts posed little threat to a properly trained warrior, much less a Sister who survived and thrived under the harsh hands of Mistress Blade at the Convent of Quiet Vigil. It was dispatched easily and quickly with several brutal cuts. Still, Candle remained alert as she knew there were more that were chasing after her, even if she had dispatched a few others similar to the first by catching them on various risky and dangerous maneuvers. The sounds of the pack that had been chasing after her from before were far too loud and numerous to account for those she had slain, no matter how groggy and addled she may have been while hurriedly awoken in the middle of the night.

	She waited one count.

	Two more.

	Several long moments passed by in stark silence. There were no animal cries in the distance, no alarm of singing birds nor cricks of endless insects, yet neither were there crashing of Filthy limbs through the underbrush, of unwavering pursuers peering through the green cover of the surrounding forest. Eventually she allowed her muscles to relax, if only a bit.

	It was as Candle went over to her spear, lifting it to allow whatever Filth that still clung to it to slough off did she hear the answer to her worries in the form of pained screams. They were bloody, human, and uncomfortable close. Contrary to how she believed she would have acted in such a situation, she hesitated. Her legs ached. Her lungs burned. And, if she allowed herself to realize it, her hands were shaking. Still, despite her hesitation, she knew what she had to do. What she must do. The nun uttered a soft prayer as she scraped off the final bits of Filth with dirt. Afterwards, she allowed herself the small luxury of letting her muscles rest for just a single second more, then shifted into a jog towards the screams that had continued to echo all the meanwhile. 

	The source of the raucous noise soon became abundantly clear as the trees started to thin out in deference to a nearby road: a single merchant, surrounded by corpses and puddles of Filth alike. The peddler's eyes met Candles, a plea, a cry forming on her lips before her skull caved inward with a sickening crunch, the offending grunt's hands coming away sticky with blood. The only figure left standing that wasn’t covered in Filth was a single man holding a mace tight in one hand and a shield hanging limply from the other. Surrounding him were two grunts, held back only by the pained thrashings of a ten-limbed beast. Several of its pointed legs moved in erratic spasms or already lay dead and still. One of them shot like an arrow toward the man, though the force of it was like a ballista bolt by the way it flung him aside like a rag doll as it splintered his shield. A similar blow was likely the reason why the man had such a weak grip on it in the first place.

	Candle's body instinctively snapped into action, giving herself no time to take in the full severity of the situation as she dropped her backpack. The haft of her spear briefly grazed the side of her cheek as she drew back her right arm and turned herself into a siege engine with her body the machine, the spear her devastating load. A pained cry tore itself from her throat as it held the raw grief of seeing the broken bodies of Parrel's flock before her, the cold anger of having to suffer the ignominy of allowing the Filth before her to do so, and the terrified exhaustion of a scared, lonely girl that had to live in such a world. Her spear shot forth with divine fury, the missile striking true, skewering the crawling beast right in the center of its flailing mass. It died with a piercing screech in concert with Candle's own warcry as she drew her sword, daring the rest of the disgusting Filth before her to face her. 

	But these beasts knew no fear. They knew not what the terror in facing a holy Instrument of Parrel was, had no concept of what it should be like. The Filth had a divine will of its own, its creatures driven and filled with its unholy purpose. The pustulous lumps that sat atop the bodies of the three grunts all turned to snap at her, their bodies moving as if under a single puppeteer's commands as they began ambling towards her.

	Despite her body's protest, Candle turned and ran slightly deeper into the trees. After a short while she turned around, sighting the silent beasts that chased after her, running at her as one unit. The density of the trees forced them to stagger their approach, however. The first one that reached the lone nun lunged at her, its hands slavering for the chance to crush her bones under its grip. She crouched under its grasp, her blade already positioned in a low stance as she used her legs to burst forward and score a deep slice through its midsection, metal coming away from Filth with a sickening [i]squelch[/i]. The grunt showed no reaction to being cut by a murderous slice that would have been fatal to any mortal man, though it at least waddled and wavered like a drunken lout as its top half flailed about, unsteadying the legs that had to carry its newly unsecured weight. A swift kick was all the persuasion the grunt's body needed in order to finally separate and return to Filth. 

	The second grunt came at her left side, its right arm moving in a wild swing that threatened to pulverize her entire rib cage. Candle danced and dodged around a tree, using it as brief cover and came up behind the beast. She sliced at the back of its knees, forcing it into a slump as she brought her blade around to hack at it from above. With a cry, she brought furious retribution down upon the Filthy stain that kneeled before her.

	As she moved to tug out her blade however, she found it stuck deep and fast in the creature's body. She panicked and froze for only a single moment, but it was all the third grunt needed to tackle Candle onto the floor. The worst of the impact was softened by her breastplate, but the grunt now lay above her, straddling and pinning her down to the ground. Death stared at her in the form of two meaty hands raised above her head. She wanted to close her eyes and look away. She couldn't.

	But the hands never came down, Out of nowhere, a mace swung hard and fast from its side. There was only a dense [i]thump[/i] as the weapon impacted into the creature, enough to throw it off Candle to somewhere she couldn't see. A man walked briefly into her vision before disappearing toward where the grunt had flown. She could only imagine what happened next as several more thumps quickly turned into a heavy string of sickening squelches. Eventually it stopped, followed only by the sound of heavy breathing, then crunching footsteps disappearing into the distance. Candle lay there for what felt like a lifetime afterward.

	Once she felt like she could stand and take a step without crumpling onto the forest floor, she made her slow journey back toward where she had dropped her backpack, moving in the same direction as the earlier footsteps. Luckily she found it undisturbed. The same could have been said about the scene of carnage that lay before it, save for the absence of the Filth's walking blasphemies. The man who flew through the air sat at a small, freshly made fire in the center of it all, seemingly unperturbed by the blood and bodies that lay all around him. His mace lay comfortably across his knees as it dripped with Filth, his single working hand never far from it. His head rose as he heard her approach and raised an arm in a nonchalant greeting, then pointed to her spear which lay on the ground covered in Filth for the second time that morning.

	Without a second thought Candle strode forward to join the man next to his little fire, collecting her spear along the way. She watched him nurse the flame brighter and brighter, then settle a pot into its heart. He wandered over to the cart that supported the now dead merchant, idly picking through it before coming back with a pack of what looked to be freshly skinned and gutted rabbit. It wasn't until he sat back down did Candle finally speak. [color=C49C48]"May I look at your arm?"[/color]

	The man turned to look at her, ice-blue eyes piercing into her own. She met his challenge, unwavering, unflinching. He was the first to break contact as he turned aside to put down his breakfast. [color=lightgray]"Do what you will, girl."[/color]

	Candle laid aside her pack and spear and came up beside the man's hanging arm. A brief inspection and a string of creative curses told her that it was at least fractured, if not outright broken near his shoulder. It also gave her a chance to actually take a proper look at her savior. His weapon and the ease of which he carried it told her that he was clearly well trained, with his corded muscle and rough, leathery skin confirming a life used to hard labour, a prominent scar running from cheek to chin. The rest of his face was hard and angular, but not unkind. His age was hard to properly guess at however, as it felt like he could have been anywhere from his late 30's to his early 60's, old enough to be her father, at least. The skull cap protecting his head hid whatever hair may have taking refuge under it, though she doubted he had any to reveal anyway if the rest of his clean-shaven features were of any indication. [color=C49C48]"Do you have any cloth or linens I may use?"[/color]

	The man shrugged and pointed a thumb back towards the cart. [color=lightgray]"You're free to look."[/color]

	Candle did so, coming back with a suitable piece of linen cut to size with a knife. She took the cloth back to the man's side and moved to treat him before she hesitated and gave him a last look. [color=C49C48]"May I?"[/color]

	[color=lightgray]"Do what you will."[/color]

	She worked quickly, setting his arm into a comfortable sling. Once she finished, she asked him, [color=C49C48]"What is your name?"[/color]

	[color=lightgray]"Liam."[/color]

	[color=C49C48]"... That's not your real name, is it?"[/color]

	He shrugged. [color=lightgray]"And?"[/color] A pause. [color=lightgray]"Yours?"[/color]

	[color=C49C48]"Candle."[/color]

	He turned to stare at her unmoving expression, an eyebrow slowly creeping its way upward. It hung at its zenith for a second, two, then a wide smile cracked open on his face and he let out a guffaw that felt as if it could split the world. [color=lightgray]"Well Candle, 'least join me for a meal. Can't promise anything good, but it'll 'least be edible."[/color]

	With his immediate care now done, however, her attention had shifted to the various bodies that lay around them. One lay rigid, his face locked in fear. Another was crumpled and broken, her face slack without worry. The last laid against the cart as if dozing, her expression unreadable for she no longer had a face at all. [color=lightgray]"Nothing left to do for them but pray, girl."[/color]

	Candle now turned to face him and nodded. [color=C49C48]"That is what I will do."[/color]

	As he made his meal, Sister Candle went about collecting the corpses of Liam's fellows, digging them graves with a shovel found inside the cart. Her screaming muscles forbid her from giving them final resting places that were too deep, but it was enough to preserve their dignity as their bodies and spirits returned back to the Cycle of Creation. She prayed for them to find contentment and joy wherever they resided next.[hr][right][color=dimgray][b]Kendles Outskirts[/b]
Several days later[/color][/right][hr]
	After Candle's impromptu funeral service, Liam divulged that he was one of three guards the lone merchant had hired in Illistair as escorts to Kendles. Ostensibly, the reason why she decided to strike out alone instead of traveling with a caravan was to rush to Kendles and sell off her stock of construction supplies first, then resupplying with some new hot product that had come into the ramshackle settlement. A derisive snort was his only follow-up to that. When asked why he went along with it anyway, he shrugged and said that he knew and trusted the skills of the two other guards. More importantly, however, was the fact that the pay was extremely ludicrous, enough to ensure his silence, but not his death. The reason why he had told Candle any of this was because he was bored and that it likely wouldn’t have mattered anymore anyways.

	So now, with no prospect of being paid, yet really having nowhere else to go, Liam plundered the dead merchant’s cart with whatever seemed profitable and that he could comfortably carry, leaving the rest for Candle to take or the Filth to claim as he continued down the long road toward Kendles. Since had already planned to revisit the tumultuous town anyways, Candle decided to accompany him. 

	The rest of the journey to Kendles was uneventful, their entrance even more so as they blended into the throng of humanity that hovered in and around it like flies. Candle had come to sprawling town a handful of time as she wandered all over Pertovia, preaching the good word of Parrel. Of the three Stalwart Cities, she had always felt the most at ease in Kendles. As contradictory as that statement may have seemed on the surface, the Kendies at least made no attempt to hide the danger that was inherent in living there; the same couldn’t be said for Illistair, Jornorston least of all.

	Once they arrived, Liam inquired as to where she would stay, whereupon she revealed her plans to build her own church to Parrel in the town by taking and renovating one of the many abandoned buildings that lay in the town’s outskirts. She had planned to ply her trade as an alchemist, healer, and priestess in order to slowly gather the labor and materials she would have needed for such an endeavor, so it was with some tainted luck then that she had found Liam and his little convoy. Liam on his part did at least offer to house her with one of his friends, but she politely refused and was adamant in the fact that she had wanted to start her first great work as soon as possible. Still, he felt uncomfortable leaving her alone as not only was she a woman wandering the urban wilds of the outskirts, but a holy woman no less while the city was held tight in the Filth Eaters' grip.

	So he did not part with her yet and assisted her in at least choosing a building that at the very least lay far from the reach of the fanatical gang, though admittedly his knowledge of their territory was cobbled together from memories that ranged, at their latest, of only a few months back. Much could have changed in that time, but Candle left him little choice in the matter. 

	Eventually, they found a serviceable ruin that fit both their criterias: a crumbling stone building that may have once been a church in its scarred past, the only signs of which being the symbol of Parrel being carved into one of its bricks. Now it stood with only three walls, the fourth barely a collection of pebbles, the roof long since caved in. Perhaps it was an ill-advised venture to rebuild a church of Parrel in the same place where it had already fallen at least once before, but Sister Candle chose to take it as a sign of divine providence. Liam cared little whether it was one or the other, save that he did enough to ease his conscience. They parted ways soon afterward.

	As she surveyed her new home, however, Candle knew that it wouldn’t be the last time she would see the errant mercenary.
[hr][hider=Summary]Sister Candle, a warrior nun of Parrel, has run afoul of a few creatures of the Filth. She dispatches her pursuers, only to find more attacking a nearby lone merchant and her three guards, of which only one of the guards, Liam, is still alive and standing. Together, the nun and the guard kill the rest of the Filth. Afterwards, Liam shares that the now dead merchant had hired him to escort her to Kendles, although he suspected the reason for the journey wasn't mercantile alone. Candle reveals her own plans of journeying to Kendles and establishing a church of Parrel on her own. Liam, having no employer and nothing better to do, plunders the merchant's cart with Candle and journeys with her to the sprawling town. The journey is uneventful and upon arriving in the city, they both search and find a building that could serve as the foundations for Candle's new church on the outskirts of the city.[/hider]
[hider=Liam][center]A mercenary Candle encountered on her travels. He is a tall, clean-shaven man with startling blue eyes. While friendly, he holds a number of secrets.[/center]
[color=lightgray][b]Stats[/b][/color]
[indent][color=lightgray]◇ Might[/color] 2
[color=lightgray]◇ Coordination[/color] 3
[color=lightgray]◇ Fortitude[/color] 2
[color=lightgray]◇ Intellect[/color] 2
[color=lightgray]◇ Wisdom[/color] 4
[color=lightgray]◇ Intellect[/color] 2[/indent][/hider]