[center][h1]ℜ𝔢𝔫𝔞𝔲𝔩𝔱 𝔅𝔢𝔞𝔲𝔪𝔬𝔫𝔱[/h1][/center]
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The trip back felt like almost a blur. Renault's legs carried him as best as they could, but age and weariness crept through his entire being. Years spent not seeing combat, weeks spent in a cramped, dank cell, every movement elicited screams of agony from Renault's muscles, though the man, himself, was silent, save for the occasional pained grunt that indicated his age. Though not an [i]elder[/i] by any stretch of the word, Renault knew full-well that he was past his physical prime. The pain and fatigue he felt now would only get worse with time. Skill and experience only mattered insofar as one was able lift a sword, and the steel blade at Renault's hip would have felt like a hunk of raw iron in his aching arm.

With the sight of the temple upon them, and the first feeling of sanctuary that they had in hours, Renault welcomed the comforting stone walls and reverent aura that came with it. Their priest friend, for he had tentatively earned that title, seemed more than surprised to see them back so soon, but wasted no time in performing his duties, tending to their wounds with divine-granted magics. 

Renault felt strength return to him as his wounds closed, leaving naught but a small scar as a reminder. The energy that coursed through his body made him alert and refreshed, like waking up from a long and restful sleep. He stood tall, noble even; and perhaps his companions would be able to notice the proud dignity he once carried himself with. 

Taken to the cellar beneath the temple, Renault would not say he was excited to be surrounded by stone walls and ceilings as he had been beneath the farmhouse. But the warm crackling of the fire and jugs of water prepared for them alleviated that in short order. Almost wordlessly, they each took to cleaning themselves; Vah'lux being more...forthright than the rest of them. Renault averted his eyes as best he could for chivalry's sake - truly this woman was cut from a different cloth.

Choosing a middle ground just as Gorosk had, Renault disrobed as much as he could while still preserving his modesty, using the water provided to wipe away the blood, pus, and dirt that had accumulated from both their prison stay as well as the skirmish against the rats. It was no proper bath, not as he was used to in the Order, at least. But it sufficed his purposes. 

Changing into a drab-colored tunic and breeches that was in his bag, Renault felt like he could relax for the first time in weeks. He slumped down, sleep threatening to overtake him, fiddling with the pendant he wore in his half-awake state.