[center][color=#008b8b][h2]Fionn MacKerracher[/h2][/color][/center]
[hr][@HereComesTheSnow][@ERode][@VahkiDane][@Krayzikk][@6slyboy6][@Raineh Daze][@VitaVitaAR]
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Fionn had slid off he horse's back almost as soon as Tyaethe did, tying it off to an empty post beyond the fort's wall. He silently shared Gerard's sentiments—he'd seen his fair share of such fortifications left depopulated and rotting, after all—though he could imagine certain things that [i]could[/i] leave so peaceful an exterior after whatever massacre had been taken up. [color=#008b8b]"Stick to the center of us, if you would,"[/color] he bade Amy as he approached, drawing out his own sword. [color=#008b8b]"I don't think we can afford to leave you in a vulnerable position near the edges of the group, if your words ring true."[/color] Better to save that for those whose skills revolved around physical combat, not magical arts.

With a single word muttered under his breath, the tip of his sword began to glow, ensuring he'd have light without need of a torch once they were deeper within. [color=#008b8b]"Tyaethe, any idea how long dead?"[/color] As familiar as he'd become with heaps of corpses, he was well-acquainted with the stench of rot; from where they stood, the fort didn't yet reek like a charnel house, though if the numbers of the dead were low enough they could well have to delve within to encounter such stench. [color=#008b8b]"Is it blood or bloat you're smelling?"[/color]