[center][h1]ℜ𝔢𝔫𝔞𝔲𝔩𝔱 𝔅𝔢𝔞𝔲𝔪𝔬𝔫𝔱[/h1][/center]
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After stepping in the temple proper, Renault froze in place, as if anticipating that he would catch fire any moment. Feeling exactly the same as he had, Renault let his guard down; moving to inspect the few pews that decorated the temple, gliding his fingers across the old wood. Eyeing the ornate stained-glass windows that helped distinguish the temple's otherwise humble construction. He felt at peace, like he was in familiar territory - though he hadn't visited Reddenbarrow's temple until now.

At Marthan's offer for prayer and offering, Renault smiled softly, a gesture nearly hidden beneath his beard. His smile quickly faded, however, when the Elf responded with venom and spite. Tensed by a flash of anger, Renault's grip on the pew tightened until the wood creaked in muted agony, though he said not a word. Internalizing as much of it as he could, no amount of discipline or stoicism could hide the indignation in Renault's eyes.

Before things could escalate further, it was Gorosk who made move to dispel the Elf's anger by appealing to Erithar's indifference to other gods' worship. Indeed, this was a tenet of His that many within the Order tended to forget, if not ignore outright. Renault had witnessed many supposed heretics flogged, beaten, or even executed for blasphemy. Though never directly participating in such affairs, Renault would often stand guard as an armed-and-armored symbol of the Order's might, shielded by steel and faith. With features obscured beneath a great helm, he was Renault no longer, but an extension of the Order's reach and will.

Swallowing disdain as the all-too-familiar feeling of guilt crept up his throat, Renault's grip loosened along with his anger. Truly, he was in no position to judge, for innocent though he may be in the eyes of Erithar, he was a wayward son, still, unable to find his way home. 

As Marthan moved back-and-forth between the temple's antechamber and an unseen second room, his movements and demeanor were more comfortable, controlled. As small as the temple was, there was a closeness Renault could see between it and Marthan. Paired like a husband and wife, intimate and understanding. For men of the cloth, this was their bond.

Renault followed after Gorosk, Vah'lux, and Quentin as Marthan brought their bundled gear to the main room, wrapped in wool blankets for storage and safekeeping. Finding his, he gingerly unfolded the fabric covering, revealing his sword and dagger sheathed beside each other. Lifting the sword up, Renault drew it from its scabbard, his deft movements hinting at familiarity, perhaps even training with the weapon. Glinting in the early light beamed through the temple's windows, the [url=https://cdn11.bigcommerce.com/s-3pn7p1id/images/stencil/1280x1280/products/532/2893/DSC_4459__15034.1520987578.JPG?c=2?imbypass=on]sword[/url] was as humble-looking as its wielder, bearing no adornment in either hilt, blade, or sheath. It was a practical weapon, one that wouldn't look out-of-place in the hands of a guardsman or sellsword. His shield and dagger were much of the same; with the former bearing no standard on the front, whether for lord, land, or association.

Returning the blade to its scabbard, Renault made quick work securing both sword and dagger to his belt, feeling greater security and comfort at their return. Joining the others in giving thanks, Renault nodded humbly at Marthan with a smile and a meek "My thanks."

As Marthan left and returned for the last time, bearing scroll-in-case, the matter of their earned redemption came at hand. There was an anxious uncertainty to the vagueness associated [i]"creatures of the wood"[/i], stirring in Renault's minds the ghost stories and folktales of the Marches. Whatever these creatures were, be they beasts of the wild or something...worse, it was up to them to cleanse the land. 

Pausing for a moment, mouth forming empty shapes as Renault struggled at what to say, the words soon found him, concise and clear. "We will do what we must."