[center][h1]ℜ𝔢𝔫𝔞𝔲𝔩𝔱 𝔅𝔢𝔞𝔲𝔪𝔬𝔫𝔱[/h1][/center]
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Reddenbarrow. The village, quaint and unassuming as it was, held the distinction of being the last bastion that separated mankind's handiwork from the Marches and the dread wilderness beyond. Few had dared try and civilize the lands past this point, and those that did lacked the ability or resources to cultivate anything grander than a few thatched buildings. In a twist of irony, the area past the outskirts of Reddenbarrow seemed almost peaceful, at least to the unassuming eye. But there was something, [i]something[/i] past Renault's own eyes that gave the Marches its grim reputation, embellished or otherwise. For a time simply staring out, Renault bitterly noted how being sent out here was all-but-equal to condemning them to the headsman's axe; and arguably a crueler fate than that. 

Brought out of his momentary reverie as the priest spoke again, Renault brought his gaze to the younger man as well as the stone building beside, bearing Erithar's standard above the door. Feeling the weight of his pendant almost pull on him with a throbbing that instinctively drew his hand towards the crest separated by the moth-eaten folds of his clothing, Renault took one step, wary and uncertain, closer. As the priest - Marthan - unlocked and opened the door, inviting them in, Renault's movements turned timid, cautious; as if he were in the presence of a serpent in the tall grass. 

Treading closer to the threshold that separated the mortal from the divine, Renault dragged his fingers along the frame and the unfaltering stone, his heart pounding in his ears. He hadn't stepped foot in a temple since his exile, better for everyone that way. Renault stopped and looked up to the heavens, perhaps looking for a sign, or even Erithar, Himself looking back at him. 

Seeing no such sign, and left with only his own discernment, Renault crossed the border into the temple.