Indeed there was purpose for them all as they drifted back apart for the night, huddling and holding to their own piles of straw and blanket. Only the slow, rolling chatter of the flames from the torches filled their ears and with their protective light, their distant heat. Without it, it might well have made sleep difficult even with these great stone walls of the prison, but to their relief and fortune there was no need for concern. Their captors may have been errant in many of their charges but they were not evil, and while hearts far from pure - instead blinded by terrible fear and paranoia born of this fringe land - they would inflict no such cruelty. If anything this would be one of those saving graces for the four of them, just as they needed it to be, although it would come in no fashion they likely expected or would enjoy.

As a result, in the earliest hours of dawn, when the sun cracked just upon the horizon, the sound of horses and a wagon awoke them. Gorosk, first, seeing as he was the closest to the distinct sound and how his enlightenment made his senses keen, found himself brought back from a night of dreamless dreaming. By the time he arose and realized just what it was, he could see it was not his imagination. There were indeed several men and several horses, not the least of which was the horse and cart he had become familiar to, but the others? This was new, and news enough at that, for anyone who could own such a beast and make use of it as transport here likely had some prominence. By the time the rider dismounted, so too could the others in the prison hear the arrival and approaching footsteps of the militia, while the half-blood himself could see a few of the men preparing to open the door. What at first seemed like liberation and vindication, however, sunk in the heart.

These men were the militia, sure enough, and with his eyes to see through the fading ambient dark outside Gorosk could tell that those who accompanied them were not. One  man in modest robes, presumably a priest of some variety, and a reasonably well dressed man who bore a sash across his chest, sewn with a badge of decoration. These were formal men, officials of the temple and the kingdom itself, likely the justice and the priest assigned to carrying out their sentencing. They spoke for a moment in idle tones as the sound of the wrought iron door being unlocked beyond echoed into their chamber and one of the men, the jailer as the three men knew him at this rate, entered and paced down the isle, bringing his held torch to their cells to ensure no tampering had taken place; none of them had dared to escape or even managed the effort.

He gave a few tapping kicks to the door which held back both the humans, being certain that he gained the attention of all within before he spoke, his voice only moderately raised, "Your sentencing will begin shortly, so up, and up now."

The man said no more, aside from that which he said without words by furrowing his brow a bit and scowling at the orcish man before walking out again. He paced back to the cart where the other few militia men were moving a chest and equipment from the back of the cart, passed by the priest who soon entered, followed by the justice. They stood there quiet for a moment, the calmness of the former and stoicalness of the latter making it clear this was not the first and certainly not the last time they would pronounce judgment. And contrary to that which may well have been expected, the priest with his clean shaven and youthful face, spoke. He spoke loud enough to hear without being forceful, whereas the older, balding man behind him with stern eyes seemed like at moment's notice he could bellow out a direct command.

"I will be the one to perform your test of purity, so that in the eyes of the divines whose land this still is, we may know where your heart lies before the law."

He gestured to each of their cells, ignoring the obvious that they not all could see him before he continued, following the drawing back of his flax hood. To Beaumont's eyes, as the man adjusted himself for the formalities to follow, it was clear who the priest followed, a symbol of [i]Erithar[/i] upon his chest in humbly carved wood; likely too poor and youthful a priest to afford anything of value.

"May the holiest of holies, the name of our great sacred protector and judge of that which is righteous and good, find you all without stain in his vision for us all."

The priest then came before the door nearest the two men, just a pace away, and began to cast a spell. As he intoned the words, the stern justice behind him watching without word or interference, the holy man's hands formed a few gestures and then laid the pads of his fingers to the divine article around his neck.

"Who will be the first to be judged?" He inquired, although likely it would be that he knew the answer already beyond just his own sight.

[hider=Effects]The priest spends a standard action casting a spell. It can be identified with a successful Spellcraft (Int) check if trained in that skill.
[/hider]
[@BangoSkank][@Hellion][@Lord Wyron][@TyrannosaursRex]